Good Night, Sweet Prince
By Kourin Lucrece
Disclaimer: nope… not mine…
Author's Note: I have no idea where this came from. It just popped into my head, and demanded to be written down. Dead Poets Society is one of my favorite movies, and Hamlet is my favorite play, so I guess it makes sense that they would eventually be merged in my warped imagination. I hope you like it!
Neil had loved to perform, to read poetry and let the words flow from his tongue like liquid gold. He'd had a penchant for Shakespeare in particular, and an absurd, morbid part of Todd pictured Neil standing by the window of Mr. Perry's study. He could hear his friend's melancholy voice question whether it is 'nobler to suffer the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune, or to take arms against a sea of troubles, and by opposing, end them…' In the play, Hamlet decides against self-slaughter through his love for his dead father, and his need to avenge the murder. Neil had no such reasons, and that sea of troubles foamed up to catch him, and he drowned in its icy depths.
Todd stifled a sob, swallowing it back, and turned to stare out the window of their… his room. It was snowing again. The gently falling flakes seemed far too peaceful for such a backwards world, and the boy closed his eyes instead. The glass of the window was cool against his heated forehead as Todd leaned forward and tried not to think. Some things, however, were impossible.
He had imagined himself as the Horatio to Neil's Hamlet. The best friend and confidant of the play's leading man. Neil had taught him to see that there were more things on Heaven and Earth than were dreamt of in his parent's negligence. He had shown Todd the way to life, and the young man had found himself enchanted by the beauty of it all.
Yet, Neil had been no Hamlet! He was vibrant, happy and full of life! The picture perfect fei prince… His motto had been "Carpe Diem – Seize the Day!" He should have gone soaring through the sky to light the world with his majesty as the brightest star, not come crashing down to earth with all the finality of a meteor burning out.
It occurred to Todd oddly that at the end of Hamlet, only Horatio remains to remember, and to tell the tale. 'Horatio, what a wounded name,' Todd thought acidly, 'The poetry died with Neil.'
But someone had to carry on, and bear the truth of it all. Someone had to make sure that it wouldn't be forgotten. Todd opened his eyes once more to the calm winter eve.
"Goodnight, sweet prince," he whispered, "and flights of angels sing thee to thy rest."
And, somehow, the words brought him comfort. He would not lie down and give up. He would remember.