It was once more one of those days; a terrible, no good day. Nothing was feeling right, and Hamlet felt as though constantly he was carrying a brick-filled backpack on each shoulder without break. He was exhausted and wanted nothing more than to lie in bed all day until his body gave in and became one with all his blankets and pillows.

It was almost noon, and no one had come across Hamlet yet. Neither of the officers, not Horatio, not even you. It was then when you finally realised Hamlet couldn't have been feeling well. So you walked to his chambers, knocking on the door. When no response came you walked in anyway.

"Leave me be," the danish prince mumbled and hid his face in his pillow. You didn't listen and sat on the edge of his bed.

"Art thou not feeling well, my lord?" you asked, Hamlet shook his head weakly. "'Tis a horrible day." He mumbled pathetically.