Romeo and Juliet

[Wall St. Peon]

Copyright Shane Hefty 2002

The central court of Verona was bustling with activity in the hot afternoon sun. Merchants and farmers peddled their wares to the citizens, spreading out a glorious bounty of cantaloupes, apples, squash, silver, furniture, milk, cheese, and flowers. The stony apartments and small shops walled the courtyard, framing the central fountain and bustling activity of the court in a picturesque scene. Scarlet begonias hung from most of the windows, a sign that spring – and life – was in full bloom. Suddenly, a deafening silence fell over the entire courtyard, silence soon shattered by taunts and jeers hurled from one rival clan to another. The Montagues and Capulets were fighting once again.

The fighting was soon broken up by the townspeople, the police, and Prince William, the ruler of Verona. Prince William was infuriated at the audacity of the two rival clans, both alike in dignity, to fight in such a public place. His voice bouncing and booming off the walls, William hotly informed the leaders of the two houses, James Capulet and Bartholomew Montague, that if they disturb his fair city of Verona again, they would pay for the disturbance of peace with their lives.

I wandered throughout our mansion’s gardens, wandered without any idea that my father had been given a warning, a warning that, if not heeded, would mean his life. All I could think about was Rosaline. Oh Rosaline! Her beauty astounded me, her perfect blue eyes and fair cheeks and hair, constantly flushed red with blushes from my advances. Why would she not have me? Was I not one of the richest young men in Verona? Was I not one of the most handsome young men in this fair city? Why would she not let me have her?! In looking back, I can only laugh at my stupidity.

As tears slowly crept down my cheeks, tears from what I thought was a broken heart, my coz Benvolio tapped me on my shoulder. I had quickly wiped my eyes, as if something was in my eyes, but I could not fool someone of my own blood, nor could I fool someone as close as Benvolio. He laughed at my tears, laughed! The anger I felt initially disappeared within seconds as he began to lecture me on what love was – as if he knew! How dare he tell me how to love…but he was my blood, and the anger dissipated. I knew deep inside all I wanted was Rosaline’s flesh, no matter how much I denied it. Benvolio plucked a red rose from a nearby bush and pricked me – intentionally – with one of the thorns.

“Ow! You cur, why ever did you do that?” I cried, suckling the wounded finger and glaring at my cousin, a cousin who was grinning from ear to ear. Benvolio replied, “Love’s arrow pricked you, causing your heart to ache over someone you cannot have. This is nothing more than a wound that need to be nursed, a wound that will go away shortly” He grabbed my hand, the wound almost closed. “As you have healed your finger, you will heal your heart,” he had said. “The emptiness will fade, and you will realize the error of your ways! Come, let us adjourn!” With that, we adjourned to the house for tea.

On the other side of town, in a mansion just as great, Juliet Capulet sang softly in her room, a room brightly lit from the sunlight of the late afternoon. Her brilliant green eyes shone brighter than the white walls, the white sheets, and even the sun itself. She smiled as she sang, the mellifluous melody weighing down the air with its sultry sound. Juliet ran her fingers across the white satin sheets, barely touching the cool shimmering fabric. Her teeth shone brightly as she smiled, her green eyes staring steadily out the window, over the balcony, over the fountain in the garden below, and out over the rooftops of fair Verona. Juliet stopped singing and collapsed with a happy sigh onto her pillows and satin sheets. Soon, the fourteen year old girl was fast asleep, her angelic face heightened by her glistening white bed and her nakedness.

I met up with Mercutio later that day. Rosaline was still permeating my every thought, and I was a rather sad fellow. Mercutio mocked my lovesickness as much as my coz, and I was beginning to become rather annoyed. However, my good friend piqued my interest with a stolen invitation, an invitation at a costume party at the Capulet’s manor! I figured a sense of excitement could cure my love-loss, and maybe, just maybe, I would meet another girl, one more beautiful than my precious Rosaline. Reality crashed down upon my shoulders, and I realized that this could never happen. My Rosaline is too perfect, I thought, and I could never love another, nor could any woman be finer! Looking back, I realize how wrong I was…

I wore a simple costume; ‘twas nothing more than a mask and my normal clothes. Mercutio dressed as some sort of elf, complete with odd looking ears and a slender cap with a feather in it. We entered the lavish dinner party without difficulty – and what a dinner party it was!

People were dancing to a live band, every candle glistened off the marble walls. A double staircase led up to a balcony, and the staircase was covered with a plush red rug. The oak banister shone in the candlelight, and I could see that the attention to detail in this place, this residence of my enemy, was more than meticulous, and it was even cleaner than our manor! The women were dressed splendidly, with flowing gowns and simple masks, much like mine, as they still wanted to have hours spent on their hair, hours upon hours of preparation for this great event. Everywhere I looked were drinks: fine ale, champagne, and the best wine in the town. I obtained myself a large glass of ale – magnificent! – and began to wander the party, searching for a filly to mount.

Just as Romeo was arriving, Juliet was exiting her room. Her flowing brown hair fell in tresses about her shoulders, her cheeks flushed red from blush, and her glowing green eyes sparkling in the bright candlelight. Her dress, white, silky, and flowing, gathered in a large mass around her feet, and the silver tiara she wore delicately upon her precious head. Her gloves, made of satin and silk, covered her soft, pale skin up to her elbows, ending delicately with a lace border encircling her young arm. She wore no mask; she was the daughter of the party’s host, and she wanted everyone present to know. With a look and a smile, Juliet surveyed the dance floor before beginning her descent to the dance floor in search of her probable husband, the handsome Sir Paris.

I spotted her walking down the stairs; curious, she wore no mask. Oh, what luck this was! Had she been wearing a mask I never would have spotted her beauty; she would have blended into the crowd like a drop of water in the ocean. She was dancing with – Paris? Paris was nothing more than a pretty face for girls to swoon after. “He is nothing compared to me!” I thought to myself. When my chance arose, I took her hand and we finally danced, oh, and how we danced! I spoke to her in poetry, making her heart swoon my way after every line; she was mine! I tasted her lips, tasted her beauty and I drank it in, I swallowed every last drop of her innocence, of her angel-like appearance, of her beauty. But our dance ended all too soon, and she was approached by her nurse and mother. My heart had fallen to my knees; it was then I found that she was a Capulet, my sworn enemy.

By the end of the party I was quite drunk, and I decided to approach the lady Juliet, the fairest lady I had ever laid eyes upon. I had snuck out of the party, out of one of the back doors, and wandered through their magnificent garden, stopping only to run my hand through the cool, clear water of the fountain, a fountain soon to be discovered that was underneath my lady’s window! As I removed my hand from the fountain, and as the cool, almost cold, water ran off my hand and caused ripples in the beautiful fountain, I had spied my lady peering off the balcony. She was talking to the stars, I remember quite clearly – and she was talking of me! My heart leapt from my knees to its rightful spot in my chest, and joy filled every pore and completed my life. Happiness lived in my soul yet again! I called to her, I climbed the balcony, I held her in my arms, I kissed her. I knew I loved her, I knew it – and I was right, I still love her to this very day – and I shunned my name, I hate my name to this very day! I shunned my name and asked her hand in marriage – and she accepted! Just then, her nurse came a calling, and I scurried down the balcony, down near the fountain, and I ran my fingers through the cool, almost cold, water, watching it drip off my hand, enjoying the bite of the cool water on my hand, and staring at my lady, the lovely Juliet, and her beauty as she talked to her nurse on the balcony where we had just exchanged vows. I decided then I must see Friar Lawrence!

Little did Romeo know that he had been spotted by Tybalt Capulet, who wished to murder his sworn enemy at the party, but was stopped by his uncle, the great James Capulet. Tybalt’s blood boiled at the brusqueness of Romeo; how could he defile such an event for the Capulets? How dare he! As Romeo and Juliet exchanged vows, Tybalt was plotting his revenge…

I had approached Friar Lawrence with my odd request, a request that normally would not have been granted had the kindly friar not craved peace. He thought that my marriage to Juliet would bring peace between our feuding families; I thought the same. And so, the next day, Friar Lawrence agreed to perform the ceremony to make Juliet and I man and wife.

Juliet’s nurse delivered her the news that we were to wed. I met her, she was so beautiful, and as I kissed her after the vows, I felt true love permeate my very soul; nothing could end our love! Or so I thought.

The sun shone brightly as I rode my horse through the streets of fair Verona. The scarlet begonias had begun to shed their pedals; strange. They rained down on me, like confetti from a parade, and I had smiled at the thought as the blood-red petals swirled around me in the cool breeze. I remember catching a few in my hand and throwing them back up into the wind, watching them fluttering away and losing them in the swirling swarm of flower petals. I stopped in the small courtyard, near a small fountain, complete with an ornate statuette of a young girl being baptized. I smiled and dismounted, and I headed towards the nearby pub to celebrate my marriage with the few friends with whom I had shared my secret. Mercutio was leaning against the door jam, grinning from ear to ear, and I could hear Benvolio’s voice emanating from the interior of the pub, mixed with the chorus of clanking and clinking glasses together in celebration.

Mercutio had hugged me; ‘twas the last time I was in contact with my childhood friend when he was alive. We both entered the pub and began celebrating my marriage, with Benvolio leading the toasts at our private party and the rest of us drinking until we were numb. Around an hour later, my life began to end.

Tybalt had been longing for Romeo’s blood to be spilt since the night of the party. Now, several days later, the urge was so great that the catharsis provided by of any sort of bloodletting would be grand, almost orgasmic. One of the Capulets’ friends in the city informed Tybalt that Romeo and a group of his friends were celebrating – what was unknown – at a small pub in central Verona. Tybalt and a small group of his follows galloped towards the pub at great speed…

As I drank my ale deeply and smiled at the thought of what would happen tonight – finally! – I felt a sinking feeling in my stomach; something was not right, something was really wrong. I remember feeling the hairs on my neck and arms stand straight up, and chills shivered down my spine as the cool air blew into the room as the pub door opened. A communal gasp then erupted around the room: Tybalt was here!
Tybalt always appeared to be leering; a scar from a previous sword fight, a fight in which Romeo’s father had branded young Tybalt’s complexion, a scar that forced the right corner of Tybalt’s mouth to be upturned in a scornful leer. His jet-black hair was slicked back, the length of it resting on the back of his neck, his broad shoulders leading down muscular arms covered by a black, loose fitting shirt. Tybalt’s scabbard lay empty; the short sword rested comfortably in his hand, and on his right arm the buckler was firmly attached, ready for anything. He approached me, still leering…

“Boy, how dare you defile my Uncle’s party! You cur, you will die for your insolence!” Tybalt shouted at me.

“But you don’t know, you don’t know at all! I have no quarrel with you, none whatsoever good sir! Please, please leave this place, leave us to our celebration! I beg of you, I do not want to spill blood over such a trivial thing!” I cried, dropping to my knees. Tybalt struck me across the face with his buckler; the pain was like nothing I felt. I could feel my eye swelling, and I spit a tooth – covered in crimson blood – out onto the tavern floor. I knew I had to make this end, and I knew I needed to sacrifice my body, my health, in order to make things right. I approached Tybalt yet again, pleading with him to leave the pub – but he struck me yet again. My cheek stung, and I could feel blood running from my nose, taste it upon my lips…and then Mercutio was at my side, between Tybalt and I…

They grappled briefly, grabbing for the sword, but Mercutio was no match for Tybalt; the sword penetrated Mercutio’s flesh, and Tybalt twisted it. I could hear the sickening crunch as the steel was forced deep within Mercutio, as it was twisted through his ribs, and was then withdrawn in one smooth motion. My eyes were agape at the sight; I was horrified. My friend fell to the ground, his blood mixing with mine, like some sick joke. His eyes – such dead, accusing eyes – stared at me as his last breaths escaped his lips. I felt this rage building up inside of me, it was unbearable. I screamed out in pain, I screamed for Mercutio, I screamed because he no longer could. With that, I drew myself up to my full height and withdrew my sword from its scabbard…

My rage was so great that Tybalt could not contain me. I repeatedly swung the sword at him, and when I could not cut flesh, I punched and kicked him, forcing him to his knees. Our fighting had spilled into the courtyard, the red flower petals mixing with my blood as it dripped from my face (Tybalt had continued to strike me, as I did him). A group of people encircled us, and I continued to attack Tybalt with a ferocity that I had never felt before in my life. Finally the fight ended – I was victorious as my sword had penetrated Tybalt’s stomach, protruding through his back. I pushed him into the fountain, and stood in shock at what I had done. I had killed my own cousin. The begonia petals had stopped falling, and the sun had clouded over. I ran, ran for my life. This was when the darkness overtook me...

I retreated to the monastery and Friar Lawrence. He hid me until the news that I had been banished reached his chapel. He bid me farewell; I was to leave the city immediately, but I knew I had to see my Juliet before I left.

That night I stole into her room from the balcony, where she was waiting for me – crying. I held her close as she felt my wounds, caressed my flesh. I kissed her – so softly – her lips and mine were one; we were one. I held her close, hugged her, and cried with her. We finally succumbed to our passion, to our love, and disrobed. Our love was now complete as her blood colored her sheets…

The next morning I kissed her goodbye, and I knew deep down it would be the last kiss we would ever share. I told her to go to Friar Lawrence for help, and with a tearful farewell, I climbed down the balcony and looked up, knowing this would be the last time I climbed to her room. The tears rolled down my cheeks…

As Romeo was making his camp on the outskirts of fair Verona, Juliet was receiving news that her father had promised her hand in marriage to Sir Paris. They were to be married – by Friar Lawrence – later that week. She protested, of course, but it was to no avail. Her father beat her brutally at the protest, and her mother disowned her insolence. Juliet’s parents, however, let her go to Friar Lawrence for confession.
Together, the Friar concocted a plan, and a potion, to enable her to run away with Romeo. He sent his letter off to Romeo, and sent Juliet home with her sleeping potion, a potion that would make her appear dead to the world. With a tear in her eye, she took the potion, causing her to fall into a deep sleep.

The next morning, Juliet was discovered. The letter, on the other hand, was lost when the mail carrier was killed by a highwayman – I never received it. The funeral was held the following day, and Benvolio – who had no idea of the secret plan – departed to find me, his cousin and friend, to tell me that my wife was dead.

When I received the news I broke down and cried, I cried in front of another man. My heart was destroyed, and I felt nothing, nothing at all. My life was empty. I rode back to Verona with Benvolio and purchased the fastest acting poison I could; I had to threaten an alchemist to make it and sell it to me. With that, I rode to the Capulet mausoleum.

The air was dark and cold, so cold. I was chilled to the bone and shaking, but not because of the weather. I walked down the steps to the crypt, my eyes slowly adjusting to the dank, dark tomb. There were candles lit around my fair Juliet, and I could see her cousin Tybalt lying on a pyre nearby, his flesh beginning to rot. Tears flowed freely down my cheeks, and I grasped my love’s hand and kissed her lips – still warm, somehow – and opened the vial of arsenic. I put it to my lips and swallowed the entire contents.

My breathing quickened and my limbs grew numb. I could feel my heart beating faster and faster, my head pounding. Sweat and tears ran down my face, and I gasped for air. I squeezed Juliet’s hand one last time, one last time before falling to the ground, collapsing. Dead. As I ascended to the heavens, I watch Juliet wake. My heart died yet again.

Juliet crouched over my body, sad that I had not left her any poison. I did, however, carry a small dagger on my belt, which she promptly took. She kissed me one last time (I could have sworn I felt her kiss), held the dagger to her breast, and plunged it deep within her already dead heart. Her body collapsed on top of me, her blood seeping into my dead flesh, melding with that of my own.

The friar found the two lovers and cried. If only Romeo had waited, if only the letter had arrived, if only…

I looked down upon our parents, holding Juliet’s hand in mine as we stared down from the heavens. Prince William spoke on the tragedy of our deaths, and how it took this to bring peace, but Juliet and I cared not. We were with each other; it did not matter whether we were dead or alive. As our parents wept, we rained down scarlet begonia petals from the heavens, and I kissed my angelic Juliet.

[Tyus Edney's Agent]

Copyright Shane Hefty 2002

Wow when did shakespeare get his name changed

[Rens]

Shakespeare doesn't live in 2002

[Wall St. Peon]

"Romeo and Juliet" is actually a fable that was made into a play by Shakespear...this was original work by me which follows the basic plot line of Romeo and Juliet. However, there are stark differences which make it original work.

[shadowgrin]

shane hefty still love lorn? hehe

"Romeo and Juliet" is actually a fable that was made into a play by Shakespear

most students today don't even know that Shakespeare was the ultimate rip-off/spin-off artist...