Chances

Chapter One- A Belated Peace

He could feel the darkness swirl around him, that calming breeze that seemed to skitter over his soul. He was done. God knows, for all he'd done he'd deserved it. His goals sadly met and now it was time to rest.

Dreams, that is what Hamlet wished for now, let him dream first then he would welcome his awaiting purgatory. For confession was far from his mind when the poison ripped through his veins, leaving a path of fire and the weight of a heart that was on its last legs, heaving, slowing. No, his blurry mind was clutching at the vision of a tear stained face that hovered sorrowfully above his own. A blotchy image, crudely plastered together, but none the less his sole focus. "No, Horatio, give me the cup, if you love me, you'll let me have it." He wildly wrenched the goblet from Horatio's shaking hands, "please" a gasp "tell the world the truth about me, let my reputation not remained damaged. Stay, tell them my story". He heard a strangled cry mere inches from his nose.

Cannon fire blasted from the outside grounds and Hamlet could do little more than huff out a question, "what warlike noises are these...?" a garbled murmur was the only reply, words that took an age for his brain to riddle out. "Horatio..." Hamlet's leaden fingers (when did they get so heavy?) traced the jaw line of the tearful scholar above him, "I'm dying Horatio; I will not live to hear the news from England. For...tinbras, he will win the Danish crown, tell him what's happened here. O-oh the rest is silence." The remnants of the young princes life seemed to seep through the cracks of his body and steal away into the evening light, but not before lips were felt pressed against forehead and a heartfelt whisper caressed across his cheeks.

Maybe, just maybe these memories that drifted lazily past him in the dark weren't really memories. Dreams hopefully, of a life that a young man named Hamlet could of lead, and like the coming of the morrow they would scatter into the depths of the mind, never to show face again. Quite honestly, Hamlet didn't think he would mind that, at least it meant that he had never strayed from this pleasurable darkness that brought comfort and peace to a worn heart. It meant he could continue dreaming, it meant that he wouldn't have to purge sins he never would have committed. And yet, Hamlet couldn't rid himself of the dreading thought that Horatio wouldn't have been real. A fleeting visage, a figment of an overzealous mind. That heavy thought brought a flood of images that seemed to crush the prince under its load. A loyal, wise yet bright eyed man that was consistently attached to some book of philosophy with its hidden truths and lawful meanings. A crooked smile that brought a flame to Hamlet's heart, heating it until he was sure they both toed the line of uncomfortable with the length their stares endured. He couldn't deny the warmth that remained in his core though. He didn't want to. Those simple touches. Awkward exchanges at the beginning. Affectionate in the end. Years upon years of memories filtered till they became a rushing flow and Hamlet couldn't help but choke. Choke and splutter. Horatio was filling the furthers reaches of his soul, spilling over like the glass Horatio poured more wine into when he-

Silence.

They stopped. The floodgate closed with a snap, Hamlet shifted unconsciously. How...? He turned in the space he was held aloft in but the scenery remained constant. The only thing that seemed to produce light in this place was the prince himself, but this made no difference as his glow didn't seem to have an effect on the darkness around him.

There was a sinking feeling though, held in Hamlets gut. Sharp fear curdled his nerves (did he still have nerves? Something to ponder on at a later date). The dark seemed too dark, eerie even. Pleasure had been misplaced before Hamlet could grasp at it. His abode was changing, the once calming breeze was subdued, all that was left was a dank hollow and this made the man wearisome.

But then 'It' came.

Hamlet could hear it more than feel it. Whispers with no breath. Not like the final moment of his life, not like Horatio's murmur. It came from all around him, quiet and difficult to hear, yet constant. It replaced the breeze, the pleasantness. The dark, instead, was being occupied with a rush of a chorus of babble. Some voices complemented each other, intertwining beautifully while others were harsh, snapping, and full of resolution. Hamlet couldn't make out the language. Whether it is because the voices were speaking too low or whether he had never had perchance to hear it before, he couldn't tell. It was confusing, consuming. They were relentless and the prince had a startling feeling of being left out. Their tones suggested of conversation between each other, Hamlet remained ignored. Surprising really, for a prince one such as him, it was a foreign feeling. Not something he'd felt before. Temptation couldn't help but gnaw at him though and apparently floating here, listening, wasn't benefiting him at all.

"Hell-"

As soon as the first syllable left his lips, Hamlet knew he was in for it. The voices halted for a split second, and then with a great whoosh they forced themselves over his body, diving into cracks and fissures that had formally gone unnoticed for the entirety of the prince's existence. All the whispers were now focused on himself, as though he'd opened the gate at a horse race. They ravaged him from all sides and they weren't slowing, their tones weren't getting softer either. The chorus grew and grew in pitch until they were screeching their useless babble at Hamlet. He begged, pleaded for them to cease, tried hopelessly to curl within himself but it was as if each individual voice were trying to talk to him, to steal his attention however the language was too strange, he was at their mercy.

Going out on a limb, Hamlet shouted;

"I don't understand you!" It seemed to create an effect, though whether for the better, Hamlet was yet to know. Their timbre turned thoughtful, as if they were finally realising they had made no progress in forcing Hamlet to hear them.

You...- A different tactic then. Hamlet hitched a breath as the simple word resonated loudly within his mind, leaving him stunned. You... another voice mimicked the first as the chorus passed this new means of communication with the prince, between them.

You...you...you...you...you...you...you...you...you...YOU... He shivered at the sheer intensity as the voices moulded into one to blast over him.

Not done...not done...not done...not done...NOT DONE...

Duty...duty...duty...duty...DUTY...duty...- They were persistent now, it was working, they were getting through to the man.

No rest...no rest... no rest...NOT DONE...honour...honour...honour...DUTY...not done...duty...no rest...duty...honour...not done...you...not done...you...duty...wake up...honour...no rest...no rest...wake up...duty...duty...honour...no rest...not done..- WAKE UP!

And that's exactly what he did.