p class="MsoNormal"span style="text-decoration: underline;"span lang="EN-GB"Chapter One:/span/span/p
p class="MsoNormal"span lang="EN-GB"Macbeth was not the type of person you'd expect to attend St. Fife's Boarding School of Excellence and Eloquence. He did anyway, due to his rich parents, who were Mayor and Mayoress of Glamis, but even they didn't make him fit in any better. It was true, that Macbeth would've much rather been born on a battlefield, with a sword in his hand instead of a ruler, and where he didn't have to learn about Fermat's Last Theorem or emwhatever the hell/em the teachers were attempting to teach him. Indeed, Macbeth was someone who could complain about emanything /emand was probably capable of procrastinating on his own life. That, and his overwhelming incapability to emshut up./em/span/p
p class="MsoNormal"span lang="EN-GB""You should've seen his face Banquo! That absolute emass/em! We were analysing the language in Chapter 3 of 'The Eighth Red' and obviously I wrote the best essay in the class on that junk, and then thatem prick /emMacduff decides emhe/em knows the story way better than I do, puts his hand up, shares emmy /empoint with the rest of the class and then gets all the credit for the idea I came up with emfirst/em. I tell you Banquo, school's the place where ambition dies. I'mem so done./em "/span/p
p class="MsoNormal"span lang="EN-GB"Macbeth was slumped across his bed in Room 282, various textbooks strewn across the floor and the contents of his pencil case exploding onto his already tormented desk. Macbeth was not known for his tidiness; even his mind was cluttered it seemed./span/p
p class="MsoNormal"span lang="EN-GB""You shouldn't let him bug you Mac. After all – you won't be around when that poor joke of an English pupil has to take his end of years and he'll have no teacher to be the pet of. Think about that!" the words came from the boy sitting on the bed opposite him, his nose buried in a textbook and his hand occupied by a small mug of tea. It was, undoubtedly, Banquo, not just because the two were roommates but also because he was the only known person in the universe who could put up with Macbeth's endless rants. Banquo was a solid ½ foot smaller than his companion and the sort of person who would rather sit at home with a good slice of literature and a cup full of revision than chase a football across a field screaming in the height of March. /span/p
p class="MsoNormal"span lang="EN-GB""Yeah, but it'll never wipe the smug smile off his ugly face. I swear the damn thing never leaves. It's the only emotion he conveys!"/span/p
p class="MsoNormal"span lang="EN-GB""You really need to take a break Mac," Banquo replied calmly, taking a sip of his tea and turning a page in his book, "I doubt Macduff spends as much time obsessing over what you've done."/span/p
p class="MsoNormal"span lang="EN-GB""I emam not /emobsessing." Macbeth protested, sitting up a little "I am very clearly complaining because what he's done is emwrong/em and I can't sit here and let him get away with all this bull- "/span/p
p class="MsoNormal"span lang="EN-GB""Mac," Banquo sighed, cutting off his curses. He stood up and put his mug of tea, still half full on the desk. The stain from the bottom of the mug leaked onto the forgotten papers beneath, "you really need to give it a rest for once. Wanna grab some dinner? It might make you feel better."/span/p
p class="MsoNormal"span lang="EN-GB"In response, Macbeth sat up groaning "Yeah, whatever, but I have a headache so don't expect me to cheer up."/span/p
p class="MsoNormal"span lang="EN-GB"Banquo sighed. It was going to be a long week./span/p