I Love You Romeo

• Stacy Long, Grade 11
• Short Story
• 2009

The curtains sway gently in the breeze; everything looks so peaceful through the window. People bustle around the streets, and life goes on. Walking to the mirror, my reflection stares back, hauntingly beautiful, yet disfigured from anxiety. People say I’m blessed; I think of it more as a curse. If I was only less attractive, maybe he would leave me alone. The breeze suddenly stills and there is not a sound to be heard outside. It’s as if even the air is holding its breath, watching, waiting for me to make my move. I can imagine waking up tomorrow in this room on this bed, just like any other day. But I cannot be sure when that will happen again, or if it ever will. Tonight is the night that will decide my fate.
The vial, small and innocent, lies in my palm. It is intricate, fascinating, yet I am afraid to touch it. I take a deep breath. It’s now or never. I steel myself. But my hands shake, and my courage fails. I have my doubts about this potion, this pale liquid that will supposedly save my life. And if it doesn’t work? Then I am doomed, forced to marry a man I have no love for. Tomorrow morning looms closer. I have to do it. I have no choice.
Now, a toast. Here’s to you, magic potion.

***

My stomach kills; my mouth is dry. The potion worked after all, but was it such a good idea? Is this what death is really like?
“Quick, wake Juliet! It is time, and the groom has arrived already. We must hurry!” Mother’s voice floats down the hallway, strangely distorted in my ears. Oh, why is the sun is shining, rejoicing in this happy day that I dread? I cannot move a muscle. I can feel my mouth curved slightly in a smile, yet I do not breathe.
“Ah better to get more sleep; tonight your husband won’t let you sleep I’m sure. My precious is to become a bride today!” Mother’s voice again, it chills me now.
I sense her form above me; she shakes my slender frame. Yet I am limp as a rag-doll. She pinches my cheeks, and a small gasps escapes her. I cannot open my eyes - my blindness, oh I cannot stand it! I visualise shock on mother’s face - she notices my marble face, pale and cold.
Panic erupts, pandemonium ensues. Imagination near drives me crazy, mother’s face must be pale as a ghost, father’s bellowing and sobs echo in my ears, the girl they boasted about with pride is claimed by the darkness of death.
I can hear my parents crying but I cannot see their faces grieving the loss. I feel mother’s tears on my face, yet I cannot reach out to comfort her.
I despair...am I really in a state of temporary death? Or will I never wake again?