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Escalus stood in the dark and dusty tomb, and watched the two families grieve. The Capulets in their red attire, Lady Capulet crying softly, with Lord Capulet standing silently by her side. Some irrelevant family members stood off to the side comforting people, while a few stood around Tybalt, or Juliet, though many seemed scared to approach her blood soaked young body.
Montague stood alone off to the side in his blue jacket, looking years older than he actually was. His wife had died of grief, and he was now staring at his dead son. Benvolio, however, stood right up next to the stone slab Romeo and Juliet laid on. He looked broken inside, the joyful smile Escalus had seen so many times when Mercutio had dragged him to their dwelling long gone.
If Escalus stared long enough, he could almost see a shadow lingering around Benvolio, almost as if he was cursed with the shadow of death. Somehow that made sense to Escalus. The poor boy had had his entire world drop out from under his feet in less than 2 days. Mercutio had died in his arms, he’d watched Romeo kill Tybalt, and now Romeo had taken his own life to be with his new wife. Escalus’ heartstrings felt as though they were being pulled out of his chest when he looked at Benvolio. The sorrow in the poor boy’s broken eyes only reminded him of when he’d been young and lost his parents.
Escalus turned his eyes to Paris. He laid near Romeo and Juliet, on the slab next to Tybalt’s. His face was shaped in a frown, reminiscent of the boy who he had been when alive. Paris had always been worrying about something, whether it be marriage or a diplomatic affair. He was Escalus’ heir, so he had to become a worrier early on in the volatile environment that was Verona. Escalus had hardly ever seen the boy smile or laugh, but it was infectious when he did. Escalus supposed he could see his brother in the boy, but now all he saw now was a teen boy, still coming up in the world, dead because of a meaningless feud and his desire to do the right thing.
Next Escalus let his gaze linger on Tybalt. He knew that the majority of Verona hadn’t seen the real Tybalt before his untimely death. For as long as Escalus could remember, Tybalt had been living with the Capulets, a nephew on Lord Capulet’s side. Being the closest related living male relative, he had been trained to take on the role of patriarch when Capulet died. That meant sword fighting and studying, all day every day. The poor boy had barely ever had time to live. His early upbringing with the Capulets saw him grow into an aggressive and broody teen, because of the harsh expectations pushed onto him by Lord Capulet. Escalus had only ever seen him laugh and smile once or twice, and it had only been with Juliet, his beloved cousin.
Escalus looked toward the slab drawing most of the room’s attention. The two lovers laid there, entwined and smiling. Romeo’s hair was strewn around his face, but he looked peaceful. In his hand, he clutched a small vial that had been full of poison. Escalus had seen Romeo quite a lot, as he had become friends with Mercutio early on. Barely did Escalus ever see a day when him, Mercutio, and Benvolio hadn’t been running around Verona wreaking havoc. He remembered fondly the day he’d come into the kitchen in their house to find Romeo, Mercutio, and Benvolio attempting to bake. Romeo had been actually trying, while Mercutio and Benvolio had gotten distracted by something or other, and were turned away. They’d looked up to him when he’d opened the door, and he’d seen them covered in flour. He’d had to close the door so he didn’t burst out laughing. Now it hurt him to remember the cheerful boy who had lifted the spirits of his nephew and Benvolio, and to see him dead on a slab, deathly cold and pale.
Next to Romeo lie Juliet. The shining young beauty and talent of Verona, bloody and smiling next to her lover. He’d met Juliet the first time when Capulet simply couldn’t be refused, and she’d been very polite to him, though hovering around her cousin who stood protectively in front of her. She’d been truly happy in Verona, a strange thing in the violence and death plagued town. She’d smiled like every day was the best ever, and had been the light in the lives of the Capulets. Her parents now stood next to her, one crying, the other unresponsive. With a slight jolt of anger, Escalus remembered how they would boast about knowing their daughter so well, but he didn’t see how when she now lay dead in a tomb next to her lover, still so young.
Escalus closed his eyes sadly, remembering his other nephews. Valentine was a shy boy, always in his own world, preferring solitude. Now he’d have to become the heir to the Verona seat of power, something he’d never wanted. And Mercutio. Mercutio lay in the Della Scala tomb, pale and cold, so unlike how he’d been in life. Mercutio had been someone who filled his life with youth, and when he was younger, he’d made Escalus feel important. He would sit for hours on end just asking questions about anything and everything, and listen intently to Escalus’ answers. His sparkling eyes and spirit had helped Escalus get through each day when times were tough. If not for him, it was for Mercutio and his friends. Mercutio and the boy he loved. Mercutio and Romeo, brothers in their own right. He hated that Mercutio had died for a feud that hadn’t involved him if he so chose to stay out of it, but Mercutio was loyal to a fault, even if it meant death. That explained the ring on a chain that now hung around Benvolio’s neck, something Mercutio had cherished, a symbol of his love even after death.
None of this was right. None of it. All the children had wanted was peace. And when everyone but him and Benvolio had left the tomb, retiring for the night, he finally let it out. He sobbed and sobbed, the sobs he’d hold in at night for fear of losing his strength and will to fight the forces of Violence, Death, and Hatred that ruled over his beloved Verona. He cried for Paris, for Tybalt, for Romeo, for Juliet, and for Mercutio. He cried until he couldn’t anymore, Benvolio by his side, the only one who truly understood the effect these events could possibly have on the ruler of Verona. The only one who could. And the spirits of the past watched the two grieving with fond eyes, knowing they’d be remembered and loved even if their bodies no longer roamed the city they had so loved.