THOU ART SLAIN
Back and forth our rapiers went, flashing in the light of the chamber. My mother and father lay dead upon their thrones, a goblet had spilled it's deadly contents on the floor. Leartes and I were locked in mortal combat, for only one of us would come out alive. I felt a prick in my side, averting my gaze from my for for only a moment to look, crimson stained my tunic. He had wounded me. I flicked my wrist deftly, nicking him in the side. He winced, but continued to fight bravely.
"Hamlet, thou art slain. In thee there is not a half hour's life," Leartes leered at me. His grin was evil, yet slightly crooked. His eyes were not quite right in their sockets. In his veins pulsed the same poison that lurked in mine. I could feel it, with every beat of my traitorous heart, it spread. That very heart, it was betraying itself, pulling the poison closer with every drop of blood that passed through it. Slowly but surely, the sluggish feeling of drowsiness and inability to move continued its path through me. It was a dull fire, a single, solitary flame in my side that assured me I was alive. My vision blurred and my breathing became harder. I still had life in me though.
"No medicine in the world can do thee good," he sneered again. I knew that even if I did have time to find the antidote, it would do me no good. It would not be fast enough in it's mission and I would be gone. The Prince of Denmark was dying.
"The treacherous instrument is in thy hand, unabated and envenomed: the foul practice hath turned itself on me lo, here I lie, never to rise again: thy mother's poisoned: I can no more: the king, the king's to blame," Leartes said, more softly now.
"The point is envenomed too? Do thy work!" I turned to stab my father. He was going down with my mother, they would be forever happy together. Unlike my darling Ophelia and I...
Dearest Ophelia, I am so sorry I could not save you from your fate. It was mine own tongue that condemned thee, and I do beg thy forgiveness. Prithee, sweet Ophelia, forget me. I know tis but a faint chance that we should meet again in the Kingdom of Heaven. I love you Ophelia, I truly love you. But love cannot save us now, dear. Neither of us. I am dying, and you passed before me. I pray you are well, love, goodbye.
"He is justly served; it is a poison tempered by himself. Exchange forgiveness with me, noble Hamlet: mine and my father's death come not upon thee, nor thine on me," Leartes gave a shallow breath and stopped. I knew he was dead, and his soul would rise to Heaven.
"Heaven make thee free of it! I follow thee. I am dead, Horatio. Wretched queen, adieu! You that look pale and tremble at this chance, That are but mutes or audience to this act, Had I but time-as this fell sergeant, death, Is strict in his arrest-O, I could tell you-But let it be. Horatio, I am dead; Thou livest; report me and my cause aright To the unsatisfied," I felt my strength giving. I begged Horatio, my loyal friend, to give me the rest of the poisoned drink that would end me quickly. He refused, and yet I struggled still to have peace. There were words that I said, I do not recall them. I do not have to any more. My eyes close to melancholy peace, and I am dead. Prince Hamlet of Denmark, has died.
Then I see it, her face. It smiles at me, her arms reach out to envelope me. Could it be? My beloved Ophelia is here with me? And I am in heaven? I reach out to clasp her in my arms, we smile at each other for a while.
"I love you," I whisper.
"I know you always did. It was in anger that we did such foolish things. Heartbreak is not truly heartbreak, but a mask for anger to wear when he pleases," Ophelia clasped my hand in hers as we walked down white streets.
"I love you," I say again.
"I love you too," she says.