My heart, severely at unease, smashed itself against its cage. Lady Macbeth is not right. I shall not let it be right. Such thoughts were never right. How dare she question my love, my manhood, my pride? With these very hands, I stripped this kingdom of war, and yet she belittles me with her little games. If that does not make me a man, then I do not know what does. I did not become Thane of Cawdor by chance. I earned this, with every ounce of manhood I have. I sought victory in war, and found it, yet I cannot find victory in the battle of my thoughts. I penetrated my sword through the neck of an enemy, and smeared my fists in warm, rose red blood. I could easy do the same to gain what I lust. Yet she asks if I am a man? Such a question shall bring me both victory and death.
I closed my eyes. Darkness crept behind my eyelids, causing me to shiver with guilt. I felt like my lungs gave up on my body, my breath uneven, I tried to discard the thoughts of encouragement, yet they crept behind me, lurking behind me. I am a man, a host and a shadow. I should not be allowing my deepest desires to overtake the palms, which had saved the man I wish to put to rest.
My brain ran in circles restlessly, revisiting the bitter ambition that sank to the bottom of my stomach, burdening me. It creeps over my innocent soul, trying to cover it with dark colours. As if the devil had gifted me, possessing my beliefs and my ideology. It enveloped me, into a world of fear, letting the numbing pain of culpability seep into my body. I need more. More is needed to be a man...to be more than a man...a King. I’m dancing to the devils tunes, and I know they will laugh.
The devils tunes resembled that of what the witches had said, racing through my brains repeatedly. The realisation of my gullible soul brought in fears that I could not handle. I was in my dark zone and could not break free the chains of destruction. Why did they have to plant the seed of hope into my heart? It is now sprouting, being watered by my ambition.
T he water droplets fell one by one, as I held my head, strong yet wearily, hanging across the edge of the balcony; with every drop I wished it washed the dirty thoughts that encaged me from being faultless Macbeth. Yet I yearned to be King Macbeth. A King of kindness, a King of just and a King of sympathy. But in doing so will result in my status, my pain and my death to be intensified by the wrath of God. Going against the King, was like going against God. But I do not agree with the natural order. It was just utter nonsense from my perspective. Surely it will come back to sting me, where it hurts most - for it is written in my destiny, written to bring shred my dream of a long life, into mere pieces of a shameful king.
I cannot defend myself from this urge. If I am a man, I will do it. I am a man. A man with the contaminated desires planted in his mind, by evil. But will I be a man after it? Let’s find out.
