Diary Entries (Minor Characters)


Benvolio: June 26, 1307


Dear diary,


   Out of all days, he has to come and complain about this one, and about this damsel that he cares so much about but has left him dead inside. This Rosaline, a heartless wench I’m sure, a devoted nun, so she gave away sin and the joy of life to serve the Lord above. Now, Romeo, that’s another matter, stricken by love and hit by Cupid’s golden arrow, he’s been running from bride to bride for the last year! He came to me today, moments before those Capulet dogs lashed out, his heart in his hands and his will beneath him. Oh, it bothers me so greatly, his words never fail to exploit yet another nerve and sear it closed with his own pain. Romeo, when will you learn to move on, to enjoy woman by for their presence and not this high and mighty “love” they can bring. He goes on and on about how sweet Rosailines scent is, how dirly he needs it, how he must only hold her for an instant to be satiated. Romeo lusts and lusts but can’t seem to move himself to anything, not even to simply remove this nun from his mind. I truly hope that Romeo will leave me be once and for all after he’s left this sob story behind.


Benvolio: 26, 1307


Dear diary,


Will he ever stop droning on about his forbidden lover? His words make me sick to my core, a man so struck by love that he is unable to surpass himself piety. Romeo, you’re such a fool, I wish he understood that not every woman who he gazed upon had to become his wife. His sorrows spilled upon me like a vessel full of fine red wine, a waste of such a delicacy.  I only wish for Romeo to leave this rut of his behind and seek new love over new horizons, a wish, a desire for him to finally succumb to the gaze of the right woman! I could stand like I have done today, hours of his voice ringing in my ears as he pondered about the prophecies and stories of his lovers now past.

After hours of torture by the words of a love-stricken man could I finally offer some sound advice. To look at the ocean ahead and fish, bring forth the greatest catch but do not dwell by the pond, yet his mind was unable to comprehend even the vaguest metaphor, fool. As I escape his madness did it dawn on me that my poor cousin has struck not by cupid’s arrow but by the entire quiver instead, a curse to fall in love and bleed for the mistress whose motives still unclear. Or the most recent one, apparently the beauty which no other world could have, such radiant cheeks that his eyes must be shut, what a hopeless romantic. I’m once more faced with a realization, do I stand by this man or do I  wish to be free in the world?


My role is beyond myself, it is to serve and fulfill the requests of those in my family who govern, subservience above independence. So, it must be that I’ll stand by Romeo and cast his lure, bring forth those who wish to love him. Though his heart may fall for yet another nun I will do what I must carry him back to our reality.

We are soon to go to the Capulet feast, dangerous indeed but merely a hope to grant Romero upon someone else. Perhaps someone willing to swallow his rhetoric and follow him on the path of romance, some poor girl who knows just too little about life to understand. Oh, what all must I do for Romeo?


Friar Lawrence: June 27, 1307  

Dear diary,


Oh, I shall wed this newly love-stricken couple beyond the gaze of prying eyes, and so their love will quell the crossing swords bring misery upon the streets of our fair Verona. I only wish to cast aside the hatred brought on to the lives of the people by the Capulets and Montagues. I wish that this bondage of blood will, at last, quench their thirst and send our people into a time of great prosperity. Yes, it is my duty as a father to the good Christian people of Verona to bring an end to the blood-fueled craze that has ravaged our streets and has brought the anger of Christ himself!   

   Oh, but my mind does still ache, Romeo is love-stricken beyond even the means of cupid himself. Struck by an arrow which has embedded itself upon his breast and life it seared with the heat of love. I do hold dear the thought that our beloved Juliet will, at last, satiate this ravenous man and beckon him to become a tied down sir which his family and myself have wished him to become for countless years. Oh dear Romeo I do so hope that your love does not become Vice for you’ll fall under the weight of greed for the treasures your mistress holds!


Tybalt: June 28, 1307

Dear diary,


What a set of bloody fools! Do they dare just to tread before our own walls, or is it their ego which brings down shame upon the unworthy streets that I walk. This buffoon, Mercutio, is but a mere cretin and a public display of mockery, there’s naught which will stop me from bringing my sword forth between his ribs. Oh how I dearly wish to bring cold steel to match him blow for blow, oh how sweet it would be to bring such an imbecile to his knees. End this foolish peace and to utter cries of havoc and chaos that will resound throughout the streets of our fair Verona. What I would do to send their crimson blood flowing down upon the pavement staining each brick, a drop at a time. A single swift blow that will pierce his heart will quench his flame for life.

   My hatred flairs now, oh if I even come close to one of them I promise upon my own Mother’s life that I will repeat his soul. I shall extinguish the flames of life from which he draws a breath, the dissolution of an entire man at the cost of an arms swing. An inch of steel to quiet the screams of any man. Bathed in their blood, those foul Montagues will cower at sight of myself, oh it will be a beauty to behold. To at last quench, my thirst for blood will be satiated as I spill the foul Montagues upon the streets.


Capulet: June 28, 1307

Dear diary,


   She’s nothing but a reminder of the disgusting filth that the world besets on us at times. Juliet was never my daughter nor will she ever be, the only thing she will ever be will be a reminder of the failure that I was as a father. Nothing but a crude memento that will forever lay in a shallow grave, the remains to be destroyed by the cruel forces of nature. A relentless tide of hatred will flare across the rooms of my sweet home, my beloved wife tore asunder by Juliet’s selfishness. She has soiled the Capulet name, she culminated her life with the swift affliction of poison, may she rot away and her memory forgotten or forsaken.


Capulet: June 28, 1307 (later that day)


   Now it will fall upon my shoulders to not only bring down the foul Montagues but also to remove the slander which my own daughter has brought upon my name. I would have bestowed her my own blade, but no, she has to swallow the devils’ vile liquor; the coward’s way. Did she not think that the very Friar which would set her down to rest would vanquish any honor from our name?  Her sins will be never be accounted for and thus will strike down the very foundations that I’ve built this glorious house on, but now, now nothing will remain. I might as well follow her down to hell like the little serpent she is.


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