Showing posts with label Originals. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Originals. Show all posts

Sunday, March 8, 2015

The Prince of Denmark-Chapter 9: The Serpent That Wears His Crown

The feeling of unease instantly hit the ebony prince as he landed on the ground below Elsinore's ramparts, and it grew exponentially as the ghost led him farther away from the castle and into the forest behind it.

Increasingly becoming terrified of the apparition once more, Hamlet came to a halt. Trembling, he inquired, "Where are you taking me? Speak. I will go no further."

The ghost then turned to face the prince, as he replied, "Mark me."

The onyx hedgehog flinched upon hearing the ghost's deathly, guttural voice, but he replied as steadily as he could, "I will."

"My hour is almost come," the spectre continued, "when I to sulfurous and tormenting flames must render up myself."

"Alas, poor ghost!" Hamlet cried.

"Pity me not, but lend thy serious hearing to what I shall unfold."

"Speak. I am bound to hear you."

"So art thou to revenge when thou shalt hear."

"What?"

"I am thy father's spirit, doomed for a certain term to walk the night and for the day confined to fast in fires, till the foul crimes done in my days of nature are burnt and purged away.

"But that I am forbid to tell the secrets of my prison house. I could a tale unfold whose lightest word would harrow up thy soul, freeze thy young blood, make thy two eyes, like stars, start from their spheres, thy knotted and combined locks to part, and each particular quill to stand on end, like those upon the fearful *porpentine."

The ebony prince had begun to tremble once again, yet the spectre continued, "But this eternal blazon must not be to ears of flesh and blood. List, list, O, list! If thou didst ever thy dear father love-"

"Oh God!" the prince exclaimed, whose senses were getting extremely overwhelmed.

"Revenge his foul and most unnatural murder," the ghost stated simply.

"M-murder?"

"Murder most foul, as in the best it is. But this most foul, strange and unnatural."

"Then I ask you to make haste and tell me about it, so that I, with wings swift as medication or thoughts of love, may be able to extract vengeance," the hedgehog replied, finally steadying himself and glaring in determination.

"I find thee apt," the apparition replied, with what looked like a ghost of a smile creeping onto its face, "And duller shouldst thou be than the fat weed that roots itself in ease on **Lethe wharf, wouldst thou not stir in this.

"Now, Hamlet, hear. 'Tis given out that, sleeping in my orchard, a serpent stung me," the apparition resumed his deep scowl once more, "So the whole ear of Denmark is by a forged process of my death rankly abused. But know, thou noble youth, the serpent that did sting thy father's life now wears his crown."

"O my prophetic soul! My uncle?" Hamlet cried, his worst fears and greatest suspicions seemingly confirmed.

"Ay, that incestuous, that adulterate beast," the ghost spat out venomously, "with witchcraft of his wit, with traitorous gifts-O wicked wits and gifts, that have the power so to seduce-won to his shameful lust the will of my most seeming-virtuous queen.

"O Hamlet, what a falling off was there!" it continued, its voice now filled with anguish, "From me, whose love was of that dignity that it went hand in hand even with the vow I made to her in marriage, and to decline upon a wretch whose natural gifts were poor to those of mine.

"But virtue," it continued, at once filled with sorrow and anger, "as it never will be moved, though lewdness court it in a shape of heaven, so lust, though to a radiant angel linked, will sate itself in a celestial bed and prey on garbage.

"But soft! Methinks I scent the morning air. Brief let me be," the apparition cocked its head to the east, and sure enough, a smudge of lighter blue was creeping from the horizon.

The spectre turned to face the ebony hedgehog and began again, now with more urgency, "Sleeping in my orchard, my custom always of the afternoon, upon my secure hour thy uncle stole with juice of cursed ^hebenon in a vial, and in the porches of my ears did pour the leperous distilment, whose effect holds such an enmity with blood of man that, swift as quicksilver it courses through the natural gates and alleys of the body, and with a sudden vigor doth posset and curd, like eager droppings into milk, the thin and wholesome blood.

"So did it mine," the ghost said, anger seeping into its voice once more, "And a most instant tetter barked about, most lazar-like, with vile and loathsome crust all my smooth body. Thus was I, sleeping, by a brother's hand, of life, of crown, of queen at once dispatched, cut off even in the blossoms of my sin, unhouseled, disappointed, unaneled. No reckoning made, but sent to my account with all my imperfections on my head. Oh, horrible, oh, horrible, most horrible!

"If thou hast nature in thee, bear it not," Hamlet flinched as he felt the apparition's voice suddenly reek of despair, it was practically begging, "Let not the royal bed of Denmark be a couch for luxury and damned incest. But howsoever thou pursuest this act, taint not thy mind, nor let thy soul contrive against thy mother aught. Leave her to heaven, and to those thorns that in her bosom lodge to prick and sting her."

Hamlet flinched once again as he saw the apparition's eyes grow wide, "Fare thee well at once. The glowworm shows the matin to be near, and 'gins to pale his ineffectual fire. Adieu, adieu, adieu! Remember me!" it cried, bidding the hedgehog one last anguished farewell before it faded into nothingness.

It was then that the inky blackness of night was broken once again by the fiery luminescence of day, banishing shadows far and wide.

A/N: I guess I should put a disclaimer here so I don't get shot at or kidnapped by The Copyright SWAT team or something. I own not a single cell of any of the Sonic characters used in this story, SEGA and/or Archie Comics do. Also, the story of Hamlet is not owned by me either, although no one really knows who owns it and therefore can take credit for being the original author because Shakespeare's scripts of it are but his own stage adaptation of an ancient story/stories whose origins and credibility are still being debated today.

*Porcupine.
**A river in the Underworld that induces forgetfulness, according to Ancient Greek mythology.
^The actual identity of the plant/poison that Shakespeare meant to use as a poison in Hamlet has been debated for centuries, though the most common theories of its identity include yew (as most parts of a yew tree are toxic, as well as for the symptoms described as being similar to those detailed by Edmund Spenser, an English poet from before Shakespeare was born), henbane (another toxic plant), and ebony (as it was commonly spelled with an "h" during the time "Hamlet" was being written).

Saturday, January 3, 2015

Lesser of Two Evils-Chapter 3: For A Reason

The debate had been going on for days on end, or so it seemed to Locke. The Guardian wished for nothing more than to resume his experiments, for though it may not bear any great rewards in the long run, it would be better than merely sitting and arguing. However, Locke shook himself awake and tuned back in to the conversation at hand.

"...long-forbidden technologies, such as his experiments with biological enhancements, are forbidden for a reason," came Tobor, who surprisingly seemed to be the main opposition in the debate, but for what reason, no one was really sure. Locke had to suppress every urge to knock him out cold.

"I concur. Father Tobor does have a point," came the deep and rather intimidating voice of Spectre. Locke was not surprised in the least of Spectre's views, as the topic of technology and biological manipulations in particular was a touchy subject with him.

"But," came Sabre's voice, "times are changing, Grandfather Tobor, and as important as traditions are, I believe that there comes a time when tradition must be broken. And let us bear in mind, Haven is not exactly indicative of our naturalistic customs."

Locke internally beamed with hope. There was something about your father agreeing and sharing radical views with you that made everything less of a nightmare.

"Yes, but the time for tradition to break depends on whether or not it is for the greater good," snapped the elderly Hawking, who up until that point had not spoken much.

Locke finally broke his silence.

"And thinking of the safety of my son and the universe isn't for the greater good, then?" the Guardian snapped back.

"My dear boy," Sojourner replied, unfazed by Locke's outburst, "thinking of the welfare of your future son is all well and good, but aren't your methods a little overkill?"

"Not if you've seen what I've seen, Grandfather Sojourner," the younger echidna replied, his expression darkening.

"Oh?" Tobor retaliated, his voice dripping with sarcastic skepticism, "Then please, tell us all about what you've seen."

"Only the horror of seeing your own son obliterated right in front of your eyes," Locke growled, "If only you could've seen him; such bravery and strength, in the face of so unspeakable and terrifying an adversary," he began chuckling darkly, "How I would pointlessly bellow his name in a vain attempt to save him.

"The Ancient Walkers have granted me this vision, or so I've been told by Grandfather Athair," Locke did not need to turn to know that his father's expression had darkened at the mention of Athair's name, but he continued anyway, "for it seems that that scenario can be prevented, but only if we take action now."

"And Sabre agrees to that, though it comes from such an-ah-difficult source?" Tobor retorted, still woefully disbelieving; he was really beginning to grate on Locke's nerves.

"I agree...with Locke," came Sabre, "and by extension my father, and the Ancient Walkers. For though we have our differences, Father Athair is a wise echidna, and has a good, personal rapport with the Walkers. Remember that they do exist on the same plane as the great Aurora, Grandfather Tobor, and for good reason."

Tobor remained silent after that, as did the rest of the Brotherhood, who were letting Sabre's words sink in slowly.

Finally, Hawking broke the silence, "All those in favor of letting Locke resume his practices, maybe this time with a little bit of help," he flashed a grin at the younger echidna, "say 'aye.'"

The entire Brotherhood-even Tobor-in one unanimous, unwavering voice, uttered an "aye."

A/N: I own neither hide nor hair nor circuit nor shard of any of the Mobians/robotic mechs/objects of power mentioned in the above story. SEGA and/or Archie Comics do.

Sunday, November 16, 2014

The Prince of Denmark-Chapter 8: Go On, I'll Follow

"The air is shrewd and bitingly cold," the ebony prince complained, scowling as he snuggled underneath the collar-line of his jacket in an attempt to shield his face from the wind.

"Yes, it's quite a nippy and eager wind, isn't it?" Horatio replied, himself shivering as well.

"What is the hour?" Hamlet inquired, growing steadily more impatient and agitated. The loud music and pungent smell of booze emanating from Elsinore's ballroom was not helping ease the prince's mood one bit.

"It is just shy of midnight, I believe," the blue hedgehog replied, taking note of his friend's dirty glances towards the raucous sounds originating from the grand ballroom.

"Non, it 'as already struck twelve," Marcellus piped up.

"Really?" Horatio quipped, "I heard it not over the clamor. So then, the hour that the ghost should appear is drawing nigh-"

Horatio was abruptly cut off as the royal trumpets blared their flourish-though sloppily, hinting at how intoxicated the players were-which was then followed by two loud BANGs as a pair of cannons were fired.

"What is the meaning of this, my lord?" the azure hedgehog asked, slightly alarmed by the sounds of flourish and ordnance.

Unfazed and further irked, Hamlet replied, "Placate yourself! It is but the sound of the king and his merry band of fools drinking and dancing the night away.

"Hear the musicians, they blare their trumpets and kettle-drums to celebrate his prodigious guzzling of German draughts," he snapped, rubbing his temples; he really was starting to get a migraine.

"Is it a custom?" Horatio asked.

"Marry, it is," the ebony prince sighed, "But to myself, though I am native to this land and its customs, I believe these traditions were better ignored rather than practiced. This rowdy revel gives other nations ammunition to traduce us, calling us drunkards and swine, and insulting our noble titles. Indeed, it does take a toll on our achievements, significant and great though they may be, and tarnishes our reputation.

"For so oft does it strike a few certain unfortunate, that for some anomaly of nature within them, placed upon them at birth (for which they are not at fault, since not a single individual can choose or control their origins), or for some abnormal habits are they looked upon with heavy judgement. It so happens that those who carry the stamp of one tiny defect, as wonderful and virtuous and talented and pure as grace though they may be otherwise, face the wrathful censure of everyone around them. As if the tiniest grain of evil towers over every single one of their most virtuous facets and casts deep shadows on all of their greatest achievements."

Hamlet's eyes then widened in shock as a ghostly figure suddenly appeared before the three men.

"Look, my lord," Horatio cried, pointing to the pearlescent apparition, "it comes!"

"Angels and ministers of grace, defend us!" the black hedgehog cried, crossing himself frantically, 

"Being either a spirit of health or a goblin damned, bringing either Heaven's breezes or blasts of Hellfire, here with intentions either wicked or charitable, you come in such a strange and bizarre shape that I have the burning desire to speak to you.

"I'll call you 'Hamlet,' 'King,' 'Father,' 'royal Dane.' O answer me! Let me not burst in ignorance, but declare to me why your canonized bones have burst through your coffin; why your tomb, where we have witnessed you being interred, has reopened its marble jaws and spat you out into the world of the living once more? What may this mean, that your corpse has 'taken up arms' yet again, catching glimpses of the moon, making the night hideously terrifying and we fools of nature to tremble in our boots, with thoughts of nothing but the domain beyond the reach of our souls? Why? What do you want from us?"

The Ghost said nothing, but motioned for a trembling Hamlet to come towards it.

"It beckons for you to go away with it," said Horatio, "It's as if it wishes to impart something to you and you alone."

"Look 'ow courteously it waves you toward more removed ground," Marcellus said shakily, "Do not go with it, s'il vous plait."

"No, by no means," the azure hedgehog interjected.

"But it will not speak otherwise. So, I shall follow it," the onyx hedgehog declared, at last regaining control over his trembling.

"Do not, my lord," Horatio replied vehemently.

"And why not?" the prince snapped, "What should be there for me to fear? I value my life no more than a murderer values the life of his victims. And as for my soul-well, a ghost cannot possibly do much to something as immortal as itself, can it? Look, it beckons to me to come forth again. I'll follow it."

"But what if it tempts you towards the sea?" the azure hedgehog shot back, "What if it draws you toward the summit of the cliff overhanging it, and once there, assume some horrible form to drive you mad? Think of it. The very place makes even the most level-headed of men feel despair to just look at the fathoms upon fathoms that is its depth, and to hear its roar beneath them."

"It still waves to me," Hamlet replied, all but ignoring Horatio's protests.

"Go on," the ebony prince bellowed to the Ghost, "I'll follow."

"You shall not go, sire," Marcellus crowed as he and the cobalt hedgehog began to restrain the prince.

"Let go of me!" Hamlet cried, desperately trying to break free from the combined grip of the other hedgehog and the coyote.

"Peace, my lord! You're not going anywhere," Horatio retorted.

"My fate cries out," the prince cried, a glint of madness and desperation in his eyes as he squirmed even more under the other men's unwavering grip, "and all the nerves in my body, have become as hardy as steel. Still, I am called. Unhand me gentlemen!"

Hamlet then manages to break free of his captors and quickly draws his sword, while the other two could do nothing but back away from him, for Prince Hamlet's name was near-legendary when it came to the art of swordfighting.

"By Heaven do I swear," he began, "I shall make a ghost of he who dares hold me back. Get away!

"Go on ahead," he repeated to the Ghost, "I'll follow."

And with that, the onyx hedgehog leaps off of the battlement, landing neatly on the snow-flecked ground below. The pale apparition then drifts further away, with the ebony prince in tow.

"He waxes desperate and insane with imagination," Horatio pipes up, alarmed at the sudden turn of events.

"Let us follow zem," Marcellus replied, "It is not right to obey 'is order to leave 'im be."

"Go ahead," the azure hedgehog said, "But to what will this all lead to? When will it end?"

"Somesing is rotten in ze state of Denmark," the sentry replied darkly.

"Then let us let Heaven direct it then," the hedgehog retorted.

"Non," Marcellus declared, drawing his sword, "let us follow 'im."

A/N: I guess I should put a disclaimer here so I don't get shot at or kidnapped by The Copyright SWAT team or something. I own not a single cell of any of the Sonic characters used in this story, SEGA and/or Archie Comics do. Also, the story of Hamlet is not owned by me either, although no one really knows who owns it and therefore can take credit for being the original author because Shakespeare's scripts of it are but his own stage adaptation of an ancient story/stories whose origins and credibility are still being debated today.

Sunday, November 2, 2014

The Hallowed Light of Home

None take notice
of the lamp that swings,
a guiding light
even on the darkest night,
stagger forward
with a shiver in your spine,
as wind whips and
the sounds of horror
abound.

Up and down,
orange and black,
the smell of cavities
and cheap
dollar store make-up.

And all around,
all you see
are the ghosts
and the monsters,
the witches
and all manner of damned characters.

But you remain resilient,
and push forward,
searching,
determinedly seeking out 
the light that leads home.

Happy (belated) Halloween, you candy-crazy beasts.

Thursday, October 23, 2014

Freedom

This shouldn't have had to happen.

No one should have died,
no one should have shot rounds,
no one should have to grieve,
for a nation, and the world, to become united.

But alas, it has happened,
and it is a reminder to all
of the fragile freedoms
we enjoy and take for granted.

Today shines as a dark day,
as it so dims to a bright night,
on the strength of us all,
wavering but never extinguishing.

It has happened, and now,
we must ensure,
that it never happens again,
not here, not anywhere.

R.I.P. Corporal Nathan Cirillo and Warrant Officer Patrice Vincent. We thank you for your generous sacrifice. I hope you're both having poutines with God right about now.

Good Riddance

If I died right now, 
say, by being run over 
or poisoned or stabbed 
or something, 
would you mourn for me 
if and when you eventually found out? 

Or would you mentally scream 
"good riddance" like everyone else would?

Letters To A Certain No One #7

Dear Certain No One,

Three years is both a very long time and a tiny portion of history.

Maybe I'm being a little bit dramatic about this, but I have mixed feelings about how close you've suddenly gotten physically.

Maybe I'm excited about how we live under the same snow-prone sky and in such close proximity, while at the same time, you could be everywhere I am nowhere.

Maybe I'm scared that you'll grow to hate what I've become after all this time. Or worse, you couldn't care less about my existence.

Maybe, just maybe.

But I really want to see you again.

And if I am to put my mind at ease, I'll HAVE to see you again.

Sincerely,
A Certain Other No One

Sunday, October 19, 2014

Never Let Her Go-Chapter 1: Prologue Part I

Run, run, run!

That single mantra was the one thing at the forefront of the young hedgehog's mind.

Running through vast valleys, up steep mountains, and past open fields, the hedgehog couldn't help but let his thoughts wander. Out here, at this speed, he felt free. The next moment, however, the blue hedgehog snapped his attention back to his destination: Never Lake.

It would seem that the ruthless Robotnik was once again threatening to destroy and dominate Little Planet-at the very least, before he moved on to conquer the world-which was chained to a mountain with a hideously carved bust of him, located on the shoreline of Never Lake, with the intent of stripping away the freedoms and demolishing the natural habitats of the satellite's residents. And of course, who better to stop him than the one and only Blue Blur, Sonic the Hedgehog?

Run, run run!

Turn over the first card. The Fool. The starting point. Interpreted as the self. Starting with the self, and questioning what is to become of it.

Turn over the second card. The King of Cups. A man I could potentially meet. Interpreted as a possible romantic partner. Is romance the future for the self?

Turn over the third card. The Queen of Swords. A strong, noblewoman I could meet in the future. Interpreted as a voice of reason, stability and strength. Will she be significant enough to keep the self sturdy?

Turn over the fourth card. The sixth trump card, The Lovers. Interpreted as what it is about: love and relationships. Will the self have to rely on romance to have a purpose in life?

Turn over the fifth card. The Three of Swords. Interpreted as a heart pierced in three. Will the heart of the self be split by three?

Turn over the sixth card. The third trump card, the High Priestess. Interpreted as knowingness and love. Will the self be wiser due to its romantic encounters?

Turn over the seventh card. The seventh trump card, The Chariot. Interpreted as a strong, resilient force. Will wisdom from romance come from such a strong and unwavering source?

A young Amy Rose sat back and pondered over her latest tarot card reading, which was eerily similar to most of her recent readings about her own future.

Each reading would yield a similar result: Amy Rose, looking for a sense of purpose in her often empty and miserable life, will find it in her own princely chariot.

She had heard the stories, and watched the news reports. How both South Island and the Floating Island were briefly taken over by some mad human scientist, and how he had seemingly swooped in to save the day, time after glorious time. She was certain he was the princely chariot she so desperately needed.

And now, as she ran off towards Never Lake, she was hoping Sonic the Hedgehog would carry her away as soon as possible.

As far as the eye could see were palm trees lining the forest-or, what was left of it, at least. Sonic could not help but notice and cringe at the fact that a significant amount of the surrounding greenery was robotized and made metal.

To the hedgehog, the doctor's evil knew no bounds.

He set off quickly, in an effort to reach the mad genius' fortress, and hopefully restore at least some of the satellite's former natural beauty.

Amy Rose panted as she flopped onto the ground, exhausted from her climb up the chain that bound Little Planet to the mountain where Doctor Robotnik's hideous face was carved onto. She then winced as she felt cold metal make contact with her back.

After getting up and brushing herself off, the pink hedgehog gasped as she noticed how most of the landscape she was on was made of metal. Amy Rose had heard of the evil scientist's methods and ideologies but she had never imagined him to ever take it to the extent that he would robotize every living thing in sight. Momentarily forgetting why she had laboriously trudged towards Little Planet in the first place, she stalked off, seeking Sonic in the hope that he would let her help him defeat 
Robotnik.

She didn't travel very far to find what she sought after.

Sonic couldn't believe his eyes. Before him was an actual, live, sentient, non-metallic being who was not robotized to begin with.

The blue hedgehog slowed his pace down to a very light jog; he didn't want to frighten the poor thing. Now that he came to think of it, Sonic realized that it was not a thing, it was a hedgehog, and it was a girl. Sonic saw her ear twitch as she heard his footsteps approaching. But before the cobalt hedgehog had time to even call out the other, the girl turned around and squealed.

"Sonikku!" she cried out, making poor Sonic nearly jump out of his own skin. Funny, he was the one making the effort to not startle her, yet she was the one who scared him.

Amy could not believe how attractive Sonic looked. Sure, she had seen pictures from the news and stuff, but it was nothing compared to seeing him in person. As expected, he was cute and adorable, but he was also beginning to look quite handsome. That, combined with his unwavering heroism, was enough for Amy to go head over heels the moment she laid eyes on him. Impulse essentially quelling all rational thought, she lunged at Sonic, fully intending to at least hug him, if not, kiss him.

Sonic yelped as the hedgehog girl dove straight for him. Expecting an attack, he shut his eyes and braced for the worst, only to find that he was being hugged, and quite tightly too. His face then flushed to a deep crimson as he became half-embarassed and half-asphyxiated within the girl's embrace.

She would be cute if she wasn't so clingy, Sonic thought. He blushed even harder as he realized the sentence he had just formulated in his mind.

A/N: I could only wish I owned Sonic and co. I would be so rich and so able to pay off my tuition fees and student loans. But I don't. SEGA and/or Archie Comics do.

Also, sincere apologies if my understanding and description of tarot card reading is completely wrong. I only read Wikipedia articles on it because I'm not exactly sure I know anyone who knows even the slightest bit about it. I only included it because it was kinda essential to this whole story idea shindig thang.

Wednesday, October 8, 2014

The Prince of Denmark-Chapter 7: Tenders and Vows

Polonius waited until Laertes' carriage had fully departed, which left only him and Ophelia standing in the front courtyard of the castle grounds.

Being a preternaturally curious man-some would even go so far as to describe him as being "nosy"-Polonius turned to his daughter, wanting to ask what his children were discussing beforehand.

"What is it Ophelia, that your brother had said to you that was important enough for him to ask for you to swear it be locked away in your heart?" he asked the pink hedgehog.

Again, Ophelia groaned inwardly, for however much she despised discussing the matter of Prince Hamlet and his advances on her with Laertes, she absolutely loathed discussing it with her oft-overbearing father that much more. Swallowing her trepidation, she replied evenly and bluntly, "If it so please you, it was the subject of Lord Hamlet."

"And thank Heavens he did," Polonius barked out sharply, which made the rose-colored hedgehog flinch, though the cobalt blue hedgehog took no notice and spun on his heel, walking back towards Elsinore, "I have heard of rumors that speak of Lord Hamlet seeking to spend an awful lot of private time with you as of late, and that you've made yourself quiteavailable to him," Ophelia turned her head to hide her growing blush, but Polonius either ignored it or was completely oblivious to it, for he continued, "If it be so-and my sources only inform me of this out of caution-then I must say, you are not conducting enough self-restraint that any daughter of mine should show."

The elder hedgehog suddenly grasped his daughter's hands in his own, and turned her so that they were forced to make eye contact. Ophelia yelped at her father's movements and quivered in trepidation as she now could not hide the dark blush that had shaded her muzzle almost beyond the pink of her fur.

Taking note of her almost color-blended face, Polonius asked, with as little tension as he could, "What is between you two? Tell me the truth."

Ophelia decided to answer simply, "He has, as of late, made many tenders of his affection to me."

"Affection!" Polonius barked and, throwing Ophelia's hands away, resumed walking, again making the maiden yelp before following in his stead, though a few paces behind, "Pooh! You speak like a green girl, unaware and ignorant to the ways of the world. Don't tell me you believe in these 'tenders,' as you call them."

Deciding to answer honestly, the pink hedgehog replied, "I know not what I should believe, father."

"Marry, I'll tell you," the elder hedgehog snapped over his shoulder, "Think of yourself as a foolish little infant, should you take these 'tenders' as true pay, for they are far from sterling.Tender and respect yourself more dearly, or-not to beat the poor word to death-you'll tender me a laughing-stock."

"Father, he has always spoken of love in an honorable fashion-" Ophelia began, but stopped as she was interrupted by her father.

"Ay, 'fashion' you may call it-a passing whim," Polonius remarked sarcastically. Seeing he had halted his daughter mid-sentence, he then urged her, "Go on."

"He gives countenance to his word, with the holiest of vows," Ophelia continued, now with a slight hint of vehemence laced into her response.

Though slightly taken aback by his daughter's retort, Polonius unwaveringly shot back, "Ay, these 'vows' are but springes to ensnare stupid birds. When blood burns, how a man's soul succumbs to enough prodigality to lend his tongue ridiculous vows. When the heart itself burns, giving more light than heat, the fire shall be extinct long before his promises are even made. You must not mistake it for the fires of true love.

"From this moment onward, make your maiden presence scant to him, and treat him not to your tongue. Make yourself out to be the precious commodity you should be," the cobalt hedgehog ordered, rounding on his daughter once more, "Remember that young Lord Hamlet walks with a larger tether than may be given to you."

Ophelia, still slightly flushed, looked about ready to argue with her father, but Polonius raised a hand and spoke again, neutering her ability to do so, "In few, Ophelia, believe not his vows, for they are akin to mere pimps; donning suits and acting like pious bawds, the better to beguile women into a fling of indecency.

"Simply put, waste not any more time with the Lord Hamlet. Look to see it be done. Now, come," he commanded, turning on his heel one final time and marching into the halls of Elsinore.

"I shall obey, father," Ophelia replied, though Polonius was already well out of earshot.

But Ophelia already knew that he knew she wouldn't disobey him, not before, and certainly not now.

A/N: I guess I should put a disclaimer here so I don't get shot at or kidnapped by The Copyright SWAT team or something. I own not a single cell of any of the Sonic characters used in this story, SEGA and/or Archie Comics do. Also, the story of Hamlet is not owned by me either, although no one really knows who owns it and therefore can take credit for being the original author because Shakespeare's scripts of it are but his own stage adaptation of an ancient story/stories whose origins and credibility are still being debated today.

Thursday, October 2, 2014

Letters To A Certain No One #6

Dear Certain No One,

Apart from those few fleeting moments in middle school of what could be considered "kindness," you've been nothing but a completely cold jackass to me.

First of all, the one class we had together in sophomore year was a hellhole because of you. Now, you acknowledge me in much the same way you would acknowledge still air. It's like I'm dead to you.

Not that I'm complaining, because guess what? I don't care, for you've long been dead in my eyes.

Sincerely,
A Certain Other No One

Letters To A Certain No One #5

Dear Certain No One,

I have steeled myself against crying in public to the point that I cannot shed tears unless I'm by myself. And even then I struggle to choke them back and force them to evaporate, rather than stain my cheeks and sting my eyes.

I'm not blaming you specifically, because the whole world shares the blame.

Sincerely,
A Certain Other No One

Sunday, September 28, 2014

Letters To A Certain No One #4

Dear Certain No One,

I'm all for expressing yourself, but you take it beyond what you should. You're too obnoxious, too in-your-face. Independence does not equal alienation and antagonization of the people around you.

Sincerely,
A Certain Other No One

Letters To A Certain No One #3

Dear Certain No One,

Don't give me that "it'll be fine" bullshit line. I know for a fact that it will either turn out okay or I'll get used to it, and I know that it'll happen in the future. Right now, however, the least you could do is let me trust you enough to be a shoulder to cry on, and not an alarm blaring "shut up and stop being a little bitch about it" at me.

They say that chivalry is dead, and guess what? You're just another nail in its coffin and another shovelful of dirt in its grave.

Sincerely
A Certain Other No One

Old Man Elm

There, Old Man Elm stands,
tall and proud,
upon his head,
a golden crown.

And at his feet,
the blades dance,
grass rippling in rhythm,
as if wishing to entrance.

And at his sides,
his arms reach skyward,
gnarled limbs in support of life itself,
leading nature onward.

There, Old Man Elm stands,
tall and proud,
so mighty and majestic,
yet making nary a sound.

Happy Fall guys! May your leaves be crunchy and your pumpkin spice lattes be pumpkin spice latte-y!

Letters To A Certain No One #2

Dear Certain No One,

Maybe, just maybe, I'm too used to noticing people becoming annoyed by me.

It's the way their eyes slowly drift off, focus elsewhere, or the hollow enthusiasm, or lack thereof, in a person's voice, usually accompanied by concise, one-word answers. It's the way they prop their chin on their palm, with no emotion of any kind etched onto their face.

Maybe I just don't interest them enough as a person, or maybe I'm just too overbearing to be sociable with.

Please, do accept my apology, but do you really deserve it? Do you know how hard it is for me, in situations of social interaction, to be engaged and active, because if there's one thing I hate, it's being the "quiet" one among a group of otherwise acquainted strangers. Never mind among people whose existence I am aware of and my existence theirs, but don't exactly talk or interact often, in which case it's worse. What's even worse than that is that I feel I miss out. I miss out on making friends. I miss out on strengthening my existing friendships. I miss out on all of the great and wonderful things I could be doing, all because I am now afraid.

And really, I have you to thank for that, so thank you.

Sincerely,
A Certain Other No One

Letters To A Certain No One #1

Dear Certain No One,

Lately I find myself in that grey area in between happy and sad. As if I contain a mixture of both, but at the same time, completely devoid of either.

But maybe it's just a telltale sign of exhaustion.

Sincerely,
A Certain Other No One

Grey Area

The world is not cut
in two equal halves
and neither is it
halved in black in white.

Never so strongly
do I feel that than now,
neither happy nor sad,
but in the grey area in between.

Think me not as overjoyed,
and neither am I deeply morose,
think of me as more unsure,
and torn and conflicted.

Like I've been hit
with a wave of static,
the charge enough to upset,
but not enough to last.

Collide And Diminish

The room transforms,
yet it remains the same as ever.

Where there had once been
several warm bodies,
there is now nothing
but time and space,
on the verge of freezing.

Space becomes nonexistent,
and time becomes but
something out of a dream.

But how could it exist in dreams,
for right now, I dream
my greatest and most cherished dream.

Further collision,
and further diminishing
of the concept of space itself.

Space exists not between us.

For we merge.

We are one.

We are whole.

We are here.

Break The Ice

Friendship is much
like water.

When people say
"break the ice,"
it implies separation.
You and the other,
submerged in waters,
and separated only
by a layer of ice.

Though what people neglect to say,
is that you can also create more ice,
create more separation.
Turn one layer
into a completely frozen channel.

By then, "breaking the ice"
is but a means
to turn it all into vapor,
nothing more than invisible water.

Wednesday, September 17, 2014

Worth Less

Look through the lens
and see what I see.
An idiot, a peasant,
a queen,
a sentimental fool,
and a complete asshole.

Feeling worthless,
feeling like you're worth less
than the penny you have
clutched in dirty,
hypocritical,
narcissistic,
and overbearing hands.

The feeling has won.

It won the moment it showed up.

Think not of me as wanting
pity, attention, or something
so petty.

Think of me as wanting
another soul to spill to,
another channel to flow through.

Though of course,
I myself was the only option.