Ophelia's Resting Place

by Inglenook-Wonders

After enduring much misfortune in her family, Ophelia takes a stroll down to the brook. Little would she expect the plans fate had for her there. This was originally an assignment for English class when I was in my senior year of high school. The requirement was to write a scene for Ophelia's death in Hamlet using context clues from Scene 7 with a minimum of 300 words.

It was mid-day and the thick clouds had covered the sun. The environment had lost a good portion of its saturation. Skies were gray, topiary was a darker shade than normal, and all that could be heard was the running water from the creek leading into the brook and the invisible birds that still enjoyed their songs. Even in the seemingly darkest of moments they managed to get by with no problems. All was bleak and isolated until Ophelia came along. Her feet were bare and dirty, her hair - messy from the temporary breezes, and in her hands were flowers of a wide variety. There was an uneven step in her stride as she walked on the grassy hillside. "This ground is clouds to me" she said, nearly tripping over the seams of her dress. Ophelia approached the willow next to the brook out of sudden curiosity.

Once she had gotten close enough she leaned over the edge to look into the deep waters. The ripples that distorted her reflection felt like they were sending a message in Morse code from underneath the surface. "I suppose everyone has something to say." Ophelia sat down on the grass and turned her gaze to the handful of wildflowers and over to the leaves on the willows branches beside her. She picked away at the low hanging strands of leaves and wove them and her flowers into petite wreaths whilst singing one of her crazed tunes. She had at least ten of them after a span of half an hour. "These look so beautiful. Surely they'd look nice on the branches of the willow." she said with ecstasy.

Ophelia crawled over to the trunk of the tree and progressed her way upward. One pull after the other she reached out for the closest branches and crowned them with one of her handmade wreaths. Ophelia sat for a minute and pondered. "I'm sure father would've loved the sight of this." She started to doze off, staring at the skyline without blinking. Then, out of the blue a crisp wind came and made her eyes tear up. She finally breaks out of her trance and swiftly switches her focus to a branch located right over the brook. The water still had the same ripples as before the climb. Same ripples; same message. Ophelia kept a firm grip on the tree limb as she inched towards the water. She held her breath, listened, and deciphered. "Come closer." a hallowed whisper uttered. "Come closer." it repeated. Ophelia obeyed the whisper. She was halfway off the branch. "Come closer". She complies again. "Closer, closer." At this point, Ophelia was near where the sturdy branch ends and the leaves begin. The whisper still repeated "Closer, closer, just a little more."

*SNAP*

Just like that, the branch broke and fell along with Ophelia into the murky water of the brook below. She had no time to react or scream as she plunged with a loud splash. The water was unsurprisingly cold, her body went into a paralyzing shock. Ophelia, now bobbing on the surface of the freezing pool, leered back at the heavens with closed eyes. She was losing the feeling of her core, an effect which would soon disperse to her extremities and digits. She let out a faint laugh and transitioned to a chant. "Reconcile, reconcile, reconcile…". Ophelia chimed the same word over and over as she started to gradually lose buoyancy. Her dress had been soaking up the water, making it harder for her to stay afloat. "Reconcile, reconcile…". The more she spoke, the deeper she went under.

"Reconcile, reconcile, reconcile…". Deeper, deeper, deeper.

"Reconcile, reconcile…". Deeper, deeper.

"Reconcile, reconc-"