A/N: So we're reading Macbeth for my English class, like 99-percent of all other high schoolers, and we had to write a journal entry from Mac's POV when he killed the Duncan. Mine was one of the more humorous ones, obvi, and my experience writing fics has totally helped me writing it! Be jealous :D
June 23, 1478. Scotland
Dear Diary Man Journal/Log of Manliness,
Um… wow. If anyone asks, I didn't do it.
I didn't mean to kill King Duncan! Okay… well, I did. But no one else needs to know that, right? It's just you and me, diary—I mean man journal/log of manliness—out in the big wide world. If you tell anyone what I wrote here… well, I'll just have to murder you, too. No, I kid. Or do I…?
So I know someone is going to eventually ask me this: why did I even kill Duncan in the first place? It was because he wouldn't give me a Klondike bar. I killed the one and only Duncan, King of Scotland, because if I didn't then the witches' prophecies would not be fulfilled and then I would be really mad. You know, man-journal, they should really invent things on the end of my pen so that I can erase what I don't want other people to see, because if someone finds this, like a million billion years from now and reads all these… ah, never mind.
Okay, so now I killed Duncan, and I'm running to my darling wifeypoo, and I'm expecting some sympathy, ya know? But no, she's like, "YOU IDIOT, YOU'RE NOT SUPPOSED TO TAKE THE DAGGERS WITH YOU!" and I was like, "Uh... sorry? You do realize I just killed one of my friends, right?" And she's like, "God, Macbeth, you are so annoying!" and then she takes my pretty little daggers from me and goes to wipe them off. Creep. But before she goes, I was telling her how Duncan's guards were drunk and stuff, like, I told her I could not join in their drunken festivities when I knew I would have to kill Duncan right in their face, whether they knew it or not. Do you know what it's like to kill a friend? Didn't think so, man-journal, didn't think so.
As I was killing Duncan, I could hear voices in my head saying, "Are you sure you want to go through with this?", "Isn't your wife the biggest creeper ever?", "What if the witches were wrong?" That last one was a big one.
And then it was done. I had killed Duncan. I looked at all the blood on my hands and my first thought was, "Oh crap. I totally ruined my shirt," "I can't believe I just did it, a guy like me would never murder one of his friends, but I just did." And then I was like "EW! EW! GET IT OFF!" That's when I went to my adorably creepy wife. I totally think she was PMS-ing or something.
Ah, my wife… She was so happy when I killed Duncan. She was just really mad at me because I took the daggers with me. She just snatched them from me and ran back to Duncan's room… Well, I kinda already told you that, didn't I? Thanks for reminding me, man-journal, thanks a lot.
Ever since I killed Duncan, I totally feel like a changed man. I feel so much guilt; guilt that a nice little pad of paper like yourself should never feel. I was once a nice little pad of paper—I mean man, a nice man—like you, man-journal. And then I killed one of my closest friend and my revered leader. Sometimes I wished I never killed Duncan in the first place. Now who will I drink tea and eat crumpets and go hunting and bake cookies with? I mean, not cookies. Manly-men like me (and Duncan) do not bake cookies. Definitely not.
It's kinda nice being king of Scotland, although I wish I didn't have to kill Duncan in order to do so. Everyone's like "HI KING MACBETH!" and I'm like "HI, LOYAL SUBJECTS! LOVE YOU!" and there's that cute little wave, of course. My wife loves being queen, it's kinda scary, though… so I won't really go into detail about that. I mean, the Lady's nice and all, but she can be so weird sometimes! Bah, women, they're silly.
But there's this one thing that always haunts me:
"What if the witches were wrong?"