I Am

I am the ill-fitting puzzle piece,
I am the red in a sea of beige,
I am the clash note sung
in a different key.

The Prince of Denmark-Chapter 3: This Lovely Morning

"It is gone," Marcellus stated, "We wrong it with our show of violence towards it. Zen again, it is not like we could 'ave 'urt 'im, any more zan we can 'urt ze air we breathe. 'Owever, it was still a stupid, wicked and futile idea."

With a slightly deflated tone, Barnardo added, "It was about to speak too, had the cock not crowed."

"And then," Horatio chimed in, "it acted startled, as if it were a criminal, caught by the law. It has been said that the crow of a cock awakens the god of day, what with that trumpet-like call, and it scares all wandering ghosts near or far into scurrying back to their hiding places. We have just seen proof that it is true."

"Zey also say zat just before Christmas," continued Marcellus, "zey crow all night long, so zat ze night our Sauveur was born, no spirits dare stir, no planets strike, nor fairies cast spells, or witches able to charm. So 'allowed and gracious is za night."

"Yes gentlemen, I've heard of the same thing and believe it in part," Horatio interjected, "but it is not the Even of Christmas. It is but a normal day; look! The sun claws its way above those hills in the east, giving the sky around it a crimson bath. For now, let us leave this watch, and impart what we have witnessed tonight unto young Hamlet. He might have more fortune in trying to get the ghost to speak, should we find that the ghost can in fact speak. Do you not agree that the least we could do is tell him, if not to coerce the apparition to speak, then to do it out of our duty to him and love for him?"

"We shall do it. I know where we shall find 'im zis lovely morning," Marcellus said, emphasizing the adverb in a display of sarcasm.

---

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.

Still

I am silent.

You batter me,
beat me until my breaking point.

Every fibre of my being
screams at me to scream at you,
to retaliate, to fight back.

Still,
I do notihing but take it.

I am silent.

Date someone who is interested in you. I don't mean someone who thinks you're cute or funny. I mean someone who wants to know every insignificant detail about you. Someone who wants to read every word you write. Someone who wants to hear every note of your favorite song, and watch every scene of your favorite movie. Someone who wants to find every scar upon your body, and learn where each one came from. Someone who wants to know your favorite brand of toothpaste, and which quotes resonate deep inside your bones when you hear them. There is a difference between attraction and interest. Find the person who wants to learn every aspect of who you are, and hold onto them.

-Tumblr user stayy-for-tonight 

The Prince of Denmark-Chapter 2: The Cock's Crow

"I-it 'as c-come again!" Marcellus stammered, increasingly becoming terrified of the apparition.

"Looking just like the late King Hamlet," Barnardo deadpanned, seemingly unafraid, though he had gotten up from his seated position and gawked at the ghost with wide eyes.

"'Oratio, you are a man of intellectualism, are you not?" the coyote asked the blue hedgehog, who had also stood up.

"Does this spirit not look like the king to you, Horatio?" the purple chameleon asked.

Horatio, in a mixture of fear and fascination, replied, "Y-yes, most like our departed king."

The ghost looked at the three Danes expectantly, as if...

"It wants us to communicate with it," Barnardo stated.

"Ask 'im somesing, 'Oratio," the other sentry urged.

Horatio took a few tentative steps forward, his confidence and skepticism shattered, and in as strong and unwavering a voice as he could manage, he half-yelled to the ghost, "What are you that walk-er-fly so late at night and well into the morning hours, looking very much so like the late King Hamlet of Denmark, dressed as though he had just defeated King Fortinbras of Norway? By God and all of the heavens, I bid you-no-charge you; speak!"

By the end of Horatio's interrogation, the ghost had moved away from the battlements its interrogators were standing on, and inching even further away.

"It looks like you 'ave offended it," Marcellus stated.

"Stay! Speak! Speak, I charge you! Speak!" Horatio yelled louder and louder, until the last "speak" echoed even throughout the snow-covered castle grounds. The ghost had vanished from sight.

"Horatio, you are pale as that ghost and tremble all over!" Barnardo exclaimed, his voice laced with concern. Then, with a hint of smugness, he added, "Do you still think of us as delusional fools? Do you believe us now? And what are your thoughts on the matter?"

"I would swear to God," Horatio began, but paused as he swallowed a lump in his throat, "that had my own eyes not vouched for me and I saw it for myself, I would never have believed it."

"Is it not like ze old king?" Marcellus asked.

"Yes, Marcellus, as you are to yourself," he said, "Like I told the apparition, it was wearing the exact same armor the king had donned when he defeated Old Norway and claimed his land as part of our own, and he frowned, in similar fashion I think, to the way he scowled at the Polacks he was attacking. It's utterly and unnervingly uncanny."

Marcellus reiterated how it had been like this for the previous two nights as well, appearing always at the exact time, the ghost always silently scowling.

"I have the inexplicable feeling that this is an omen that predicts terrible misfortune for our country," Horatio said grimly.

"Well, joke me zis, why is it zat ze guard schedule is so strict and tight?" Marcellus began, "Why is Denmark building so many bronze cannons, especially with ze amount of weaponry we are buying from abroad? Why are ze shipbuilders working even through a Sunday? What is 'appening zat warrants working night and day like zat?"

"Well, if you have yet to hear the rumors, let me tell them to you," replied Horatio, "As you very well know, gentlemen, King Hamlet was Fortinbras of Norway's greatest rival. Fortinbras challenged our king to a battle, where the victor, on the basis of a valid legal document, would claim the other's land for his own. As you also know, Old Denmark defeated Old Norway. Now, Fortinbras' young son, Young Fortinbras, is a bold but rather inexperienced monarch. So, to boost himself and apparently his chances of reclaiming the land his father had lost to our late king, he has hired thugs from the most vile and lawless corners of Norway. As far as what I've heard, this is why we have been assigned this position up here, and why Denmark is in a fit state of unrest."

The three men discussed the omens they have seen and heard of and their potential meanings for the next several hours. By the end of it, they were all convinced that these omens and the faint whispers of war were no mere coincidences.

"I doubt whether or not those 'rumors' have stayed rumors, especially not now," Barnardo told his comrades with his back to them and his arms crossed, deep in thought, "It must explain why his ghost, of all the souls, was dressed in that armor, out of all the things he could have donned. For it is he who had created this war and the effect it's having on Denmark, and I'd hazard a guess that the people of Norway feel the same."

"It is defnitely an omen to watch," said Horatio, "For in the mighty Roman Empire, in the period before Julius Caesar's assassination, corpses tore through their graves and meandered about the city, speaking in gibberish. The stars shot across the sky like projectiles from a cannon. Blood became mixed in the dew you found in the morning, coating your greenery. The sun cast threatening faces while the moon became eclipsed so much that it almost ceased to exist. Julius Caesar's own wife had dreamt of the citizens bathing in the blood that poured out from his statue. And here in Denmark, omens that are as bad have surfaced and is spreading fear and unrest across the land. It's as if all of the heavens and the earth are warning us all they can about imminent and impending danger."

At that moment, the ghost reappeared, as if in agreement with Horatio's latter sentiment.

"But soft, behold! It has come again. I shall converse with it if it kills me," Horatio resolved," I demand that you stay, apparition!"

The ghost then does something that make all three flinch: it spreads its arms wide, as if to ensnare the chameleon, coyote, and hedgehog into a ghostly embrace, yet its face remained stony as ever.

"If you have a voice or can articulate any sort of sound, speak to me!" Horatio barked, then continued in a gentler tone, "If there is a deed with which to let your spirit rest in peace and bring me honor, speak to me! If you know anything about whatever ill fate is in store for Denmark, which could possibly be prevented by us knowing something, please, speak to me! If you've buried treasure in the womb of this planet, and treasure has been said to make ghosts restless, please say something! Stay and speak!"

Barnardo, and a few moments later Marcellus, noticed that a faint light was beginning to glow on the horizon. The cock would crow soon and the ghost would vanish if it does.

"Keep it from leaving, Marcellus," Horatio pleaded, getting more and more desperate by the second.

"Shall I strike it with my spear?" Marcellus inquired, priming the partisan in question.

Horatio, now panicking and losing all patience, cried, "If it does not stay put, then yes!"

At which point, the ghost floated away again.

Marcellus impulsively launched the spear at the apparition, but the ghostly figure just swerved out of the way.

"There it is!" bellowed Horatio.

It was then that dawn broke and that light seemed to flood from the horizon, and as the cock crowed to signal to the rest of Elsinore castle that the day had begun, for the ghost, it was its cue to vanish, leaving nothing in its wake but Marcellus' spear stuck to the ground below and three very distraught men, rooted to their spots atop the battlements.

---

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.

It is a rare thing to be so filled when the world conspires for you to be empty.

-Ruthanne Lantin 

The Prince of Denmark-Chapter 1: The Third Sighting

Act I

It was a much colder night than usual, even for a winter in Denmark. That, paired with the hushed silence that engulfed the grounds of Elsinore Castle, was enough for Francisco to grow wary of the silent darkness and weary of the spine-tingling chill. The green hawk snuggled himself further underneath his jacket, but to no avail.

"I loathe winters. Especially in Denmark," he groaned.

On top of everything, Francisco was having trouble focusing. His head was starting to pound, he was catching a cold, and he could feel his stomach churning slightly.

He could not wait to be relieved of duty tonight.

The midnight hour was fast approaching; "The Witching Hour," they called it. Francisco thanked the heavens that he was almost finished with his shift on the battlements.

He suddenly felt as if someone were watching him, and looking out into the vast, dark and open land before the castle, all he saw were the flecks of snow being blown about by the wind, which, to the avian's eyes, looked like a man flying about. For the umpteenth time that hour, he just told himself it was but a hallucination, his eyes playing tricks on him, a product of his sickness and his anticipation of being relieved for the night.

A voice to his right brought Francisco out of his apparent hallucination, "Who's there?" the voice called out.

"I should ask the same thing," Francisco retorted apprehensively, "Identify yourself!"

"Long live the king!" the voice replied.

Francisco then recognized the voice and its owner.

"Barnardo?" he asked tentatively.

Barnardo stepped closer as the green hawk's eyes adjusted to the deep blackness.

"Yes, Francisco, it is I," the purple chameleon said. "And I have come to relieve you of your duty for the night."

"And not a moment too soon. Thank God," the hawk sighed, which sent a cloud of vapor from his beak. "Might I inquire as to what time it is?" he asked.

"The clock is just striking midnight. Please, Francisco, I do implore you to go to bed," the chameleon said, noticing how Francisco looked a little worse for the wear, but said nothing of the green avian's sickly appearance.

"Many thanks, Barnardo. It is woefully cold and I fear I am quite sick," Francisco shivered into his jacket.

"Has there been any trouble during your shift?"

"Fortunately nothing, not even the stir of a mouse."

"Have you seen Marcellus or Horatio about?"

"No. May I ask why you seek them?"

"They're supposed to keep watch with me tonight, but I have neither seen hide nor hair of them. 

If you happen to pass either of them, please tell them to hurry," Barnardo requested, a slightly frantic tone seeping into his voice.

Francisco noticed his slightly urgent tone and wanted to pursue the matter further, but he was getting dreadfully sick, and he could hear quick but measured footsteps approaching where the two sentries stood, "I think I hear them. Halt! Who's there?"

"We are friends to this state," a slightly unfamiliar voice called.

"And servants of ze Danish king!" a more familiar voice added.

"Ah! Marcellus! Horatio!" Francisco greeted and shook the hands of both the golden-brown coyote and cobalt blue hedgehog respectively,"Hello! And good night!"

"Adieu, 'onest soldier," Marcellus crowed in his thick French accent, "'Oo 'as taken your place?"

"Barnardo has, Marcellus," the hawk gestured to the chameleon behind him, "Also, he told me that, should I meet you on my way down, to tell you two to hurry up as well."

"Well, thank you very much for that useful tidbit of information my good sentry," Horatio remarked dryly, as Barnardo face-palmed behind Francisco's back, "Now, if you'll excuse us, we must hurry along the three or so steps it'll take to reach Barnardo. Good night!"

Francisco, ever the cheeky bastard, even when coming down with influenza, smirked as he walked away, down to the safety, light, and warmth of Elsinore's halls.

Marcellus and his blue companion turned to the purple sentry, "Bonsoir, Barnardo."

"Good evening, Marcellus, Horatio is here too?" the chameleon said.

"More or less every piece of me," came Horatio's reply.

"'As it appeared again tonight?" Marcellus quickly inquired.

"I have seen naught," the other sentry replied.

"Our dear 'Oratio sinks not zat our sighting of zis thing twice now is credible," came Marcellus, "'E believes zat we are imagining zis 'orrible thing. And zat is why I insisted zat 'e come with us on ze battlements, so 'e can see and experience for 'imself, ze ghost zat 'as seemingly roamed ze castle grounds for deux nuits, and maybe even 'ave 'im communicate with it."

"Bah! It shall not appear," Horatio snapped, confident in his disbelief.

"Well, would you like to seat yourself?" Barnardo asked of the two men, the stubborn blue hedgehog in particular, "I shall regale to you the happenings of the past two nights, the story you refuse to believe."

"I shall have my ears perked," Horatio replied, still unconvinced.

"Last night," Barnardo began, "when the second star to the left, the one beside the North Star, had traveled part of its course and shines where it is now, which is about when the clock chimed one, Marcellus and I-"

Barnardo didn't have time to finish his sentence, for Marcellus was pointing with a slightly feverish and panicked finger at the ghostly figure behind the chameleon.

---

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.

I hope to God I won't have to put such long disclaimers like this ever again. :-)