Juliet
I was all alone. Again.
The floor is bone chilling and hard. I stir gently, all my muscles aching. My mind is foggy, but as I stretch and rub some warmth into my icy limbs, it slowly begins to clear.
The tomb. I am inside the family tomb. A silent scream opens my throat and forces my lips apart, but no sound escapes. There are corpses in here; and I am, for now, alone with them. Will they wake? Surely not. Soft noises catch my attention. Is there someone walking around? The darkness is so thick that I can’t see my immediate surroundings, let alone the mouth of the tomb.
“Juliet! Juliet!” The voice is loud and vaguely familiar- my mind is still blank and sluggish with sleep.
My name echoes hungrily around the confines of the crypt. And suddenly, I am awake. Really awake. I can remember why I’m here.
My forbidden love and husband, Romeo, was supposed to be here with me now. My family believes I am dead, thanks to a potion the kind Friar gave me; I guess I have slept for a few days. I am full of regret, but I had to hurt my family like this; they wanted me to marry someone I did not love. I love Romeo, and only Romeo. In fact, we are already married. And as a religious woman, I couldn’t comply with the arranged marriage.
The voice sounds once more, an obscure whisper this time. And I remember.
“Friar! You have returned for me, so I wouldn’t be alone in this place. Thank you! Is Romeo nearby?” I reached up, rubbing my eyes anxiously. If I squint, I could just barely make out my surroundings. My eyes slowly adjust to the inky darkness that is wrapped around me.
I see what appear to be two men lying astride me. All the blood in my body drains away.
“Juliet. Romeo is dead. He committed suicide. An acquaintance arrived in Mantua before Friar John, and told him the story your family now believes.”
Laurence holds the lantern to my face, and helps me sit up. Mantua is the place where Romeo was exiled to; where we were supposed to go together. My heart constricts painfully in my chest, and only its loud, constant beat in my ears tells me that I am still living. My eyes cloud with tears that prick and sting. I reach to the man nearest to me, on my right side. My fingers apprehensively touch his face, his hair. I trace his features with outstretched finger tips. And by the dim glow of the lantern, I see him. Sure enough, it’s Romeo. Still warm, with a soft smile on his face, handsome as ever. I lean down to his torso, hair falling over my face, and listen. All inside his chest is quiet. The warm pounding that kept him breathing is absent, leaving only a sweet memory of the sound behind.
“Oh, Romeo. We were so close. Please wake up. Wake up, love.” My voice sounds breathy and quiet. I start to sob, tears gliding down my face hot and fast. I don’t think I have ever cried this way, not even when Tybalt died. Heart-wrenching, deep, wet sobs that rack through my whole body. Romeo doesn’t stir, and his eyelids don’t flutter. A goblet is clutched to his chest. He killed himself with a fatal medicine.
I kiss him, and I don’t know why. Maybe to catch some of the poison. Maybe to say goodbye. Maybe to let him know I still loved him more than life itself.
Laurence continues, either being a gentleman and ignoring the scene I’m making, or simply oblivious.
“Juliet, your marriage is broken. Paris is here with us, badly wounded. Romeo fought him.”
I open my mouth to speak, and a soft groan escapes. I am sobbing too hard to shape the vowels and sound necessary of words.
“Walk, Juliet! Juliet, you…have…to…MOVE!” Laurence has to physically push me to get my feet stumbling along. The night is humid and dense, and the peaceful air is beginning to stir- we need to vacate quickly. We arrive at Laurence’s cottage soon, in a drudge of blurry tears and clammy temperatures. Paris is conscious but in severe pain, and seeing my friend in this condition is too much. Even though I have had a forty eight hour sleep, I collapse on a cot in the back room of the lodge.
I want to be numb.
I don’t want to feel this emptiness, this pain.
I want to disappear.
I want to die.
Romeo
I am on fire.
I grasp for the pitcher that should be at my bedside, but my searching fingers find nothing. My mouth is a desert, and my skin feels sick and feverish, burning a steady flame. It comes to mind slowly, along with my sight as it returns:
“I should be dead.”
I stumble about blindly. My Juliet, and fresh dead Paris, should be around me. Instead the terrible smell of death stamps itself into my memory. The two dead were my fault. Juliet died of her grief for me. Paris died by my sword. But the paled bodies are nowhere to be found.
“Master! Come away; I hear noise.” Balthazar calls to me. I run out of the tomb, terrified for myself and my friend, eyes tearing. I run till my lungs burn along with the rest of me, and the stitch at my side is too painful to continue. I saddle my horse, and blow a kiss to the sky.
“For my Juliet, no matter where you lie.” My voice breaks on the last word, and my chest opens up into a hole that nothing will fill.
“Come, Romeo.” Balthazar’s voice is soft and low, blending with the quiet night. “Off to Mantua.”
Ten years later.
Paris and Juliet are married.
Rosaline and Romeo are married.
The couples live in small, isolated villages about a mile apart.
Juliet
I always forget something, and this time, its sage and oregano. The shop near us had a pitiful collection of the spices, pitiful withered things just wilting away in the sun. But I did hear of a little market place that should be open today, in another town not far off.
Paris is all too happy to let me have my little walk there; my pregnancy is making me tired and sore. I probably snapped at him more than meant to, as well. A little fresh air and a walk to stretch my legs will loosen me up for our “expectancy party” later. I love him so much, but I need rest. Until this little boy or girl is born, I certainly won’t be enjoying any parties. Maybe I can luck out of it with some sweet talking.
I give him a kiss and a smile goodbye, before grabbing my basket to leave. The sun is hot, but the spring air is welcome and cool.
Romeo
Rosaline looks uncomfortable today. She says our child is kicking often now, and her belly is now more distended than it was yesterday. I’m sure of it. I bend down to kiss her forehead.
“Work slow today, love?” She asks, a line of worry crinkling her brow. I smooth it with the palm of my hand.
“A little. Barely anyone is in the marketplace right now, and we have very fine herbs and flowers this season. We’ll sell out in no time.” I tell her. Her shoulders relax subtly.
A woman approaches our stand. Her hair is honey brown, her eyes are a warm green blue, and she is flushed from the sun. And no wonder; she is even more obviously pregnant than my Rose. She smiles at me, but I can tell she is under strain. A woven basket dangles from her arm.
“You poor soul. How long have you been walking?” Rosaline asks, jumping up to greet her.
“I’m not sure. It feels good, but it is a little hot out. This one is heavy.” She gestures to her abdomen, and then rubs her stomach tenderly. “I came for your herbs.” She adds.
“Well, miss, sit. I admire you stamina.” Rose praises. “Now what would you like?”
The woman lists sage and oregano.
“No problem.” I say loftily, selecting the best sprigs.
I wrap them in paper for her. She pays with many coins, many more than we need. The mystery woman insists we keep them, but Rosaline sneaks some thyme and rosemary into the basket to make the trade fair.
“You two are very kind. I’ll come again soon!” The woman walks off, glowing, yet looking deep in thought.
“Farewell!” Rosaline calls.
Juliet
That kind merchant looked like Romeo, and that woman with child looked like Rosaline.
What am I thinking? Ridiculous. Romeo is long since dead, and Rosaline joined a convent after my ‘death’. Why am I even encouraging this thought?
I am forgetting my place as a married woman.
Romeo
That sweet, beautiful lady looked like my Juliet.
Nonsense. My Juliet is with God now. And she was pregnant, too. She is obviously a married woman. Just as I am a married man.
Maybe I just need to think about Rosaline for a while. That’ll clear these thoughts…
It occurs to me now. I never asked her name. She just seemed so comfortable and almost eerily familiar.
Despite the hot day, an icy breeze runs down my spine, making me shiver.
Epilogue
Now two lovers torn,
by the old in the new,
Shall never again wed in the churches pew.
Their lives now be merry,
And always blessed,
But Romeo will never again,
see his fair Juliet.
And as for her,
To Home and life did she go,
Yet she will never quite forget,
that name,
Romeo.
I was all alone. Again.
The floor is bone chilling and hard. I stir gently, all my muscles aching. My mind is foggy, but as I stretch and rub some warmth into my icy limbs, it slowly begins to clear.
The tomb. I am inside the family tomb. A silent scream opens my throat and forces my lips apart, but no sound escapes. There are corpses in here; and I am, for now, alone with them. Will they wake? Surely not. Soft noises catch my attention. Is there someone walking around? The darkness is so thick that I can’t see my immediate surroundings, let alone the mouth of the tomb.
“Juliet! Juliet!” The voice is loud and vaguely familiar- my mind is still blank and sluggish with sleep.
My name echoes hungrily around the confines of the crypt. And suddenly, I am awake. Really awake. I can remember why I’m here.
My forbidden love and husband, Romeo, was supposed to be here with me now. My family believes I am dead, thanks to a potion the kind Friar gave me; I guess I have slept for a few days. I am full of regret, but I had to hurt my family like this; they wanted me to marry someone I did not love. I love Romeo, and only Romeo. In fact, we are already married. And as a religious woman, I couldn’t comply with the arranged marriage.
The voice sounds once more, an obscure whisper this time. And I remember.
“Friar! You have returned for me, so I wouldn’t be alone in this place. Thank you! Is Romeo nearby?” I reached up, rubbing my eyes anxiously. If I squint, I could just barely make out my surroundings. My eyes slowly adjust to the inky darkness that is wrapped around me.
I see what appear to be two men lying astride me. All the blood in my body drains away.
“Juliet. Romeo is dead. He committed suicide. An acquaintance arrived in Mantua before Friar John, and told him the story your family now believes.”
Laurence holds the lantern to my face, and helps me sit up. Mantua is the place where Romeo was exiled to; where we were supposed to go together. My heart constricts painfully in my chest, and only its loud, constant beat in my ears tells me that I am still living. My eyes cloud with tears that prick and sting. I reach to the man nearest to me, on my right side. My fingers apprehensively touch his face, his hair. I trace his features with outstretched finger tips. And by the dim glow of the lantern, I see him. Sure enough, it’s Romeo. Still warm, with a soft smile on his face, handsome as ever. I lean down to his torso, hair falling over my face, and listen. All inside his chest is quiet. The warm pounding that kept him breathing is absent, leaving only a sweet memory of the sound behind.
“Oh, Romeo. We were so close. Please wake up. Wake up, love.” My voice sounds breathy and quiet. I start to sob, tears gliding down my face hot and fast. I don’t think I have ever cried this way, not even when Tybalt died. Heart-wrenching, deep, wet sobs that rack through my whole body. Romeo doesn’t stir, and his eyelids don’t flutter. A goblet is clutched to his chest. He killed himself with a fatal medicine.
I kiss him, and I don’t know why. Maybe to catch some of the poison. Maybe to say goodbye. Maybe to let him know I still loved him more than life itself.
Laurence continues, either being a gentleman and ignoring the scene I’m making, or simply oblivious.
“Juliet, your marriage is broken. Paris is here with us, badly wounded. Romeo fought him.”
I open my mouth to speak, and a soft groan escapes. I am sobbing too hard to shape the vowels and sound necessary of words.
“Walk, Juliet! Juliet, you…have…to…MOVE!” Laurence has to physically push me to get my feet stumbling along. The night is humid and dense, and the peaceful air is beginning to stir- we need to vacate quickly. We arrive at Laurence’s cottage soon, in a drudge of blurry tears and clammy temperatures. Paris is conscious but in severe pain, and seeing my friend in this condition is too much. Even though I have had a forty eight hour sleep, I collapse on a cot in the back room of the lodge.
I want to be numb.
I don’t want to feel this emptiness, this pain.
I want to disappear.
I want to die.
Romeo
I am on fire.
I grasp for the pitcher that should be at my bedside, but my searching fingers find nothing. My mouth is a desert, and my skin feels sick and feverish, burning a steady flame. It comes to mind slowly, along with my sight as it returns:
“I should be dead.”
I stumble about blindly. My Juliet, and fresh dead Paris, should be around me. Instead the terrible smell of death stamps itself into my memory. The two dead were my fault. Juliet died of her grief for me. Paris died by my sword. But the paled bodies are nowhere to be found.
“Master! Come away; I hear noise.” Balthazar calls to me. I run out of the tomb, terrified for myself and my friend, eyes tearing. I run till my lungs burn along with the rest of me, and the stitch at my side is too painful to continue. I saddle my horse, and blow a kiss to the sky.
“For my Juliet, no matter where you lie.” My voice breaks on the last word, and my chest opens up into a hole that nothing will fill.
“Come, Romeo.” Balthazar’s voice is soft and low, blending with the quiet night. “Off to Mantua.”
Ten years later.
Paris and Juliet are married.
Rosaline and Romeo are married.
The couples live in small, isolated villages about a mile apart.
Juliet
I always forget something, and this time, its sage and oregano. The shop near us had a pitiful collection of the spices, pitiful withered things just wilting away in the sun. But I did hear of a little market place that should be open today, in another town not far off.
Paris is all too happy to let me have my little walk there; my pregnancy is making me tired and sore. I probably snapped at him more than meant to, as well. A little fresh air and a walk to stretch my legs will loosen me up for our “expectancy party” later. I love him so much, but I need rest. Until this little boy or girl is born, I certainly won’t be enjoying any parties. Maybe I can luck out of it with some sweet talking.
I give him a kiss and a smile goodbye, before grabbing my basket to leave. The sun is hot, but the spring air is welcome and cool.
Romeo
Rosaline looks uncomfortable today. She says our child is kicking often now, and her belly is now more distended than it was yesterday. I’m sure of it. I bend down to kiss her forehead.
“Work slow today, love?” She asks, a line of worry crinkling her brow. I smooth it with the palm of my hand.
“A little. Barely anyone is in the marketplace right now, and we have very fine herbs and flowers this season. We’ll sell out in no time.” I tell her. Her shoulders relax subtly.
A woman approaches our stand. Her hair is honey brown, her eyes are a warm green blue, and she is flushed from the sun. And no wonder; she is even more obviously pregnant than my Rose. She smiles at me, but I can tell she is under strain. A woven basket dangles from her arm.
“You poor soul. How long have you been walking?” Rosaline asks, jumping up to greet her.
“I’m not sure. It feels good, but it is a little hot out. This one is heavy.” She gestures to her abdomen, and then rubs her stomach tenderly. “I came for your herbs.” She adds.
“Well, miss, sit. I admire you stamina.” Rose praises. “Now what would you like?”
The woman lists sage and oregano.
“No problem.” I say loftily, selecting the best sprigs.
I wrap them in paper for her. She pays with many coins, many more than we need. The mystery woman insists we keep them, but Rosaline sneaks some thyme and rosemary into the basket to make the trade fair.
“You two are very kind. I’ll come again soon!” The woman walks off, glowing, yet looking deep in thought.
“Farewell!” Rosaline calls.
Juliet
That kind merchant looked like Romeo, and that woman with child looked like Rosaline.
What am I thinking? Ridiculous. Romeo is long since dead, and Rosaline joined a convent after my ‘death’. Why am I even encouraging this thought?
I am forgetting my place as a married woman.
Romeo
That sweet, beautiful lady looked like my Juliet.
Nonsense. My Juliet is with God now. And she was pregnant, too. She is obviously a married woman. Just as I am a married man.
Maybe I just need to think about Rosaline for a while. That’ll clear these thoughts…
It occurs to me now. I never asked her name. She just seemed so comfortable and almost eerily familiar.
Despite the hot day, an icy breeze runs down my spine, making me shiver.
Epilogue
Now two lovers torn,
by the old in the new,
Shall never again wed in the churches pew.
Their lives now be merry,
And always blessed,
But Romeo will never again,
see his fair Juliet.
And as for her,
To Home and life did she go,
Yet she will never quite forget,
that name,
Romeo.
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