Simply Anything

MacBeth Fan Fiction

Lady MacBeth and her husband MacBeth were not just any original couple. They both had horrible past and had done horrible things. But they still seemed to find each other in the afterlife. Or at least MacBeth had found his wife. When he had found her however she was with another man.

Perhaps he didn't love her enough he thought to himself while he walked through his prison. And he tried in vain to show his love for her in different ways. But she paid no heed.

MacBeth started to wonder if he did something wrong then thought back to when they were together before the afterlife. She was the one who persuaded him to do it. To kill Duncan. Deep down he had known she wanted the life as queen. To have the fortune, the life, everything that Duncan had ever had.

He never thought he could do it. He should have rung the bell and pronounced that he had killed Duncan and had them put him through trial. In fact he should have never listened to his wife's words but he did.

Never in his life had he ever begged mercy. So now he'd be stuck where he is in the one of the deepest parts of hell. His love, Lady MacBeth, in fact was stuck in the deepest part of hell. This only because she had killed herself.

He had heard plenty of times that there was seven parts of hell and that the further down the worse the deed you did was. MacBeth had considered it once. Was she supposed to be on that level? Killing oneself doesn't seem as bad as killing another persons life. Right?

When he came up with nothing he gave up and took a walk. The ground was dim and the sky gray and cloudless. If MacBeth looked closer he could see people who did the horrible things he had done, falling from the sky like fallen angels. They were people like him.

MacBeth looked down at his hands once again like he has been since he had ended up down under. To him they were covered in blood. Torrents of it flowing from his hands to the ground but he knew better that that was not what was happening.

In fact his hands were skeletal and he could only see the skin on his bones, the clothes that were on his body, and the blood pouring from his hands. As he was before he died. But, if by any chance he ever walked by a mirror and looked at himself he would see his body how it was in his grave.

He had been dead for years now and his hands and body were just bones. His head was missing and he could only see the blankness of where it used to be.

One could only guess what has been happening up there where people trod on the soil practically right on all their heads, blissfully unaware.

Unaware that down here people have to suffer inside their minds. To constantly have to think about the horrible things they've done. There was no choice. It was that or nothing. Dread wasn't the right word to describe it.