What a night I have had! The phrase stuck between a hard place and a rock adroitly sums up my situation at the moment as I see it. I had waited for night to fall like a soldier who yearns for the battle to be over and to be safely back in the bosom of his family. An all-enveloping fog seemed to rise from the battlements slate-grey concrete like the tendrils of some vicious sea-monster readily embracing its prey. My heart palpitated in my chest, my tongue stuck to the roof of my mouth as I made my way up the dimly-lit stairwell. And there diary, I met with what or whom I yearned to see, the ghost of my beloved father. He beckoned me to come closer to him. With fascinated horror, I drew closer and closer to him, transcribing to memory every detail of what I saw: the weather- beaten brow that had been forged out of the many military expeditions; those stern eyes that had demanded and indeed acquired the love and respect of thousands; those now frozen chapped lips out of which hundreds of childish tales of merriment had issued forth. I stood totally agog. Then what poured forth from his mouth totally crushed the last morsel of inner calm and sense of self that I had.
He told me of his foul and most unnatural murder. He described how my uncle, that incestuous, that adulterate beast with witchcraft of his wits, with traitorous gifts won to his shameful lust the will of my own mother! O pernicious woman! Oh horrible, oh horrible, most horrible. I must not dwell on it too much diary, else it will make me mad. I despise that decrepit leech. Oh my prophetic soul! I knew he was odious. The satyr, the satyr, the beast.
This horror diary is compounded by my father’s heavy imposition on me as he wants me to avenge his foul and most unnatural murder as befits a dutiful son. Oh execrable, execrable! In the heat of the moment, I felt compelled to promise him that I would sweep to my revenge. However on reflection diary, my whole being struggles under the weight of such a heavy imposition. I feel a suffocating nausea swell from my inner core making me sway and waver under its potency. I feel like I’m drowning on each breath that I take.
Oh it is horrible that I prompted by heaven and hell must like a whore unpack my heart with words. This isn’t noble. This isn’t brave. Where is my filial loyalty towards my Hyperion-like father? Am I a coward? Yes. No. Why, yes I think I’m like to be called so. I am pigeon-livered and lack gall. Why what an ass am I! Is there any other being under this most excellent canopy who could have a stronger motive for revenge than I? Surely not? Is there any other being who could have a stronger motive for killing that remorseless, treacherous, lecherous, kindless villain than I have? Heaven ordains it and hell decrees it. The player from the travelling troupe was able to exhibit real tears and violent emotion and it all a farcical pretence. Why, what is Hecuba to him? And he to Hecuba that he should weep for her? What would he do had he the motive and cue for passion that I have? Perchance, Armageddon but pigeon-livered me would prefer to prattle and prance around like a dull and muddy-mettled rascal, peak like a John-a-dreams unpregnant of my cause. I totally hate myself. I’m good for nothing. I wish I were dead. The time is out of joint. Oh cursed spite, that ever I was born to put it right.
No point in thinking along those lines diary, is there? Oh diary, I’m totally bedevilled by the whole damned sorry affair. My brain is addled. Perhaps the spirit I have seen may be a devil who cometh to abuse me and so damneth me. Calm Hamlet. Calm Hamlet. Think upon it. THINK. Yes I’ll have grounds more relative than this. The play’s the thing wherein I’ll catch the conscience of the king. Diary, I think I’m over-thinking the situation here. What do you think? I think conscience does make cowards of us all, and the native hue of resolution is sicklied o’er with the pale cast of thought. Should I just shut up and put up or should I let my rapier slit open the damned smiling villain’s neck like the flame meeting lard? That is the question- Whether tis nobler in the mind to suffer the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune, or to take arms against a sea of troubles and by opposing them end them. Like I say diary, a hard place and a rock!