Macbeth: A Short Story

The night was dark and the sky stormed as if it were a fragment of hell itself. Cold rain cut through any layers of warmth that were left in Macduff. Macbeth’s castle could be seen in the distance by the light it cast on the horizon. “I don’t believe in spirits much, but a night like this could bring out the foulest of creatures.” Macduff thought to himself. His horse had been spooked by the storm, but they trudged along. Macduff had fought harder battles against real enemies, no storm, no matter how harsh, was going to stop his progress. There were rumors whispered in eager ears, suspicions, that Macbeth had murdered many men, including Duncan, to claim the throne.

“Help!” A woman’s desperate cry pierced the trees to his left. Macduff wasn’t
He would be put down like the sick dog he was, Macduff would make sure of it. His entire family had been butchered like meat with no righteous cause, merely for the sake of killing. Macbeth had left a void in his heart that could not be filled. His wife. His children. Dead. Every night he would break down crying, what he had lost could not be replaced. Though there was one thing Macbeth couldn’t take away from him. The experiences he had shared with his beloved family were kept safe within his memories. And so it was time to lob the monster’s head clean off - to avenge his family and liberate
The army of a hundred men strong was no match for the trees of Birnam, which towered high into the air, dwarfing the men. Every soldier had covered his approach with a thick branch acting as camouflage. The woods were alive with men. It was as if the forest itself was moving. The day was eerily silent as they neared the tree line. Inverness could be seen in the distance. An army, Macbeth’s, was waiting in the field. They had seen the woods moving, and the element of surprise was no longer in their favor; both armies charged. Like an unstoppable force hitting an immovable object, the armies collided into a single mass. Men were collapsing left and right, cut down gruesomely. Men were crying out for help. Some screamed for their mothers. Macduff only had one goal, to find and kill Macbeth. The tide of the battle was changing, Macbeth’s army, forced into service through fear, was loosing. As a result, many of his men were giving up. Macduff stormed into Inverness and found Macbeth waiting inside.

“I will try the last. Before my body I throw my warlike shield. Lay on, Macduff, and damned be him that first cries, “Hold, enough!” Shouted Macbeth. The two fought valiantly, but there can only be one victor. Macbeth’s head fell to the floor and a sea of blood fell with it. The tyrant was dead. Outside, his army had suffered a great many casualties; they too had lost. Scotland had been freed from