The Forgotten Ruins

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The bald man slapped her, "Ahhh, if music be the food of love, play on. To thine own self be true, and it must follow, as the night the day, thou canst not then be false to any man, my dear."

Pity the bald bastard, "Words spoken can not be recalled so think twice before you speak. I say there is no darkness but ignorance."

The bald man screamed at her for more money, "A girl takes too much time to love and a few seconds to hate, but a boy takes a few seconds to love and too much time to hate...bad mistake, mate. You speak an infinite deal of nothing."

April peered at the bald man with daggers in her eyes, eyes that could murder, "Beware the ides of March. Dispute not with her: she is a lunatic."

April pulled out a small handgun and put a bullet in his forehead, "Good night, good night! Parting is such sweet sorrow, that I shall say good night till it be morrow."

The bald man fell down dead and said no more, "Men of few words are the best men."

April spit on his corpse and then looked towards my way across the river and winked at me, "Have I thought long to see this morning\u2019s face, and doth it gives me such a sight as this? She's beautiful, and therefore to be wooed; She is a woman, therefore to be won."

And yes we have known each other for many years now even though she's twenty odd years younger. For on stage I was her Professor Henry Higgins and she was my Eliza Doolittle, a fantastic My Fair Lady with many words to speak, especially with bullets.

People\u2019s good deeds we write in water. The evil deeds are etched in brass. April was my Angel and a Demon in bed.

We were once lovers and from time to time we still are as long as I treat her as a woman and not a bitch. The bald dead man was a good example of how she feels with abuse in a relationship, my problem was that she caught me with the three Witches from Macbeth in a hot tub naked doing sexual things Witches shouldn't do with Kings.

Alas Horatio, I lost something beautiful, "Her passions are made of nothing but the finest part of pure love. Affection is a coal that must be cooled; else, suffered, it will set the heart on fire. For she had eyes and chose me. The Eyes are the window to your soul. Love does not see with the eyes, but with the soul. A light heart lives long. A good heart is worth gold."

I looked at her and she still stared at me, "The course of true love never did run smooth. Love is heavy and light, bright and dark, hot and cold, sick and healthy, asleep and awake, it's everything except what it is. The sweetest honey is loathsome in his own deliciousness, and in the taste confounds the appetite: Therefore love moderately\u2014 long love doth so. Love is the greatest of dreams, yet the worst of nightmares."

April held up her hand in a wave and put it to her ear with her thumb and pinky out and her others fingers bent in, she mouthed, "Call me, and we will\u2026" she mouthed a filthy word.

Hear the meaning within the word. Dear, dear Shakespeare do you have a word that starts with 'F' and ends in 'K'? No, not fork, but close.

April then made the screw sign with two fingers in the hole, "Few love to hear the sins they love to act. Self-love, my liege, is not so vile a sin, as self-neglecting....in English, a hand won't do tonight I'll need a woman."

April giggled and walked away slinging her handbag over her shoulders, wiggling her short skirt caboose, "What's in a name? That which we call a rose by any other name would smell as sweet. Of all the flowers, me thinks a rose is best. Words are easy, like the wind; Faithful friends are hard to find. Adieu! I have too grieved a heart to take a tedious leave. I do desire we may be better strangers."

Eleanor Isabella, my lovely Eleanor, alias April March, I whispered into nothingness, "Now I will believe that there are unicorns."

Love all, trust a few, do wrong to none, my Eleanor is a good kind soul yet vengeful, she will be the Queen in my royal court someday even it be in Connecticut. Though let us hope it not ends sadly like in Hamlet's court.

I tossed my binoculars back into my backpack and said as I breathed deeply the rotten air, "To be, or not to be, that is the question. Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune, or to take arms against a sea of troubles, and by opposing end them? To die, to sleep. No more, and by a sleep to say we end the heart-ache and the thousand natural shocks that flesh is heir to, 'tis a consummation devoutly to be wished. To die, to sleep. To sleep, perchance to dream. Aye, there's the rub, for in that sleep of death what dreams may come\u2026"

Something took my eye then, if your mind dislike anything obey it, and yet this item shined at me. Something that I've been looking for that Neidermeyer had hired me for. I scavenged through the remains of a shelter by the bridge where rotting skeletons still remain and finally found what I was looking for, "Better three hours too soon than a minute too late."

I held it in my hand like an ancient urn of long forgotten times, but alas it was no crystal skull or whatnot, but an antique bread toaster, shiny as King Richard III armor, it was too good to pass up, "Alas, poor Yorick! I knew him, Horatio. A fellow of infinite jest, of most excellent fancy. He hath borne me on his back a thousand times, and now, how abhorred in my imagination it is! My gorge rims at it. Here hung those lips that I have kissed\u2026"

And I kissed the toaster that would make me $500 dollars, "Oh Lord that lends me life, lend me a heart replete with thankfulness!"

I will get my kingdom back one way or another and this Holy Grail will bring me my crown again, "Be not afraid of greatness. Some are born great, some achieve greatness, and others have greatness thrust upon them."

And with that I walked into a brighter future, "It is not in the stars to hold our destiny but in ourselves. If you can look into the seeds of time, and say which grain will grow and which will not, speak then unto me. Oh Heaven! That one might read the book of fate, and see the revolution of the times."

I will rebuild New York with this toaster, bring Broadway back and evict the hatemongers that dwell there. My Holy Toaster Grail, it has spoken to me without words in what I must do. No, it will not fall in the hands of Neidermeyer the dick, for I will cut off his head, take his small kingdom, then attack the bigger ones in time, "All the world's a stage, and all the men and women merely players: they have their exits and their entrances; and one man in his time plays many parts, his acts being seven ages."

There's an old saying that applies to me: you can't lose a game if you don't play the game. If you prick us do we not bleed? If you tickle us do we not laugh? If you poison us do we not die? And if you wrong us shall we not revenge?

To climb steep hills requires a slow pace at first. Go wisely and slowly. Those who rush stumble and fall. God shall be my hope, my stay, my guide and lantern to my feet.

Nothing comes from doing nothing. You know who you are, but know not who you could be. Let every man be master of his time.

This just be act one, my dear Shakespeare, this be just act one, "Come Yorick, we have a Kingdom to take. The golden age is before us, not behind us. What must be shall be. There is plenty of time to sleep in the grave."

To do a

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