Ro (A Cyberpunk Retelling of Romeo and Juliet)

15

"...like fire and powder—

Which, as they kiss, consume."

*

ROMEO

I dreamt a dream tonight.

MERCUTIO

And so did I.

ROMEO

Well, what was yours?

MERCUTIO

That dreamers often lie.

***

RO MONTAGUE

I roll over, thrashing in my sleep, the blankets strewn about me. Mercy holds me by my shoulders, her emerald eyes latched onto mine. She's so close, I can see the smattering of freckles along her nose.

"Calm, calm down, Ro." I bolt upright, running my hands along my body, still feeling I'm fully dressed. She smirks, eyes sparkling with amusement. "I didn't do anything to you, sweetheart. You passed out last night, practically drunk you were so happy." She runs a quick pattern in the air, and my Eye-Lens picks up the responding signal. I see the fake name, ROSE EMMA, and the ticket with my slightly altered face on it. "Were you that thrilled to see me?"

I swallow, my hands going instinctively to check my throat. I still felt like I was panicking furiously in the water, struggling not to let go of that beautiful stranger's frail hand. "I had a bad dream. That a storm was coming, and even the stars were out to kill me." Mercy leans away from me then, perhaps seeing the strange melancholy in my eyes. "I'm not sure if I should go to the masquerade any longer. I'm a murderer. What chance should I have showing my face?"

Mercy responds to this by shoving a pillow at my face.

I flail, pushing her away. "Gods, are you crazy?"

"Crazy?" Her eyes light with anger at that. "You dare call me crazy for following you like a puppy, cleaning up your gory messes, only to see you give up now? And for what, a bad dream?" She throws her hands up in the air, pacing about my room. Grandma Viviana has hung the space with pentacles and drawn-on quotes from the Book of Shadows. It feels like a holy place because of it, but I know I am anything but holy. Mercy rises like a storm herself, pacing about the room and muttering obscenities.

Suddenly, she pivots, pointing accusatorily at me. "I would follow you to the end, Ro Montague. You know what dreamers are?" She points to the pentacles Gran Viviana has around the room, the countless texts from Wiccan rituals and pagan gods. "You believe in fairy tales, don't you? Well, listen to this one!" She kicks at my nightstand, sending an array of over-stacked books clattering to the ground. "Dreamers believe in destiny, that the gods or spirits or tiny little fairies have the ability to change your fate. They project onto an outside force that which they're too afraid to do themselves. A Montague dreams of running a drug empire. A Capulet, one of credits. A soldier dreams of bodies strewn over a battlefield in victory. A lover..." Mercy swallows, glancing nervously at my face, then away just as quickly. Her red face burns redder. "They dream of love."

She hisses the last bit with a hiccup, finally sitting at the edge of my bed. I throw my arms around her, pulling her tight. "I've gone so far, and will you leave me now for a dream?"

"I swore to protect you when we were but children, playing on the playground," I tuck her head protectively beneath my chin. "But for now, peace, Mercy, peace. You speak of nothing." We exhale, together. As cold descends during night, and southern New Verona freezes as the energy's sapped by the richer northern sectors that can pay for it, we huddle. "I will go to the masquerade even if it kills me."

***

***

Hey, it's Ro Montague here. Don't forget to vote and comment... or else.

Your daily wisdom for the day?

Dreamers often lie.