Monologue for Macbeth

(Macbeth is seated down in his own bedroom staring into the mirror at his own reflection. His clothes are covered in wine stains after the dramatic scare he had witnessed while seeing the ghost of Banquo. His face is expressed with embarrassment and frustration). 

There’s an old saying: the dead will have their revenge. Gravestones have been known to move and trees to speak, to bring guilty men to justice. Those three men who I had trusted to carry a deed of great reasonability returning with such loyalty and bravery after the crime they had committed took none less than the heart of a lion to return with such faces of stone. Their faces, covered with the blood of such a dear friend of mine and yet I was filled with such pride knowing that the crown of Scotland will be held high in not just the honour of myself but for the children who will follow in my footsteps into a title of such great power. Not a single soul will discover the hands and mind which caused the death of dear Banquo. Oh, but he deserved what he received. I know what was going through that mind of his, dreaming the deepest and darkest desires which I had felt for myself. The thought of his own blood becoming royalty. I thought after hearing the title of ‘king of Scotland’ all of the blood, murder and death would only be just mere words to me. But then I saw him, the spirit of a once great friend, now staring at me with those eyes. Eyes that only the dead could see with. He knew that I had sent those three men to finish him off. He knew I wanted the crown of Scotland to belong for my blood only. His cold yet burning eyes could see every thought in my mind. Every mistake. Every memory. Every dark thought. He wanted revenge. He wanted to watch me suffer in agony in the deepest most terrifying pits of hell for the blood wrenching act which I had committed. Twenty gashes to his head. So deep and bloody that the sight of them would drive any mortal to the brink of insanity. I wanted him to disappear from my sight, but disappear he did not. The blood, still running from his forehead as if it were a freshly cut wound. His eyes staring at me, with such rage, such sadness. I could hear his voice digging into my mind, so familiar yet filled with such confusion and loss. Why? Why did I decide to commit such an act of evil? A man of such bravery and kindness.Dead, and for what? The knowledge of knowing I have become such a powerful man. This crown, it seems to have become nothing but a symbol for the horrid act I have committed. His voice spoke loudly in my mind, speaking to me of what I have become. What I have done. His wailing voice spoke to me of such confusion and sadness. His eyes looked at me as if he was saying, “why? Why would you do this to me?”

(Macbeth stands up, still staring at his reflection in the mirror).

I’ll never forget those words, words of such an innocent mortal now forever in darkness and fear. But I am a king. The king of Scotland in fact! These emotions are something that I should not being feeling in such a high title of authority. How can the death of a single person lead me with such emotions? Banquo, a single mortal soul, yet curiously he has so much power to leave me in a spiral of such powerful emotions. Guilt. I never knew such an emotion could affect my mind so much. Such a delicate sensation.  

(Macbeth picks up a vase and throws it angrily across the room). 

Banquo! (Macbeth falls to his knees. He shows an express on of such frustration and anger). Let me be! Let my life carry on without this agonizing torture! Let my mind carry on without such raw emotions. His lifeless and bloody face has now disappeared before my eyes, but these thoughts still continue. What if I had never met those three hideous witches? Uncivilized hags!  The thoughts they planted throughout my mind, such plotsof such a malicious imagination. If this had never happened all would be peaceful. All would be well without even a drop of blood in the air.