As I walk towards King Hamlet’s coffin, I experience the smell of death. I begin pondering on the thoughts of winning. “I killed him!” I grew confidence, and I killed him. “Killed” is the word most prominently plunged into my mind. Why is “killed” stuck in my head? Well, because I killed my brother. Sorry that I am repeating myself, but I am just astonished that I have succeeded something I have been craving about doing for a long time. Enough about the word “kill,” I look towards my brother. My brother’s eyes are closed -- he seem so peaceful at rest. I look ahead of myself and see Gertrude. She is weeping and pleating for the life of her husband back. She looks so beautiful and innocent. I am starting to feel some pain in my belly. Am I starting to feel guilty? Preposterous. I should start
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What are you doing right now?” Hamlet said.
“I am doing nothing. I have no one.” I said.
“You should play with us.” He said. As a kid who never actually had friends or who was never actually close to his brother, I accepted his request.
“Okay, thank you. That is very nice of you.” I said.
After playing a friendly game of kickball, he shoved me into the cement. My knees were scraped and began bleeding. I felt humiliated and mortified. I ran home crying, but my brother lied to my mother about pushing me. I sat in my room crying, “A King? Phew, he will never be King one day.” At this moment, I had decided to think about revenge. I wonder how long Hamlet has until I diminish him.
Indeed, my middle school self decided on the fate of King Hamlet: life or death. In my opinion, death was the answer. I would walk up and down the halls, stairs and gardens, deciding when to plot my revenge. However, every time was a bad time.
“I can’t wait for this assassination anymore!! I need to murder him… NOW!” I said to myself.
I was growing impatient. I was growing in hunger. I take a walk around the garden, and I see him lying under a shade.
“Perfect.” I said to
What are you doing right now?” Hamlet said.
“I am doing nothing. I have no one.” I said.
“You should play with us.” He said. As a kid who never actually had friends or who was never actually close to his brother, I accepted his request.
“Okay, thank you. That is very nice of you.” I said.
After playing a friendly game of kickball, he shoved me into the cement. My knees were scraped and began bleeding. I felt humiliated and mortified. I ran home crying, but my brother lied to my mother about pushing me. I sat in my room crying, “A King? Phew, he will never be King one day.” At this moment, I had decided to think about revenge. I wonder how long Hamlet has until I diminish him.
Indeed, my middle school self decided on the fate of King Hamlet: life or death. In my opinion, death was the answer. I would walk up and down the halls, stairs and gardens, deciding when to plot my revenge. However, every time was a bad time.
“I can’t wait for this assassination anymore!! I need to murder him… NOW!” I said to myself.
I was growing impatient. I was growing in hunger. I take a walk around the garden, and I see him lying under a shade.
“Perfect.” I said to