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 ^{(it's beta!)}

The street was busy, the italian sun beating down on the stalls and their owners, with customers cluttering chokeing it. A jungle of bright oranges and reds, yellows, tans a and greens made up the colours of the street.The street opened onto a town centre, a giant fountain with benched and staues around it dominated the centre. Two figures, red and yellow bands on top of thear shirts stood on the lip of the fountian, talking. The bands marked them as capulets. each wore a 9mm pistol on their belts. Sampson, the taller of the two saw a blur of blue and purple, his mind instantly thought one word. Montague. Pointing at them he turned to Gregory.

'Gregory,a dog of the house of Montague moves me.'

Gregory looked up a half smoked roll up haning from his mouth, he followed his friends finger to the Montagues making their way over, he turned away slightly disinterested.

'To move is to stur Sampson, and to be valiant is to stand: therefore if thou art moved, thou runn'st away.'

Sampson drew a knife from his pocket and tucked it under his belt,'A dog of that house shall move me to stand: I will take the wall of any man or maid of Montague's.'

Gregory dropped and sat on the edge of the fountian looking at his feat,'The quarrel is between our masters and us their men.'

Sampson drew the knife from his belt, and pushedhis friend infront of the two montagues, who by now had arrived.'My naked weapon is out: quarrel, I will back thee.'

Half heartedly, Gregory brought his thumb to his mouth, and bit down. The two Montagues, Abraham and Balthasar stopped, Abraham stepped foward, a smile broke his features.'Do you bite your thumb at us, sir?'

Gregory looked back at his friend and then to Abraham,'I do bite my thumb, sir.'

Balthasa pushed foward,'Do you bite your thumb at us, sir?'

Gregory stared at Balthasa,'No, sir, I do not bite my thumb at you, sir, but I

bite my thumb, sir.'

'Do you quarrel, sir?' Added Sampson.

'Quarrel sir! no, sir.' Replied Abraham, slightly bemused.

'If you do, sir, I am for you: I serve as good a man as you. '

'No better?' Said Balthasa, as if daring Sampson.

'Yes, better, sir. ' sampson took the bait, and drew his knife. The four broke into a fight, a whurl of punches and clumsy swipes with knifes. Benvolio ran round the corner, his pistol drawn and cocked, he thrust himself inbetween the two fighting families, haulting the fight. Pushing them aside, he ordered, 'Part, fools! Put up your swords; you know not what you do.'

Reluctantly the four put their blades away, shouting insults and spitting. A figure came out of the crowd, pistol drawn and aimed at Benvolio's head,a red and yellow shirt identified him as Tybalt of the Capulets. He sneered, lips curing in a twisted smile.'What, art thou drawn among these heartless hinds? Turn thee, Benvolio, look upon thy death.'

Benvolio holstered his pistol, arms raised he turned to Tybalt,'I do but keep the peace: put up thy sword, Or manage it to part these men with me'

Tybalts grin returned,What, drawn, and talk of peace! I hate the word, As I hate hell, all Montagues, and thee: Have at thee, coward!' Tybalt lunged at Benvolio a dagger in his extended right hand. A loud bang errupted and a bullet broke the ground between Tybalt and Benvolio, stoppng both in there tracks, looking up Tybalt saw the helicopter, hovering 30 ft up, two snipers aimed at the waring sides, and Prince Escalus, city elder and police chief, standing on the skid, loudspeeker at hsi lips,'Rebellious subjects, enemies to peace,

Profaners of this neighbour-stained steel,--

Will they not hear? What, ho! you men, you beasts,

That quench the fire of your pernicious rage

With purple fountains issuing from your veins,

On pain of torture, from those bloody hands

Throw your mistemper'd weapons to the ground,

And hear the sentence of your moved prince.

Three civil brawls, bred of an airy word,

By thee, old Capulet, and Montague,

Have thrice disturb'd the quiet of our streets,

And made Verona's ancient citizens

Cast by their grave beseeming ornaments,

To wield old partisans, in hands as old,

Canker'd with peace, to part your canker'd hate:

If ever you disturb our streets again,

Your lives shall pay the forfeit of the peace.

For this time, all the rest depart away:

You Capulet; shall go along with me:

And, Montague, come you this afternoon,

To know our further pleasure in this case,

To old Free-town, our common judgment-place.

Once more, on pain of death, all men depart.'

The crowds broke leaving the Capulets and Montagues standing, as SWAT force ran from all sides machine guns aimed, arresting them.