Disclaimer: I do not claim own the characters, setting or plot of this story.
Summary: The secret scrawlings of Macbeth's journal reveal his feelings during his short reign as Thane of Cawdor. Beautifully written, Macbeth describes the last events of his life with love, uncertainty, and ever-growing fear and guilt.
Author's Note: This is something I wrote for my English class. We had weeks to do it and, as per usual, I put it off until the last night. My teacher (of course) said not to do that, and if you did, it would show in your work. Nevertheless, I recieved full marks.
Dear Journal,
Today I fought hard on the battlefield with Banquo. We destroyed Macdonwald and his forces. He was just so smug, the way he rode to battle and leaped off his horse in a perverted imitation of the valiant heroes in those books my wife reads. But Banquo and I just slaughtered him. By the time we got the the scum, Macdonwald, the battle was basically done. Despite the usual battle courtesies, I could not bring myself to touch him; I did not shake his hand. In my mind, I screamed and bade him farewell, but not a sound left my lips. I looked him in the eye and saw that he wasn't ashamed of what he had done. Keeping eye contact, I swung my sword and sliced him open from below his navel to the very end of his neck. As my sword left his flesh, he mouthed, "Farewell" and toppled over as though I had removed his spine rather than unseamed his skin. Just when I thought we were done, there were more! Banquo and I doubled our efforts slaughtering the army with the ferocity of one who's sole intent is to bathe in the blood of those he's slain. And we were. I even faced the King of Norway, who I've heard was assisted by another traitor.
On a lighter note, I look forward to going to Forres, where I may see the King, my friend Duncan. Hopefully I will return to Invernness thereafter. Oh how I miss my dear Lady. Though I fought for my king and my country, my battle cry in my mind is always "For Gruoch! For the Lady Macbeth!" I love her as I love myself.
Macbeth