Rosencrantz Speaks

Image Credit: Elizabeth H., San Bernardino, CA       Hamlet, do me a favor and just sit still for a couple seconds. I guess you never learned your lesson at Wittenberg. I mean they always made you sit in the corner and wear that dunce hat for fidgeting. Sorry, I always forget that you are sensitive about that. Anyway, Hammy, I need to talk to you. Don’t make that face, I need you to listen for once. I’m supposed to make sure you don’t go jump off a cliff, but how come no one follows me to check up on me? Right, because I’m not a psychopath who talks to himself in the corners of an enormous castle. I don’t understand you; you are the prince of Denmark, and you act like the son of the maid. Do you want to know something else, Hamstring? You never do anything decisively. You need to think about every possibility a million times over before making a move. That’s why things escape so easily from you. Do you remember that girl from school? What was her name ... Roselyn? You better remember her because I surely do. I recall your feeble attempt to court her. It was hilarious! Looking at the ground you would ask her, “Wh-wh-where is the bathroom?” And she would reply, “The same place where it was yesterday, right behind you.” There’s something I have to tell you Ham-omelet - I might have had a thing with Roselyn. She was irresistible. I had a lot of fun with her a couple of nights, but of course, she could not find out I was connected to you or else she would think I was like you. Occasionally, she would mention a strange lad who crashed into things trying to follow her around. I knew that was you. Honey Ham, you are too slow with the girls, and with everything else, I might add. Your mother actually thinks you studied at Wittenberg! Poor queen, if she knew that you only made it through because Guildenstern and I did all the work for you. Your philosophical ventures are mere excuses for your permanent state of laziness! If it weren’t for us, you would not have passed. By the way, you never did thank us. Ham-cake, you really need to live a little. You are uptight and you let opportunities pass by. Not to rub it in, but I know you have a thing with that cutie, Ophelia. Take it easy. Fine, I won’t call her a cutie, but sit still because I’m not finished. When I arrived here at Elsinore, she was complaining about you constantly - how you are strange and fickle with her, and have constant mood swings. You do not know how to treat a lady, but don’t worry about Ophelia. Don’t get hysterical, it’s nothing serious. Besides, she’s crazy about you, literally. I’m setting her straight for you, you know, with a little more experience. Don’t worry, I’ll take care of her. Really, what would you do without me? This piece has been published in Teen Ink’s monthly print magazine.



AUTUMN LALA: Bloody Blanchett

Something wasn’t right. Detective Tift examined his suspect. Newlywed Scott Blanchett scratched the dried blood flaking his wrists, sobbing all the while. This case was clear-cut. They had enough evidence. “Why don’t you just admit it?” Tift asked. A pause. A sniffle. “I can’t admit to what I can’t remember.” Autumn Lala lives in Ohio, … Continue reading AUTUMN LALA: Bloody Blanchett →

JONAH ARDIEL: Tattoo

18: The pelican on my shoulder reminds me to slow things down, live calmly. 25: The snake slithering up my arm symbolizes willful and unapologetic action. 33: The rose on my wrist shows me that beauty can stem from new beginnings. “Dad, what do your tattoos mean?” “Nothing,” I say. Jonah Ardiel lives and writes … Continue reading JONAH ARDIEL: Tattoo →

NT FRANKLIN: Waiting

He loved her all his life. He waited, growing up knowing she was out there, even before he met and married her. The sun settled behind the hills every day, but today had special meaning. He would be facing tomorrow alone for the first time. Now, she waited for him. NT Franklin writes cozy mystery … Continue reading NT FRANKLIN: Waiting →

SARA JACOBELLI: Saturday Nights at the Tropicana

We’d ride uphill past the tavern in Poppy’s ancient Cadillac. I pictured a tuxedo-clad Ricky Ricardo crooning love songs to Lucy, twirling on the dance floor, backed up by a big band. I’d wave to the hollow-eyed scratching junkies slouched against the wall. They’d wave back, baffled by the attention. Sara Jacobelli lives in New … Continue reading SARA JACOBELLI: Saturday Nights at the Tropicana →

DAVID MARK WILLIAMS: Tea Bags

Her father noticed she was still playing with the pile of tea bags. “Shall we put them away now, darling?” “Leave them. They’re my friends.” She had discovered beings that exactly resembled her true form, albeit of limited intelligence. Her next report would certainly create a stir on the mothership. David Mark Williams lives in … Continue reading DAVID MARK WILLIAMS: Tea Bags →