Macbeth's letter to me.

Today was the kind of day where you wake up in the morning and you know it's going to be a long day, and then you walk around slowly , so as to save your energy for whatever it is that is going to make it such a long day. The thing, the vile thing that made it the day that it was all started with the letter. The letter promised great things for my husband, and I was proud of him. I was also excited because him being king is something that would benefit me as well; however, I was also frightened. Frightened that Macbeth wouldn't have what it takes to claim the throne. I didn't have to worry long, though, because soon enough a messenger came and told me that Duncan was coming today. I stopped thinking altogether and a small smile that only touched my eyes slowly grew until it was pulling at my mouth and it was all I could do to not break into cheers and laughs, for I had found the solution. If my husband couldn't kill Duncan, I would, for he would be in my very house and killing him would be as easy as killing a baby if I did it while he was sleeping.And then I schemed. I planned the whole thing out. We would have to drug his guards so that we could get to Duncan, and then we could use the guards' very weapons in order to do the deed so that we would not even be looked at twice. My husband entered, and I tried, desperately, to convince him and to tell him the plan, the strategy for how to kill the king and take the throne. I eventually did get through his thick skull and convinced him to do the deed while I drugged the guards and rang the bell to signal him. Everything was going well until he came back with the daggers in his hand, the bloody daggers. He seemed to be quivering and he couldn't make any sense. I felt like screaming at him for being such an idiot and taking the murder weapons with him, but instead I simply took the daggers from him and returned them to where it belonged, in the guards hand with all the blood from it smeared over the sleeping guards uniform.