Oh. That was it. Horatio could do nothing more than stare at his own hands, not even stained red, but yet he still felt like he was drowning in the blood of all of Denmark.
It was silent. The room, the castle, all of Elsinore. Silent. There was no encore or a cheering crowd like there sometimes was when Hamlet and Laertes would fence with one another.
This was it. Nothing more. There would never be anything more, because all that was left in that room was Horatio’s labored breath and the echo of his heart.
He wanted to vomit, Laertes, Gertrude, Claudius, Hamlet.. all of them lifeless, surrounding him. And before them Polonius, Ophelia, King Hamlet, oh King Hamlet, why did he have to tell Hamlet about that bloody ghost?!
He takes a deep breath, gently moving Hamlet’s lifeless form from himself and onto the cold ground. Horatio watched the prince for a moment, is this really it, forever and ever no more?
Or will he be granted dreams in the afterlife? Will he be allowed to make amends with his father and mother? What about Polonius and his children? What about Ophelia? She didn’t deserve to be pulled into any of this, not one bit, and yet she was the only one who got to hold hands with fate when it was determining what to do with her.
Horatio stood, surveying the room one last time before moving to the door. What now? Just leave them all for someone else to find? That seems like the best option…maybe. He supposes he’ll just simply return to Wittenberg after this. Pretend like every is as it should be and that his presence and involvement with the tragedy of the Danish crown is nothing but rumor.
He looks back again at Hamlet, studying the body for a moment, “You didn’t deserve this.” He surprised himself when he speaks aloud, his voice bouncing from wall to wall. The echo is almost a welcome presence, making it feel that he’s not as alone as he now is.
His moment of hesitancy ruined his plan of a silent exit, for just as he turns to truly leave: Enter Fortinbras
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