Disclaimer: I don't own RetJ, nor I own the original version and it's characters. It belonged to Gerard Presgurvic and Shakespear, no matter how much I want a charming and sexy Mercutio to myseft.
AN: Lately, I had became obsess with RetJ, and these small, tiny ideas just pop out randomly from nowhere. I'll use mostly the French and the Hungarian versions, some time others, and maybe even AU.
Review are highly appreciate.
Summary: Romeo's thoughts as he watched Mercutio died.
Romeo turned around, and watched as Mercutio fell down.
He hadn't understood the Capulets' laugh at first, but then, Tybalt threw something at his feet. It was Romeo's dagger, stained with blood. Romeo turned around in horror.
He turned around, and watched as Mercutio fell down, crimson stain on his blue shirt.
The Montagues' anguish cries filled the street, but Romeo heard none of it. He didn't fell much, either. All that left was Merutio's voice, still echoed in his ears, was Mercutio's body, now limp in his arms, was Mercutio's blood, the bright red, still luke-warn blood on his hands. And water. Cold water that surrounded him, pulled he down into the darkness. And Romeo longed to do some thing, anything, anything to let out the pain that filled his inside and drew the air in, to just breath, because, God, right now he couldn't.
Then, there was (or wasn't there?) another sound, just a low buzz at first, then slowly became more distinguisable. Laughter. And everything rushed back at him. The Capulets. The fight. Tybalt. And he thought no more. No law, no peace between the families, no beloved Juliet, nor her dear cousin, who was now also his cousin. Nothing, except for the urge to do something, and then, may be, may be, he could finally be freed from this agony. So he picked up the nearest weapon (his dagger, the one with Mercutio's blood on it) and lauched.