I’ve been thinking about this guy lately. His name is Hamlet and his dad just died so he’s been hella sad about it. All he talks about is death and whether life is worth it and stuff. Kinda cynical but it’s more interesting than talking to a guy about the hockey playoffs. I guess you could say he’s like a 400-year-old version of Morrissey, only Hamlet looks babein’ in pantaloons.
If only Hamlet and I could hang out after school or fencing practice, we could go to the cemetery and have a picnic. We’d have wine, Yorick’s skull, and little sandwiches. You know, all the cheesy romantic stuff.
I wish he just wasn’t so preoccupied with getting revenge on his father’s murder. It’s all “Claudius killed my father” or “my mother betrayed the kingdom” blah blah. He has no idea how court a lady. If he could only put all this honour and revenge nonsense behind him then maybe he’d have time to take me out on a proper date. After the date, we could watch Woody Allen films in one of the royal bedrooms in the palace while he whispers suicidal soliloquys in my ear. Just saying, that’d be hot.
by Maya Wilson, guest writer.