Ophelia's Monologue

It was a late afternoon; the sun’s golden rays seeped through the trees’ leaves and branches. On one side, the trees casted shadows that were darker than a night’s sky and on the other, the ageing nature revealed its golden-brown leaves, colourful birds and greyish bark. As the sun continued to fall, nature’s shade became ever-more prevalent and the enigmatic silhouettes would have enveloped all which could be seen. The darkness - a disease itself, would have continued to spread and corrupt. However, the shining rays would have eventually radiated through the black sheath yet again and the covering quilt would be banished. At the crossroads of blackened disease and bright health - this is where Gertrude walked.

The warm and gentle breeze stroked

No blood this morning or for the past four months. On the other hand, I betrayed my own trust to Hamlet and now my father walks amongst the ghosts!”

“My lady, please do not speak such untruths.”

“I speak what I speak and hear what I hear.”

Ophelia faced Gertrude turned in such a way that the sun only covered half her body whilst her wind-blown hair uncovered her tear-suffused face. By now, the previous weeping had crackled her tender face and her skin formed canyons. Their eyes made contact and only then, the Queen saw the lost, aggravated, indubitably tormented and maddened natures all screwed up into a single painful sight. The would be married woman’s footsteps slipped on the pebbles and with each step closer to Gertrude, the further she wondered in hopelessness, confusion.

“I loved the prince once upon a time and now look at where I am. Bearing the prince’s child, I can no longer live it.”

Gertrude’s tears had begun streaming out of her face and she pleaded with her whole heart’s desire, “Please. No more Ophelia. Please.” She attempted to reach across the river for Ophelia, “Think of the child sweet Ophelia. I want you to be my son’s wife and the mother of my grandchildren. Remember those sweet words Hamlet wrote for

Her entire body expanded and collapsed like a bird that’s been flapping its wings for decades. The hatchlings that nestled in the trees no longer chirped. The sun no longer shone. The leaves only rustled. Ophelia’s words reached Gertrude along a string-like path, “I loved and loved, and loved. I can no longer bear it.” In silence, she closed her eyes and her heartbeat slowed. The uncanny wind nudged her forward into the lake.

Gertrude’s earshot scream overwhelmingly vanquished the silence and rattled the nearby wildlife; she crumbled onto the ground. Ophelia’s tears spread like a disease and made Gertrude shed enough tears to fill the lake itself. Under exasperated breaths, she murmured, “Polonius and now her daughter. What have I done?” She put both hands on her face and trembled.

A flurry of profoundly vivid memories struck the queen and left her wincing unshakably. The recollection of young Ophelia constructed a pure vision of her soul and personality. Gertrude looked up at the sky with anguish and prayed for Ophelia’s righteous entrance into heaven, “She was a pretty, innocent girl whose soul was poisoned by the countless number of incidents she should not have experienced. Let her into thy’ kingdom in Jesus’