An Analysis Of Shakespeare's Macbeth-Personal Narrative

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Macbeth slowly walked down the dimly lit hallways hoping not to attract any attention to himself. Although it was late he knew some of his servants would still be awake. Macbeth slipped into King Duncan’s chamber with a dagger in each hand. The Chamber’s candles had been blown out, the only light was the illumination of the pale moonlight. Carefully he approached Duncan’s sleeping figure. He could feel his head pounding, millions of voices telling him not to do it. They were screaming, but one voice was the loudest. One voice told him to do it, for it was the only way he could become king. It was so loud, although it was a whisper. It was his wife’s, She sounded so soft her soothing voice seemed to drown out all the other ones.

He loomed over Duncan, the two daggers loomed over him.
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He was a good king” He muttered with every stab, still unknown to the tears falling down his face.

By the time he finished he could hardly recognize his king. The blood splattered all over Duncan was a sorry sight. His head was screaming, all the voices were gone. All that was occupied his head was himself. Grasping his head in pain, he dropped the

daggers on to the floor. Falling to the ground with a loud clank. Shaken out of his pain but the loud noise he hastily went to grab the daggers off the floor.

Looking down at himself only to find his formerly white shirt, lightly stained with blood. Gradually he brought his hands up to the moonlight and for the first time, he noticed the color of King Duncan’s blood. The moonlight from the window shining on him, casting the illusion that the once crimson blood was black. As he tried to wipe the black blood on his hands on the front of his shirt but the blood smudged up his arms. His heart was pounding in his chest, the black blood was dripping on to the floor. Letting out a few shaking breath he wiped the sweat from his brow. The wind outside howled loudly as the owls shrieked. It seemed as if a storm was

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