Hi. Um, again. Sorry it was a looooooong wait…………yeah, well… here's the next installment. I obviously decided to continue this. Yay!!!
Benvolio is once again pacing the streets of Verona.
Benvolio: Oh! Sadness is mine again and yet again! How shall I strive to survive this very existence without mine company of the best?! Mine only solution, the cure to this poisonous world, should be…by cutting the very cord of mine life. Yes, it shall be the right choice, as it was for the others before!
Balthasar walks down the street and hears the end of Benvolio' s speech. He then sprints the remaining distance between them.
Balthasar: Oh dear Benvolio, what compels thou to say such corrupt words? Have thou no respect for the magic that continues the flame of your existence?
Benvolio: Ignorant boy, you know not! That magic that thou speak of, it is not the flame, but the bane of my existence! Oh, how I long to smother its glory in the fullest until it turns to gray coals that shall never burn again! Oh, how I long to kill it!
Balthasar (startled): Brother, no! Thou cannot extinguish thine self! I forbid it! In short, thou just needs a reason to add kindle to that very flame, not smother it! Anon! I have a reason at most! Meet mine company at the feast of the tragic Capulets at four and a quarter on the Tuesday next, and I shall show you the kindle thou are looking for.
Benvolio: Thou honestly propose that mine troubles should be calmed by a FEAST?! Happiness is thine boy; thou know not of the pain that strangles me. Ignorance is once again thine. Go and frolic in a field filled with it; to not know and understand the true hurt that cripples others. Go, and enjoy the obliviousness.
Balthasar: Brother, I mean no harm to thine self. I…
Benvolio: No, speak nothing of it. It is gone, like the wind. Ever changing, yet it will never come back.
Balthasar: Thou are wrong to say that the wind never returns, for it does. Especially on bright summer days in a city called Verona… Please, Benvolio, join mine self at this feast of Capels. It will help thine self.
Benvolio (reluctant): If this will stop thou from asking any more of me, I will consent.
Balthasar (relieved and joyful): I shall see thy face there. Adieu!
Benvolio: Oh heavens above, what have I agreed mine self to?