In the project, it required that I add a newspaper article and this chapter started with it.  However it was totally out of place and written just like an article and not at all like something out of the Elizabethan era, so I took it out.  Nyeeeh!

From the Other Side

By Moony

            God does exist, and it's clear that he hates me now more than ever.   I was angered by the common Capulet arrogance and by Romeo's apparent cowardice, and allowed myself to be provoked into a fight with the villainy known as Tybalt. 

            I know I died.  I felt my mortal body fade away around me as my spirit was released into my surroundings.  I saw my own corpse, lying below me – quite a handsome fellow – and I saw Romeo raise my sword and thrust it in the Capulet's direction.  And all the while, I thought 'Bit slow, aren't you, fair Romeo?'

            But then something happened.  I thought he was speaking for it was clear and loud in my ear (a feature which, truly, I no longer have) but I soon came to realize that Romeo's lips did not move as I heard the words, and I knew – you disgusting volume of my thoughts – I knew that the words were not spoken aloud, but in my dear friend's mind!

            'For my dearest Juliet,' He thought, 'I withheld from violence and extended a courteous hand.  But for my dearest Mercutio, I'll not hesitate to end your life.  Forgive me, Juliet.'

            I was so shocked that I barely responded to Tybalt's spirit, whom disappeared in a flash of light, and I care not that I hadn't vanished, as well.  It does not matter that God deem me inappropriate for whatever place that awaits wandering spirits.  I will endure the trials of limbo in order to make sure that Romeo does not fail.

Even if he loves a Capulet!  

For, surely, anyone who loves Romeo in return is a friend of mine.  I returned home quickly, sinister book, though I do not recall how.  Much like flying, I expect, but quicker than even the pride of the King's falcons.  I knew that I had to deal with all the obstacles – and that also meant my fool of a kinsman, the nephew of Escalus's first wife (Perhaps she wanders the halls as a restless spirit, and I should meet her and wish my regards.)  He'd been smitten with the Capulet girl for as long as I could remember, and I hoped, somehow, to sway his emotions.  Of course, my presence went unnoticed.  I am, after all, a ghost.   But this is how I know the Lord despises me:  I can still write in this book!  Mere thought causes my script to appear on your infernal, blank pages.  Like a madman, I waste precious time telling my tale.  Perhaps in hopes of someone reading this and knowing the truth.  Also, I'd love to see Escalus's face when he discovers the written words of a dead man.


            I went to the friar who'd had them wed, and I blessed his soul.  He was a stout man and it made me wish I were a vengeful spirit or a poltergeist, so that I could pull his chair out from under him at laugh at his expense.  But solemn times call even for the dead to attend, and I refrained – most painfully – from causing mischief.  Rosaline was there, but I believe that being deceased allows me to ignore emotions like heartbreak, and I felt nothing at the sight of her.  At least the most merciful God felt it prudent to reward me in some way for my quest in uniting Romeo and his love. 

            I watched as the friar pondered things over, and I must admit he's cleverer than I first believed.  Those of faith must be able to hear the dead.  I'd tried to contact my hopelessly naïve relative, Paris, again, as he urgently requested Juliet's hand, but he turned a deaf ear.  Whispers of an apothecary, however, made sense to the friar, and he eagerly sent for one.  The potion I'd suggested came to him, and he paid his gold and pocketed the phial soundly.  I'd once used it in a page's teacup out of boredom, and he'd awakened cheerful three days later, much to the dismay of my kinsmen.  It was almost ten years ago, but it came to mind quickly at the stimulus of the friar's mumbling.

            Paris and Juliet are to be wed.  I imagine that the Capulet lady is feeling rather caught, as, if she has any morals, she knows she cannot marry again.  Juliet cannot run away until she has an escort, and Romeo is held at bay in Mantua to do the Black Death.

            I've seen the spirits of some victims of that nasty end.  They seem so depressed.  I would be, too, if I'd died of the plague.  They died among thousands, while at least I'm somewhat of an individual.  I met my end in a duel that wasn't even mine to begin with!  I would hope that that knowledge would provoke some laughter at my expense years from now.