No sound but the muffled sobs of each half of the broken heart that is Romeo and Juliet.Craving an alternative conclusion to their storybook romance, yet knowing no such happy ending, they stare into each other’s eyes, seeking a resolution. The regrettable possibility of causing a war between families had not muted their passion or resolve; defiance coursed through them as their very blood. This is simply the way it was going to be, no matter the cost! They would elope, run away if necessary; nothing was going to vanquish their dream of togetherness.
That is, until the letter came.
Delivered through the good friar they held tight in hopeful secrecy; the promise of bloodshed penned ever so politely. They, themselves were not afraid to die. Addressed to them, the murderous vow would be laughed off as a comic tale written to those pages, at the very least ignored. If death was to offer the lone path to a blissful union, they would walk that road together with unwavering devotion. But the pledge was not for them. They were being blackmailed, and the claims were hard to ignore.
Anger welling, her whimpers quickly morph into howls. She weeps her frustration and sorrow, as if in some way she could purge these feelings through her tears, and in doing so, clarify their shared suffering. He hugs her fiercely and yearns to assume her pain. So much emotion on display in this detached landscape, a backdrop lacking emotion or pity, snow falling incessantly devoid of compassion.
White flakes have settled in a thick layer on Juliet’s hair, making her appear ever more stunning; as a winter angel, innocent and pure; brilliant white, the halo around her, so bright and promising. She was so beautiful and alive in this sedated, cold forest; so warm and yielding, so sorrowful and intense, so angry and passionate; yet implausibly defeated and alone. Their resign sealed by an impending avalanche impossible to discount. She has quieted, resigned for the moment. The silence ensues, profound and grave, itself a significant presence. The surrounding gloom and subdued hush permeates them to their cores.
A brusque wind gathers its strength, throwing daggers of ice at the pair; an acrimonious reminder of the time. Snow pelting her sorrowful face, he tries to protect her cheeks from the storm.
Throwing her head back boldly into the barrage, she passionately proclaimed, “I would but be assailed by stone and rations to remain in you, my love. Your sweet, robust potion courses through my veins, engendering valor at every occasion. Neither fervent weather nor relations could ever be victorious in dampening love’s smoldering embrace, the effects of your devotion; I wear as though a shield.”
As the gust weakened, he countered, “Though rosy lips and cheeks betray otherwise, it is vital to be in accord with your mate.” He smiled warmly as he stroked her wet countenance. “Let me not, then, protect my lover from wrath of winter, only admire and caress love’s true reflection.” He enclosed her tender face in helpless hands and kissed her. The storm had now taken full effect, both in the forest and in Juliet’s heart. She grasps at Romeo, struggling to imprint his essence forever.
They have spent too much of their precious time pretending not to be in love. Though the sentient presence of their feeling for each other has been there, hidden under layers of social and familial pressure, they have squandered their bliss; lovers forever conscious of each other’s presence, devotion and affection, yet frozen in fear, unable to act. It was as if the very cosmos aligned against them, conspiring forces that would keep them apart. At least here, they were safe and free; the forest an envelope guarding its precious contents from the threatening universe.
Large snowflakes were now steadily falling. Becoming aware of the magnitude of the storm, Romeo realizes they have been here for quite some time. Looking up at the pregnant sky, head tilted back, staring at its lazily falling children, he blinks back flakes and tears. Turning down, he surveys the forest; the blizzard has delivered a thick and heavy slush, weighing the old growth forest down all around them. The delicate snaps and pops of limbs straining to hold the weight of the frozen water were barely audible, yet a defeated bough could abruptly crack and splinter. He did not want the mesmeric quality of this moment to end; he was drunk with love and sorrow. But, worry for his Juliet mounted, he was loathe to have her suffer ill effects from the cold or the increasingly treacherous forest.
The conclusion to come...
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