Prologue

All streets in the town of Verona were deserted. There was absolutely no one in sight. Every shop was closed and dark. The shops all had sympathy and farewell notes posted in their windows. In the town square, right in front of the town hall on the platform with stone benches stood a memorial. In the center of the chaos of roses, faux flower wreaths, stuffed animals, favorite things, were two blown-up photos, one of a teenage boy and the other of a teenage girl.

The front page of yesterday’s paper blew across the barren main street. The page smacked up against a bench, perfectly displaying the headline article. It had a large, bold title in all capitol letters and below it the same two pictures as were displayed in the square. The article beneath read:

“Two households both alike in dignity
In fair Verona, where we lay our scene,
From ancient grudge break to new mutiny,
Where civil blood makes civil hands unclean.
From forth the fatal loins of these two foes
A pair of star-cross’d lovers take their life;
Whole misadventure piteous overthrows
Do with their death bury their parents’ strife
The fearful passage of their death mark’d love,
And the continuence of their parents’ rage
Which, but their children’s end, could remove
Is now the two hours’ traffic of our stage
The which if you with patient ears attend
What here shall miss, our tale shall strive to mend.”