Title:To Kill a King
Rating:PG-13. There isn't really anything bad in it, but it does allude to violence and I'm just not sure if PG is appropriate, so I'm being cautious.
Disclaimer:The characters are not mine but this narrative is and should not be reproduced in any form without my permission. However, I'm a nice person and there shouldn't be a problem if you ask. J
Author's Notes:This is a narrative I wrote as an English assignment on the murder of Duncan at the hands of Macbeth, since the details were not provided. Hope you enjoy it…hope my teacher does to! This is my first submission, so hopefully all goes well.
To Kill a King
The stars twinkled, the full moon shone bright on the Macbeth house. The chirping of crickets was suddenly silenced; the ringing of bells alerting the man in the hallway, who silently crept forward as a sure-footed cat to its prey.
A few moments later found the man outside the door to the guest chambers, where he met his wife; in the dead of night, Macbeth and his wife were the only two awake. He carefully stepped over the inebriated guards lying on the floor and made his way to the door. Before opening the door, Lady Macbeth caught the hand of her husband, turning him back around to face her. At his questioning glance, she grabbed his hand and took the beautifully crafted dagger from him, placing it back in its sheath at his side. Crouching down, she unsheathed two daggers from the fallen guards and handed one to Macbeth. Nodding, he turned back to the door, opening it, and proceeded inside.
Lady Macbeth watched her husband as he entered the chambers of Duncan, King of Scotland, and kinsman to her husband. Feeling the seeds of doubt settle within her, their roots winding deep down into the pit of her stomach, she reached down and grabbed the bottle of wine used to incapacitate the guards. Quickly consuming a large portion, she then placed the bottle in the hand of one of the sleeping guards and hurried to Macbeth's side.
Macbeth had not gone very far when he felt his wife's presence behind him. Without acknowledging her, he took a step forward, only to halt when the sleeping form rolled over. The two froze, as lifelike as statues, for a long period of time. So quiet were they the sound of Duncan's rhythmic breathing made its way to them, assuring them of his unconscious state, and easing their nerves. After an eternity of waiting, Macbeth slowly continued his path to Duncan's bed.
As she followed her husband, Lady Macbeth slowly became aware of the emboldening effect of the alcohol. Matching his pace step-by-agonizing step, she finally found herself at the bedside. She watched as Macbeth slowly raised his dagger above his head, hesitating. He glanced at her and she saw the internal struggle within him, silently giving him her support.
With that, Macbeth brought his eyes back to Duncan's sleeping form, came to a decision, and pulling back the blanket he swiftly brought the dagger down, burying it into the King's back. He felt Duncan spasm, but he didn't make a sound. Out of the corner of his eye, he watched as Lady Macbeth went to raise her dagger, only to allow it to fall from her hand.
Lady Macbeth backed slowly, the realization of the situation hitting her hard. Watching as her husband stabbed Duncan again she finally turned and ran from the chamber, nearly tripping over the guards at the entrance. She didn't stop until she reached the inner courtyard, illuminated by the pale moon, where she flung herself on the grass to catch her breath.
Meanwhile Macbeth, swept up in the intoxication of regicide, reached down to grab the fallen dagger, stabbing Duncan with both. He repeated the action several times before the exhilaration wore off. He stood standing over his now dead King, kinsman, and guest, realizing what had just transpired. Eyes wide, ears open, ignoring the blood on his clothes and the daggers in his hands, he slowly made his way out of the room in search for his wife.