Romeo's Ruminations

Oh honey flavored life. Oh sweet joyous life!

Those sad hours which seemed long spent with frigid Rosaline seem like mere minutes to the time I must spend away from from my Goddess. My shrine, my Juliet. T'was a tale of true love not even the greatest poet of our day could record. My soul of lead was taught to burn brighter than the strongest strongest torch by her beauty. My lips turned to those of Villon. Her eyes were ardent stars, shinging brighter than the princes blade at the height of noon. Her hair a cascade of wonderful, that I had ne'er seen 'til this night. Her skin was as smooth as the most perfect marble, but as soft as a summers peach. Her pure and natural beauty cast aside my artificial night towards the horizon. When I am with her her ravishing good looks doff remove the crowds from my sight. Her voice, like the song of a singing bird, doff dispatch their plebeian words. For ours is the language of love.

This language is woven by a a pair of hearts. One virtuous by comparison. Pure and clean. The other; a lovesick heart tormented by sorrow. But then came her touch. It sent a shudder of the coldest joy down thee spine, yet so warm it could curdle the hardest of all mens steel hearts. She hath found the true Romeo, only to wish thee by another name.

Though our night was hardly without hitch. Whilst enchanted by simply even the look of my beloved a stain appeared in our evening. More unclean than even my unworthiest hand. Tybalt. Trying to quench his thirst by draining the river of young love. But not even he was to be given free reign as his uncle (note: soon my father-in-law) halted his procession of tyranny. And what relationship of love is complete without its companion friendship? For whilst I was in possession of Cupid's wings whose drunken voice should call out to take me from my love, but that of Mercutio? And what other task had he used his voice for but to scorn me. 'Humors, madman, passion, lover' are what he believes I have become. And all that be true for me Juliet huh made me love-mad.

But the fool is out of date. For after his abuse what was he to do but paint the image I had kept at my indiscretion for many a night. Rosaline. He needn't have bothered as the hag he described only seemed to make my angel more beautiful. But oh this love is a fickle thing. For one moment she appears to have the endearment of a senile old women the next an insatiable nymph. For after doubts about kissing we took a bound of faith, but more of that later.

After I had taken that wall out of our equation, I began my search for the centre of my world, that constantly moved. My fair Juliet. The most beautiful women under the sun. Then I heard her voice ring out through the evening Italian air. Crystal and diamond. Perfect and pure. Her voice encircled and filled my head, flowed through me and settled the quivering nerve in my stomach.

'Romeo, Romeo..'

My name...

In that single moment we were more successful than Rosaline and I. I am well aware my techniques were never going t match the subtlety like that of Machiavelli but I more than made up for it with passion. With energy. With vigor. And without pride. But as Mercutio heralds love it is a strong thing, tough and rough. To grab it by the horns.

And that is what we have done.

For wedding bells do ring upon the morrow.

The Schizophrenic Teacher

'Sirs gay!'

'Ha ha yeah sir's a homo!'

'And pedo!'

The desk groaned and felt as though it were about to snap. They jeered and taunted.

'Quiet please...' I practically whimpered. Any other man would have been disgusted with themselves letting children bully them, but they didn't know what it was like.

'Aw look at the little baby'

I'd be picking out more splinters from my fingers tonight, at this rate I'd need another desk soon. My desk looked pretty much how I felt. A fractured, broken wreck.

'Silence', this time louder.

'Uh...NO!' The words ran like a wave around the class. They carried on defacing the school's property. If you'd walked in now you'd have thought that you'd walked into the local estate. Graffiti dominating the walls, and all sorts of repulsive things stuck to the ceilings. Another less fortunate window shattered as something, undoubtedly against school rules, went through it. Then for the first time in years I gained confidence. Sitting down I appear a small man but I stand at 6'1. So then I stood up.

I stood with such force that my chair flew back into the wall with a BANG! I saw several students jump and everyones necks snapped round to the sudden noise. All but one. One who had sat and watched me break. Seen me as wrestled with my insecurities. And now he smiled. My hand swung round to the side of my desk as I pulled my self round gaining speed much like an ancient catapult. Unfortunately there were fag boxes, and needles on the floor. Laid with such precision a ballerina would have had trouble getting through. I stood no chance.

I slipped and my arms flailed desperately for something to grab on to. My mouth opened wide to cry out but what was the point. The closest person who wasn't a child was Mrs Cushing next door, and she was probably next door cowering behind her desk much as I had been. My hand managed to catch the lip of a desk. I'd only fallen to my knees but that in itself was awful. A sign of weakness. Though there had been plenty of those.

They started laughing though. Like hyenas. Chattering at their prey. My hands came up to my head and clutched my temples. I was seeing double as their tarted up faces leered at me. My eyes darted around looking for something to fix on. And he was there again. Sucking on a cigarette. Everything was blurred, where the hell was my inhaler? My hand shivering as it searched down from my face to my shirt pocket, to my trouser pocket. Dammit I could barley control myself. I fell to the floor on my side and curled up in the fetal position. Their phones out now, with their little LED lights flashing. Looks like I'd be an Internet star now.

I finally found my inhaler and took two deep lungfuls of the chlorine, fluorine and oxygen goodness. I dragged myself up still gasping for air and a girl shoved her face in mine so I shoved away. Her balance obviously wasn't great as she went THWACK. I stood, shoulders forward, arms and fists tensed. I smiled and my eye twitched. I turned my head sideways and clicked my neck. Once, twice, thrice. Someone deep in my subconsciousness screamed NO! They're only children! I was definitely going to suffer from arthritis in old age as I cracked my knuckles, jaw and shoulders.

I stormed forward, and my brain registered something on his face. A frown. This was the first emotional response I'd ever had from him. Then years of anger came surging toward my heart, soul, and mind. Anger at my father who had sat and watched me cry, sat and watch me hurt. Anger at the teacher for doing the same. Anger at the boy who had graced my face with the presence of his fist, and my ears with his words. They all blinded me. The red burning tip of his cigarette said toro! toro! And like a bull I charged.

Blinking several times, I opened my eyes. Though I was more concerned with the sound. Silence That could only be bad. Next came to me that I was on my knees. Only now did I notice that blood ran out on the floor. It was a wonderful deep rich red. I wondered if the art department would want it. It'd be great for tears in portraits. A new media perhaps. I rose and noticed the ripples. Perfect they were. Then I saw the source of the blood.

Him...