Editing DbS (section)

== THREE ==
⚇乂⚇

'''WHY DOES EVERYONE HAVE A SWORD!?'''

THE SECOND I WOKE UP, I knew something was wrong. Like, okay, most days there’s something wrong, but something was overly different this time.

The sky was a vibrant blue and there were fluffy clouds dotting it, but something seemed off. Then I realized what it was. 

I was laying on the ground, which seemed to be made of bricks and pebbles, smelling strongly of horse manure. Ew. I mean—it’s just horse manure, how bad could it be? Pretty bad, turns out. Plus, I had no idea where I was. Maybe I was in England, maybe I was in Ireland, maybe I was in India or something, and what I initially thought was horse manure was actually elephant scat. I had no idea.

I wasn’t anywhere I’d seen before. It was a completely foreign place, with foreign voices around me. Well, actually, it was the foreign squeaking of rats about me, since I appeared to be on the ground in an alley.

I cracked open my eyes (no, I hadn’t opened them before, since my head was swimming) to see a cloudy gray sky. The air smelled strongly of rain, and the buildings that flanked the alleyway I was lying in were a light brown color, bricks made of who-knows-what.

A shout sounded from somewhere near me, and I got up, still dizzy from falling, and leaned against the wall for support. I made out the words, “PART, FOOLS! PUT UP YOUR SWORDS, YOU KNOW NOT WHAT YOU DO!”

Those words—they were familiar. Why were they familiar? This was all weird—the accent of the person speaking (wait, no, that could be fixed), how my head was spinning as if I’d just woken up from a long nap, and how I smelled the ever-present scent of elephant/horse manure.

The sound of a sword being drawn made me tense up, alert, ready for action. Another voice spoke, this one not as deep. It had a whiny air to it, even though it was clearly a man’s voice.

“What art thou drawn among these heartless minds? Turn thee, Benvolio—” who I assumed was the one who’d first spoken, “—look upon thy death.”

Honestly, if he were going to kill Benvolio (the name struck a bell, but for the life of me, I couldn’t figure out who he was), he should’ve snuck up on him in his sleep. Or poisoned him. Or hung him. Or ''something'' a little less bloody. Or you know what, not killing him at all would’ve been great, too. 

I got up and looked down at my clothes. Thank goodness they had changed because I had a feeling that the ones I normally wore—the ones that used to be normal—were going to be out of place wherever I was.

Instead of jeans and a t-shirt, I was wearing this weird sort of overcoat thing, a brown sort of color. Then, under that, there seemed to be a long-sleeved button-down shirt—the type one would wear under a tuxedo—and then my pants—oh, my beautiful, normal, jeans—had turned into leggings.

I was wearing leggings. They were the color of the earth, like dust that had not been touched by water. It might’ve been a fashion trend during Henry VIII’s time, but it certainly wasn’t during modern times. There were these puffy underpants-looking things that covered over the leggings, and they were rather… well, puffy. It’s a strange description, I know, but how ''else'' am I supposed to describe them? Technically speaking, their official name is “stocks” and you could look up pictures of them on the internet, although you might want to specify that they aren’t market stocks or stockades stocks, or anything, just clothing stocks (and even then you might not find what you’re looking for).

All of this taking in took about two seconds, but like most thought processes, it’s kind of hard to explain. 

I glanced around, a bit fearful someone would see my present state and laugh, partially because the underpants were on the outside—what was I, a superhero? —and partially because I had a need to see another human being, and I was hoping that I might be in some type of outdoor play or something or like, a roleplay. Spoiler alert: it was not some type of outdoor play or roleplay or something.

I crept out of the alleyway, hoping not to be seen, but that failed miserably when I was called to by one of the men who’d spoken earlier.

“And you, whose house do you serve?” the question was asked, coming from the person whose voice I thought did not sound very honorable (you know, the whiny one).

The person who’d spoke had dark, wavy, hair, down to his chin, and wore a hat that had a feather on it—Captain Hook, anyone?

He was wearing a dark, scarlet red outfit, a sword-holder at his side, attached to his puffy pants, not unlike my own. 

“Sir,—” and here, I believe the one who spoke, who was wearing a dark blue outfit similar to both mine and Cap’n Hook’s, was trying to be polite, to keep the peace if for no other reason “—this argument between thineself and me doth not concern the servant. I do but keepeth the peace. Put up thy sword—” Cap’n Hook carried a long, thin, sword that looked like it could cut through the air itself “—or manage it to part these men with me.”

Yes, that was the person whose voice I’d heard first—who I now gathered was Benvolio, but only from previous statements—had spoken, an air about him that said ''I am very honorable, doubt my honor and my sidekick might tear your face apart. Literally, he’s very face-tearable and can be deadly.''

Benvolio was a ''total'' mom friend. He seemed like he was nice enough, but he also seemed like he was the one who kept children from jumping off of balconies believing they could fly. Maybe he kept a younger friend or a younger brother from doing that exact thing. 

Cap’n Hook practically exploded. “WHAT!? Drawn and talk of peace? I hate the word, as I hate the world, —” a glance to a monk-looking-guy, who was desperately trying to stay out of the argument “—all Montagues, and thee. Have at thee COWARD,” he said, as a crowd began to draw around the two, a few servants who also had swords, who weren’t speaking at the moment stood off to the side, watching, ready for action.

Benvolio and Cap’n Hook jumped back and forth, back and forth, sword fighting like in ''The Princess Bride'' or like in a pirate or knight movie.

Shouts came from the crowd, calling out to them to “fight like the men you are” and to “get ‘im, Ty!” and “slice his head off, Benvolio!”

Actually, that last one came from a boy that was also dressed in blue, whose hand was on his sword. He was ready for battle, ready to smack someone with his sword, and ready to attack whoever decided to even think about defeating Benvolio, who I assumed was his friend. 

The clothes of the one who had shouted weren’t the same shade of blue as Benvolio’s- they were darker, closer to indigo than blue. 

My theory was that he wasn’t completely on Benvolio’s side, or at least, he was just a friend, not a brother or a blood relative. And if he did happen to be related, he wasn’t a close relative, and instead, he was allied with someone else- not Cap’n Hook, as his clothes were blue all the way, but they weren’t as bright blue as Benvolio’s either. 

The two swordsmen kept jumping, and Cap’n Hook grabbed Benvolio’s forearm, aiming to off-balance him. Benvolio grinned, and did a fancy move, whirling away from him. Then, a few gasps were heard from the crowd as new people arrived. 

Two couples emerged from opposite sides of the crowd, one clothed in blue and one in red. Both couples carried themselves with elegance, with power and authority. With both couples, the man looked like he wanted to murder someone. With both couples, they had a look of wanting to protect something—whether it be land or honor, I didn’t quite know at the time.

And then it hit me, like a brick from one of those dusty-looking buildings. I felt like Dorothy from ''The Wizard of Oz'', like Katniss from ''The Hunger Games'', like every hero who had ever had a big revelation, one where realization had hit them in the face like a rock.

I wasn’t in Britain anymore. I definitely wasn’t in the real world anymore, either. In fact, I was somewhere else completely. I was in someone’s imagination. I was in William Shakespeare’s ''Romeo and Juliet'', in Italy. The story where everybody dies, and nobody has a happy ending. And somehow, through some miracle of science, I was living it. It was both a nightmare, a dream come true (stay tuned for more information about this after the commercial break), and a nightmare. Did I mention it was a nightmare? Yeah, it was a nightmare. And guess what? I was living through that nightmare and I couldn’t escape.