Lady Macbeth's Thoughts: An Analysis
Where is he? He is never late! It couldn't of taken him this long. He has left me here, impatiently striding up and down this ridiculously tiny room. He's done this on purpose, leaving me anxious, worried, but at the same time a little bit excited. Me, Lady Macbeth, I have managed to wrap a man around my little finger. A woman? I know this is wrong but the devilish feeling has climbed into my stomach, like your nervous, but excited. Almost as though your about to put on a performance, but in reality, this is much worse.
A screech form the right, a bang to the left, my heart pounding as I halt my footsteps, time freezes around me as nothing happens.
Silence fills the room, as I am frozen, like a timeless statue.
The door swings open, crashes against the wall, in he walks. Daggers in hand, blood trickling off the edge, blood, staining his hands, clothes. Blood, filling the room with that sickly aroma as it comes to touch a sizzle on my tongue. My mind suddenly wakes up, daggers? On him? In our bed chamber? The worthless, dumb, wretched man! How dare he return here with blood on him and the daggers! Any brave man would know this, I of course, would of done it myself, if Duncan hadn't looked so much like my father, or if I had been unsexed like I had asked the immortal spirits. Spitting at him, I tell him this. He isn't even worth a name. Just him, he and it. I am left disgraced by his behaviour, so here I am, left to pick up the pieces.
Showing him what a real man is like, I reluctantly snatch the daggers and snap at him to get washed, changed and dried, ridding of the stains. Motionlessly, tiptoeing to Duncan's bedchamber, I am startled at the state that lies before me. Blood, sprawled everywhere, not a thing is left clean. I thought I was alone, with a body, oh no. A whimper. Without thinking I raise the daggers and…
Breathless, I sprint back, through the hallway, but I'm being followed. I know it, I can sense it.
Guilt hangs round my shoulders, but with
A screech form the right, a bang to the left, my heart pounding as I halt my footsteps, time freezes around me as nothing happens.
Silence fills the room, as I am frozen, like a timeless statue.
The door swings open, crashes against the wall, in he walks. Daggers in hand, blood trickling off the edge, blood, staining his hands, clothes. Blood, filling the room with that sickly aroma as it comes to touch a sizzle on my tongue. My mind suddenly wakes up, daggers? On him? In our bed chamber? The worthless, dumb, wretched man! How dare he return here with blood on him and the daggers! Any brave man would know this, I of course, would of done it myself, if Duncan hadn't looked so much like my father, or if I had been unsexed like I had asked the immortal spirits. Spitting at him, I tell him this. He isn't even worth a name. Just him, he and it. I am left disgraced by his behaviour, so here I am, left to pick up the pieces.
Showing him what a real man is like, I reluctantly snatch the daggers and snap at him to get washed, changed and dried, ridding of the stains. Motionlessly, tiptoeing to Duncan's bedchamber, I am startled at the state that lies before me. Blood, sprawled everywhere, not a thing is left clean. I thought I was alone, with a body, oh no. A whimper. Without thinking I raise the daggers and…
Breathless, I sprint back, through the hallway, but I'm being followed. I know it, I can sense it.
Guilt hangs round my shoulders, but with