SFSD-X Short Story Smackdown

3.2 Hamlet and Ophelia - The Renaissance

Ted strode boldly onto the stage, his boots resounding in the near empty theater for nearly three full steps before the whiskey took hold and he stumbled. Swaying first to the left and then to the right, he staggered along a line of white tape to the white circle at down-stage center.

Did anybody see that? I should be so lucky; bunch of egotistical, self-serving, heartless piles of garbage that they are. But the show must always go on. Right.

He straightened his doublet and itchy hose and faced the empty seats proudly. "Here begins our tale of woe and redemption, of death and life anew, would you but, onlookers, lend an ear to such tellings as we simple actors may portray. The tale of Hamlet as you surely know ends with such violence as to make angels weep, yet here we give wings to those poor souls who have passed-"

A clang of metal rang out from backstage. Ted turned slowly as shuffling thumps grew louder. His expression changed from irritation to one of pure horror as the figure of what might have once been a man limped towards him. The thing's skin was ripped and hanging in shreds, it eyes were gooey, puss-filled cavities, teeth yellow and black.

"What the..." Ted whispered in disbelief.

The thing moaned, exposed teeth chewing the air and then it raised one decaying hand to make clawing motions at Ted.

"No, no." Ted shook his head. "No, I am not seeing this. What...."

The thing lunged. Mid-step, it jerked to a stop, its metal cord and dog collar holding it firmly at the center of a green circle.

"This can't be happening." Ted covered his heart with one hand and shook his head. "Claudius, did you hear your cue? Was that even remotely your cue to come onstage? No, I can't."

Ted whipped the play book from his tights and flipped through a few pages. "Blah, blah, blah, the ghost of Ophelia laments, she says 'O woe, that the spark which set aflame the fire of our suffering sleeps peaceful in the great beyond, whilst we tragic sinners trapped in the confines of our eternal prison do here on this green earth stagnate.' Enter, Ghost of Claudius stage left! You don't come on for another three pages and after two other actors! What are you doing here? No, I'm not going to feed you for coming on at the wrong time. Go back to your cage and starve. I'm starving, too. We are all starving. And we will keep starving until we get this right."

More shuffling and quiet moans sounded from beyond the curtain.

"Ophelia?" Ted called. "Did you let Claudius out of his cage?"

The ruins of a woman shambled forward into the beams of light. She lurched at each step, a macabre puppet on strings. Her heavily stained dress and cloak trailed on the ground around her. She bit at Ted twice in a row, her toothless gums slapping loudly, before a rumbling growl came out of the gaping hole in her throat.

"That was not your cue to enter. And what's more, did you let him out, sweetheart? You know why you have special privileges, don't you? But I promise, if you abuse them, you'll lose them. Now let's just pretend I didn't make that bad rhyme, or that Claudius did not enter at the wrong time, and we can get back to work here."

Ophelia rushed forward, faster than her decaying limbs could follow and she sprawled to the stage floor. Writhing in anger, she hissed and scratched at the chains circling her waist. Her wig fell off and the backside of her skull with only a few clinging bits of scalp and hair appeared.

"So obviously, no one cares if I get to practice the chorus parts one last time. Prima donnas every last one of you. Can't stand it for one second if someone else is center stage. Fine." Ted heaved with disgust and put the book back in his tights. "We'll just skip my lines and start the first act. Chorus, chorus, chorus, nobody's listening to me anyway. 'Such as Hamlet himself hath spoken the words - There is nothing either good or bad, but thinking makes it so - we beseech thee to think kindly upon our humble play, gracious audience.'" He took a small device from his doublet and pressed a button.

From backstage, a door creaked open, and he pushed another button. A fishing wire with an unrecognizable, bloody morsel descended from the ceiling the same time as another male figured walked slowly to a purple circle. The cord around its waist was nearly taut by the time the creature reached the dangling bit of flesh. With rumblings resembling a dying cat purring, it tore the stuff from the hook and devoured it.

"Perfect entry, Horatio!" Ted stage whispered so that Claudius and Ophelia would feel guilty. "Now, your line!"

Horatio, who was missing half his jaw, but otherwise was in fairly good shape, started sniffing the air. He whimpered and tried to get closer to Ted.

"No. You enter and stop downstage, then say, "Hark the cold night grows e'en colder such that witches may freeze in their foul consortment. But what is this? What pale form walks these walls? Faith, though mine eyes much deceive me of late, I should swear that this is Ophelia come again from her watery death."

Ted paused, both eyebrows up. Several seconds ticked by while the grotesque zombies all moaned and snapped their teeth (gums in Ophelia's case). "Your line, Horatio. We have a two hour play to get through. Dress rehearsal, people, does that mean nothing to you? You do realize that the only way I'll be able to make an audience stay through this performance is if I chain them to the seats?"

More cages rattled behind the stage. Waiting actor zombies smelled not only the bloody morsels of rat hanging by the rafters but Ted the playwright himself, juicy and alive. It annoyed him to no end.

"Is food all you can think about, all you care about?" Ted sighed in frustration and uncapped his flask of whiskey. Taking a great gulp, he sighed again. "We all know I'm not Shakespeare, and I could never even come close to making a sequel to one of his most treasured works, but what are we if we don't try to create? If we don't dream wondrous dreams and make something where before there was nothing? Claudius, what are you without this troupe and this stage?"

Claudius clawed at his own face in frustration.

"Exactly. What is a man, if his chief good and market of his time be but to sleep and feed? A beast, no more. I hate to say it, but you are nothing but a sort of semi-functioning, thoughtless mass of decaying flesh without this theater. You have no souls without art. So let's put this together. I do not want to be swimming around here mute and dumb as a fish in a bowl. Please."

A loud boom, followed by hollow cries and a multitude of banging clamored from past the lobby at the front entrance. Ted jumped in fear, waving his flask as though it was a magical charm. Dread filled his eyes.

"Oh, no. They've found us. They're here."