Here I am, standing behind two big wooden church doors, not even two weeks after my father’s funeral. Everyone around me is filled with happiness and excitement for the Queen and her husband-to-be, and I am filled with only sadness and disappointment. Does no one remember the great king my father was? Does my mother not remember how my father loved her so dearly? I feel as if I am the only person in Denmark who is still mourning the loss of a great man, father, and king.

The church doors open, and the music begins to play. The soft melody of the violin never sounded so substandard. My mother joins me at my side and locks her arms through mine. I suddenly feel ashamed to be her son, but I see her smile through her tears, so I softly smile back at her. Before we ascend down the aisle, I look out into the luminous church room. The smiling faces, exquisite flowers, and radiant sunlight do nothing to brighten the melancholy feeling that is inside me. As we approach the altar, I turn my attention to Claudius. There he stands, dressed in a fur lined coat the color of blood. My father’s crown sits above Claudius’s head and a soft smile spreads across his lips. I see a hint of pride in his eyes; I can’t help but wonder if this was his plan all along: to take everything my father loved away from him, Denmark and my mother. Claudius’s eyes meet with mine as I hesitantly give him my mother’s hand. At this moment, I wish I could disappear; everything I love has been ripped out from under me. My father is six feet underground, and although my mother is standing right next to me, I feel as if she’s a million miles away.

I respectfully bow and take my seat in the first row of pews. The ceremony continues with the priest’s lecture on the definition of true love. I listen intently as he describes love as an abstract feeling that is powerful, understanding, forever, and honest. I can’t help but think that the priest is wasting his breath because my mother has already experienced her true love and could not love anyone but my father. I must have gotten lost in my thoughts during the priest’s speech because my dear friend, Horatio, gently touches my shoulder for me to return my focus to my mother and Claudius. When I return my attention to the bride and groom, I realize I was wrong about my mother and where her heart lies. I watch as she grasps Claudius’s hands in her own and recites her vows. Tears stream down her cheeks and her smile widens as she speaks of what a caring and loving man Claudius is. The moment that Claudius begins to speak, I shrink into my seat. He talks about how he has always respected and loved my mother. If he respected my mother, why would he rush into marrying her? 

The ceremony ends with a passionate kiss between the two sinners. My mother and Claudius grab each other’s hand and turn to face the cheering crowd. As Claudius passes me, he looks at me as if he has defeated me once and for all. Before I can react, my mother and Claudius disappear through the wooden doors. From that moment, I realize I don’t want to feel defeated and melancholy anymore. The sad, morbid feeling inside me fades, and the feeling of revenge and anger takes place. Claudius will pay for what he has done. No more will I be the mourning son of the late King Hamlet; from now on, I will be the son who avenges his father’s death and throne.