Macbeth-Personal Narrative

I sat alone at my desk with the door shut and lights off. It was a Friday night. Ordinarily, I would be out with his friends or on a date with Leena, but now, I was using my free nocturnal hours to wallow in my melancholy mood, finishing my assigned reading of Macbeth. Growing up, I read a lot. We didn 't have a television in the small apartment, so all I had were books to keep me company. Keep me company while my mom was busy waitressing. Tonight, however, I wasn 't in the reading mood, and I was finding Macbeth to be a tragedy that was both insipid and incomprehensible. After rereading the same passage for the third time, I decided to take a break and close my eyes. The soft murmur of rain tapped against my window, I liked the sound, it

I shivered involuntarily. Every detail of her horrifying countenance was vivid in my memory. But why had I suddenly thought of her? I hadn’t thought of the encounter since. My thoughts were too preoccupied with my breakup with Leena. I shivered again, but this time it was due to a cold draft that whistled in through the small crack opening of the window.
I stood up and went to shut it close when I noticed the old mansion across the street. It was all dark except for a single yellow light illuminating from one of the top windows. My eyes narrowed, focusing in on the glow, and immediately I froze. There, standing in the window was Mrs. Worthington staring straight at me. I winced, taking a step back. Rapidly, I slammed the window shut and drew the curtains close. The room was dark now, and quickly I rushed to twist on his desk lamp’s switch. A splash of warm light returned to my bedroom. Why was she just standing and staring? I shuddered.
Nervously, my hands began to wander aimlessly about my desk, patting down, searching for my copy of Macbeth. I glanced at the book and noticed the page had changed, no doubt due to the earlier draft. But what caught my immediate attention now was a thick drop of moisture on the book’s page beside the