Free Dating Hamlet by Lisa Fiedler

Ordering me to a convent! I can hear Polonius gasping in the shadows. Hamlet does well enacting madness. And his
talk of breeding brings a blush to my cheek, for we at length have talked and dreamed of the children we shall have—sturdy sons for him to spoil, and daughters, all darling, to dote on—as many as the good Lord sees fit to grant us. We have imagined their laughter ringing through the halls of Elsinore, the innocent touch of their sweet lips as they kiss us both good night.
    Hamlet strokes his chin, then, counting on his fingers, he lists his faults: “I am very proud, revengeful, ambitious, with more offenses at my beck than I have thoughts to put them in, imagination to give them shape, or time to act them in.”
    And here he winks so only I can see! The joke, of course, is that he faults his own imagination. No one has more imagination than this Prince, and herein lies the proof! How gracefully these falsehoods fall from his lips! I conjure a look of utter dismay, covering my mouth with my hand (to keep from grinning), and allow my knees to buckle at the thought of his corruption.
    With the spittle spraying from his mouth, he barks, “Where’s your father?”
    Hiding ’neath the stairs , I am thinking, but make my voice minuscule, as though his cruelty has stripped me of all esteem. “At home, my lord.”
    He shouts some more, ordering the doors shut upon Polonius, and I send up a fraudulent prayer. “Oh, help him, you sweet heavens!”

    At last, with fists pounding the atmosphere, he makes a stormy exit, leaving me to close this performance. Seizing the opportunity, I fall to my knees, clutch my heart, and cry out, “Oh, what a noble mind is here o’erthrown!” I close my eyes and beat my fists against the stony floor.
    When I look up again, I see Hamlet peering from around a corner. He rolls his eyes at me but smiles. I would stick my tongue out at him and remind him of his own theatrics, but he makes a soundless exit when the King approaches.
    Polonius drags me upward from the stones.
    And then—a sentence handed down upon me far worse than even death: the King declares that Hamlet go to England! My knees buckle now in earnest. When Claudius turns to Polonius to beg his opinion, I summon strength to flee.
    Up a winding stair, and fleet across the stony floor to Hamlet’s chamber, to tell him of Claudius’s decree to banish him. We must now speed our plan to action and implicate the King. Surely that will save us.
    I am poised to pound upon the door when it swings open.
    â€œHamlet …”
    â€œLove!” He gathers me in his arms and twirls me. “Were we not most expert at our game? Aye, perhaps you did milk it overmuch at the finale … .”
    (He chooses a poor time to be a critic!) “Good my lord, please …”

    â€œAnd returning my gift, a stroke of pure cunning, that!” He reaches within his shirt to remove the jeweled pendant and replaces it around my neck. “Take care that no one sees it again gracing your gracious form, as it will upset the fragile balance of this plan.”
    â€œUnderstood, my lord, but, please …”
    â€œSay naught,” he says, then whispers, “We shall talk later, once the play is done. I must go now to meet the players to ensure they do their parts as I imparted.”
    With a kiss, he rushes off, leaving me alone to keep my grim news to myself
    I take it with me to the stream.

CHAPTER SIX
    IT IS AS THOUGH HE KNEW TO EXPECT ME, FOR HE waits at the bank, singing.
    The gravedigger. My father.
    A great yearning yawns within me at the sight of him. As I approach, I notice that his coat is plain, frayed at the wrists, deeply stained with earth and grass. His hands too seem ingrained with the good brown of fresh dirt. He wears his work upon him, and I admire this. There is nothing ghoulish or macabre in his manner; rather, he has about him a quiet sincerity, a