Weekly Writing Challenge: Leave Your Shoes at the Door

We blog for a million different reasons, but in the end we’re all storytellers. Writing Challenges help you push your writing boundaries and explore new ideas, subjects, and styles.

This week, we’re asking you to consider things from a different point of view — to walk a mile in someone’s shoes. Leave your moccasins and bunny slippers at the door, and tell us a tale from a fully-immersed perspective that is not your own.

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Did I Help Murder Duncan?

*A scene from the play Macbeth by Shakespeare, from the view of Lord Macbeth’s shirt.

The night is late as my master stirs, thoughts heavy on his mind. The floorboards moan under his weight as he paces back and forth. Creaking, they shift back into place after he moves his feet. Creek, creek, creek. Though the night is warm, he shakes violently; chills run over me as well. Far off in the distance a bell rings, breaking the otherwise silent night. He stops, knowing the meaning behind the bell tonight, as do I from our previous meeting with his mistress. Taking slow, shallow breaths he heads for the door. Silently I pray he’s changed his mind, hoping he won’t be able to go through with his evil plan.

 I cling to him; mimicking his every move, feeling his heart beat quicken and intensify as we get closer to the guest room.  Outside the entrance he takes one more ragged breath and slowly pushes open the chamber’s door. As the old door opens wide it makes the most eerie creaking sound possible. (It must also know the danger our sleeping guest is in.) Walking in a daze, my master heads straight for the giant bed, arms tense at his sides. Suddenly he stops, pushes me up above his elbows and grabs one of the sleeping guard’s daggers. The sensation of choking is upon me. Try as I may, I can not relieve my stress and fear as I fight to slide back down his arm. Angrily he pushes me up again.  He’s tense, feeling the weight of his decision upon him now, as I’m stuck struggling for air.

Master Macbeth suddenly snaps back into reality minutes later. He leans over the sleeping Duncan, King of Scotland and honored guest in Macbeth’s home, as a half hearted smile splits his face. He waits for the perfect time to strike, all the while watching the steady stream of air fill and escape Duncan’s motionless body. Assuring himself that Duncan and both his guards are sound asleep, Macbeth makes his move.  With one large circular motion with his and my own left arm, Macbeth slams the pointed dagger in the precise place of Duncan’s heart.

GASP! The last sound to ever be heard from the lips of Duncan, for he quickly bled to his death. I was motionless, unable to think as I slid back down Macbeth’s arms. What had I done? Why didn’t I try to stop him? As thoughts flooded my mind, I was filled with a horrible feeling of betrayal; Macbeth had killed me as well. There stained on my front was the dark red blood of Duncan.

I was covered, marked as the mastermind of the crime. When Macbeth returned to Lady Macbeth’s side to relate the deed was done, she noticed too. She made Macbeth remove me when she heard a knock at the door, so now I lay lifeless in a corner on the dusty bedroom floor. How long will I remain, that is an answer only time can tell. But as I lay here alone with my thoughts, I can’t help but wonder; did I help kill Duncan, too?