O God. What am I to do? O God. My father has been murdered and my mother marries his killer. All this news I get from a ghost. I question myself, can it be trusted? What if this ghost is of the rotten kind? If I follow its orders, I will be forced to commit regicide. Yet I trust this ghost. It brings an aura of my father with it. Therefore its word i shall commit to memory. I must wipe all trivial, fond records, all saws of books, all forms, all pressures past, its commandment all alone shall live. Although I see my father in this ghost, I shall contemplate before I move swiftly to avenge. Until then, I must be aware of all those who speak in smiles; for a single flinch of an eye could lead to my death. I must watch all: the King, my courts and especially that pernicious woman I call mother.
O, all's not right in the world. I can sense it. Hamlet’s murder, the queen’s disloyalty and a suspicious choice by Claudius to keep me close. Why is it that when I doth woke up in the morning I saw a flaming sky. As I walked to my Ophelia’s house I saw cats playing with mice. I must remain preoccupied with the situation at hand. Rest my soul now, the morning sun bring with it a quarreling day.
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