Ophelia - Written by Shani

Hello everyone! For my English coursework this year, I decided to study Hamlet by William Shakespeare. Hamlet is one of my favourite Shakespeare plays, it has been from the moment I watched it in my year ten GCSE English class. What really captivated me about the play was the mistreatment of one particular character, Ophelia. She is one of my favourite Shakespearean characters for several different reasons, and to express how much I love her I have written a piece around her.

Ophelia

She’s standing on the river bank. A willow tree blows gently, gently, behind her, it’s tendrils wrapping around her like silk. Delicate daisies, pretty pansies, beautiful bluebells, and lovely little lilacs are clenched in her tiny fist – her fingers shaking, and a dribble of maroon is slithering down her wrist. Knees knocking together, trembling, shivering, dancing on the adrenaline. Sweet, lonely child.

Ophelia. Her name is – was, Ophelia. Beloved sweetheart of Denmark, daughter to Polonius, bride to be of Prince Hamlet. Ophelia. A long dress of silver silk, bunched at her thin ankles, her dainty little feet caked with mud. Her body is convulsing. Hiccups breaking free from her pale pink lips, her limbs jolting with electricity at the smallest sound. Fragile little bird.

Get her a to nunnery. Lover’s hatred has damned her purity, innocence and fragility, thy name is woman! She is but the sun. A flower blossoming in the glorious spring, threatened by a selfish tyrant: He’s sucked her adolescence away and left a spinster as a replacement. She stares down into the river, the rushing currents an invitation, a welcoming of a cleaner world. One which is not stained of blood. One where her lover is a saint, not a sinner.

She sits by the riverside, weaving life and love – red and white roses into her long, willowy hair. She is Persephone, and Hades has blackened her soul. Poured honey into her ear. Now, a caged animal lingers in her skin, clawing at her flesh. She sits by her freedom, staring longingly into her reflection, a skewered image of the girl she used to be. Ophelia. She dips her toes into the water.

Bloodlust. Death incarnate. The water beckons to her, and she does not hesitate, when she flings her little body under the surface. Ice slashes at her, tearing her very bearing apart – Who is she? She cannot remember her name. She’s swallowing water, heaving and choking. Dying. What is her name? Her tawny eyes begin to blur, and she’s fading away. Drifting like smoke. Her fists unclench. Flowers scatter around her, bluebells, daisies, pansies, working together in harmony, singing a song for Denmark to hear. A halo of flowers, of happiness, and jubilance curling around her head. She is an angel. A goddess who accidently slipped through the cracks of heaven.

She is dead and gone, lady. She is dead and gone.