Disclaimer: I do not own Macbeth, or Banquo or any related characters. I
do not even own a copy of the play. I only own my own thoughts, but you
can't get much for them, so DON'T SUE.
A/N: I wrote this for part of an English assignment, about, you guessed it, Macbeth. It was what they call a 'creative response'. It's basically what I call fanfiction, except it had to be nice enough for English teacher's delicate little ears.
Banquo's Banquet Saga
I had never really suspected Macbeth of killing Duncan. No, that's not quite accurate, I didn't want to suspect Macbeth, and I simply turned a blind eye. Now I can't really turn any kind of eye, as I have none, blind or otherwise. I can hardly ignore the fact that Macbeth has just murdered me. He tried to kill my son Fleance too, which was not at all nice of him. In hindsight, it wasn't at all nice of him to kill me either. Those prophecies had really gone to his head. I had disregarded the witches' prophecies as best I could. It was hard and I couldn't help but think of them, but I didn't go out and decide to kill my loyal friends either. I think I should stop referring to Macbeth as a 'friend', not now that he's killed me and all. I can't really blame Macbeth for taking his chance to murder me. I didn't really make it hard for him. I just had to go for a nice long ride, alone with my son, so he could pick me off easily. I should have been a little suspicious when he interrogated me about my ride, how long I would be, whether Fleance was to come with me, where we were going to, and the like. I can only laugh at his vain actions. If the witches' prophecies were true then one of my descendents would become king. In killing me and failing to kill my son, Macbeth failed in securing his line. Silly git. I made my way to the banquet, intent in scaring the crown off Macbeth's head, and scarring his mind forever. I could not resist the powerful urge, death is mortally boring, and some comic entertainment was in desperate need. I was still invited to his banquet whether I was alive or otherwise, and decided to make the most of the invitation. I arrived fashionably late, but most people were already seated. All save one. I immediately assumed the seat, which was Macbeth's. I let him see me, but only him. The stir might have gotten out of control if the whole party was to see a pale man with his throat cut, stab wounds in his front and his shirt unfashionably smeared with blood. Macbeth went absolutely loopy when he saw me. He started dancing around as if he was standing on a slice of lemon wrapped around a short, bloodstained dagger. The looks he was receiving from the other guests were really quite amusing. He really caused quite a stir. His pretty Lady tried to cover up his madness and guilt by saying that this was a frequent occurrence, and that he would be better in a moment. Perhaps it was a frequent occurrence; perhaps recently murdered friends he had a guilty conscience about often visited him at banquets. I had had my fun, and was preparing to take my leave and retire for the night. I was prepared to let his mind eat him slowly from the inside, and I would leave him be forever. Well, perhaps forever, unless I got really bored. It was at this time that Macbeth, being the fool that he is, decided to drink a toast to his 'dear friend Banquo' (3, 4, 90). Those who knew me before I was inconveniently murdered would know that I could, and still can not leave an argument without having the last word, especially when an insult such as this has been laid at my door. Even though I can no longer own a door, house, or any part of it now that I am dead. I must speak with my local representative about that. This however is no place to discuss local political issues or equal rights for all persons, no matter their status, being alive or otherwise. I was not about to leave the banquet, and lose the argument. His guilt would take too long to destroy him, and the play did need a little more life in it. I appeared again, determined to prove my point, liven up the banquet, and scar his mind forever. Talk about killing three birds with one stone! When I appeared Macbeth was most rude to me. It was really quite uncalled for. I t was not as though I had turned up uninvited, and it was hardly my fault that he couldn't control his own feelings of guilt. He started yelling at me, telling me to get out of his sight. He also called me a great deal of things, all of which displeased me greatly. My damage being done, I vanished from his sight, and found entertainment elsewhere by reeking havoc in a near-by village by appearing to old men and young children as a shadowy figure haunting the bridge just outside the town. After a fun-filled night I found myself making my dreary way to my own castle, where I knew Fleance would be found. This earth is getting really over-populated with dead people, as I discovered on my dreary way home. I never knew there were so many. Most only show themselves when they're feeling really vindictive, really bored or need to take revenge on living beings, or all three at once. I found Fleance being bandaged by a rather fetching housemaid. Really, can't the boy do anything for himself? Obviously not. I somehow got in the way of thinking that him being bandaged and cared for by a very pretty servant of the opposite sex had nothing to do with helplessness. I have appeared to only two other people since the banquet saga. The first was to a depressed man, wearing odd fashions, who seemed to want to tell this story to his king in the form of a play. The play wasn't at all good, they call Macbeth a 'hero', a tragic one, but a hero all the same, and I do not feature in it nearly as much as I should have. My second appearance was to commission a lovely, learned, young lady to tell my story as a piece of writing to be included in what she called a 'school assignment'.
CHALLENGE: I challenge all those reading this 'creative response' to write your own, the subject for the 'creative response' was "Imagine you are Banquo's ghost. What do you observe when you appear to Macbeth at the banquet later?" Good luck. And don't forget to review and let me know when/if you respond to the challenge.
A/N: I wrote this for part of an English assignment, about, you guessed it, Macbeth. It was what they call a 'creative response'. It's basically what I call fanfiction, except it had to be nice enough for English teacher's delicate little ears.
Banquo's Banquet Saga
I had never really suspected Macbeth of killing Duncan. No, that's not quite accurate, I didn't want to suspect Macbeth, and I simply turned a blind eye. Now I can't really turn any kind of eye, as I have none, blind or otherwise. I can hardly ignore the fact that Macbeth has just murdered me. He tried to kill my son Fleance too, which was not at all nice of him. In hindsight, it wasn't at all nice of him to kill me either. Those prophecies had really gone to his head. I had disregarded the witches' prophecies as best I could. It was hard and I couldn't help but think of them, but I didn't go out and decide to kill my loyal friends either. I think I should stop referring to Macbeth as a 'friend', not now that he's killed me and all. I can't really blame Macbeth for taking his chance to murder me. I didn't really make it hard for him. I just had to go for a nice long ride, alone with my son, so he could pick me off easily. I should have been a little suspicious when he interrogated me about my ride, how long I would be, whether Fleance was to come with me, where we were going to, and the like. I can only laugh at his vain actions. If the witches' prophecies were true then one of my descendents would become king. In killing me and failing to kill my son, Macbeth failed in securing his line. Silly git. I made my way to the banquet, intent in scaring the crown off Macbeth's head, and scarring his mind forever. I could not resist the powerful urge, death is mortally boring, and some comic entertainment was in desperate need. I was still invited to his banquet whether I was alive or otherwise, and decided to make the most of the invitation. I arrived fashionably late, but most people were already seated. All save one. I immediately assumed the seat, which was Macbeth's. I let him see me, but only him. The stir might have gotten out of control if the whole party was to see a pale man with his throat cut, stab wounds in his front and his shirt unfashionably smeared with blood. Macbeth went absolutely loopy when he saw me. He started dancing around as if he was standing on a slice of lemon wrapped around a short, bloodstained dagger. The looks he was receiving from the other guests were really quite amusing. He really caused quite a stir. His pretty Lady tried to cover up his madness and guilt by saying that this was a frequent occurrence, and that he would be better in a moment. Perhaps it was a frequent occurrence; perhaps recently murdered friends he had a guilty conscience about often visited him at banquets. I had had my fun, and was preparing to take my leave and retire for the night. I was prepared to let his mind eat him slowly from the inside, and I would leave him be forever. Well, perhaps forever, unless I got really bored. It was at this time that Macbeth, being the fool that he is, decided to drink a toast to his 'dear friend Banquo' (3, 4, 90). Those who knew me before I was inconveniently murdered would know that I could, and still can not leave an argument without having the last word, especially when an insult such as this has been laid at my door. Even though I can no longer own a door, house, or any part of it now that I am dead. I must speak with my local representative about that. This however is no place to discuss local political issues or equal rights for all persons, no matter their status, being alive or otherwise. I was not about to leave the banquet, and lose the argument. His guilt would take too long to destroy him, and the play did need a little more life in it. I appeared again, determined to prove my point, liven up the banquet, and scar his mind forever. Talk about killing three birds with one stone! When I appeared Macbeth was most rude to me. It was really quite uncalled for. I t was not as though I had turned up uninvited, and it was hardly my fault that he couldn't control his own feelings of guilt. He started yelling at me, telling me to get out of his sight. He also called me a great deal of things, all of which displeased me greatly. My damage being done, I vanished from his sight, and found entertainment elsewhere by reeking havoc in a near-by village by appearing to old men and young children as a shadowy figure haunting the bridge just outside the town. After a fun-filled night I found myself making my dreary way to my own castle, where I knew Fleance would be found. This earth is getting really over-populated with dead people, as I discovered on my dreary way home. I never knew there were so many. Most only show themselves when they're feeling really vindictive, really bored or need to take revenge on living beings, or all three at once. I found Fleance being bandaged by a rather fetching housemaid. Really, can't the boy do anything for himself? Obviously not. I somehow got in the way of thinking that him being bandaged and cared for by a very pretty servant of the opposite sex had nothing to do with helplessness. I have appeared to only two other people since the banquet saga. The first was to a depressed man, wearing odd fashions, who seemed to want to tell this story to his king in the form of a play. The play wasn't at all good, they call Macbeth a 'hero', a tragic one, but a hero all the same, and I do not feature in it nearly as much as I should have. My second appearance was to commission a lovely, learned, young lady to tell my story as a piece of writing to be included in what she called a 'school assignment'.
CHALLENGE: I challenge all those reading this 'creative response' to write your own, the subject for the 'creative response' was "Imagine you are Banquo's ghost. What do you observe when you appear to Macbeth at the banquet later?" Good luck. And don't forget to review and let me know when/if you respond to the challenge.