I don't own Shakespeare, sadly... the line in italics is from Romeo and Juliet, Act III, Scene 1.
A Grave Man
You played it as a game, until the very last. Jesting, taunting the guards, welcoming Tybalt's wrath as if exciting bees from a hollow. Mercutio - you never saw their stings.
I talked of love, you brushed it aside and reveled in a tale of a mischievous queen. You described it with such art as would put the bards to shame, but you never knew it for greatness – it was a simple jest, a spontaneous performance to cheer your friends. You ran through life that way, living to laugh.
Only once your jests failed you. The day you mourned for her was a time of no laughter –only empty fool's masks to wave away the closing blackness. You were silent, that day. But never again.
After that, you laughed to live.
Am I the only one to remember that time?
Benvolio came after, eager in youth and seeing only Mercutio the Clown, Mercutio the Joyous Companion, Mercutio the Merry Fool. And that is who you were, but for that one time. The change was but that your jests were more fervent, your enthusiasm almost that of a desperate man. You seemed determined to die with laughter, clown your way into happy oblivion. And you did.
When Tybalt lunged, his sword was a fly to be hit aside. You leaped to the side, grinning, eyes taunting challenge. You darted between his heavy blows, and I smiled too, even in fear, because yours was infectious. But then his sword turned to stone, and smote you with a strike you could not feel. He turned when you stumbled, the coward, he strode away, proud.
And you fell back, fell on the arms of your friends, turning up the side of your mouth to force the smile into your eyes. You laughed something about worms' meat, speaking in the dramatic voice you used when you exaggerated. You made Benvolio smile, loosened the tight anxiety lashed around him, preserved his youth for a while. I smiled too for you, but you knew it was not real. For the second time, you could not turn fate.
Suddenly you hated the world again – an ice froze in your eyes and you cursed us, named the plague that had taken our divided houses, spat white foam. And died there, held up no longer by our arms but your own force, body tensed against the void. Your last breath was cold.
I caught Benvolio's shout with the last trace of my self.
The rat, coming back to strike again. Mercutio is dead…
And fire-eyed fury be my conduct now.