I will never forget how much Duncan looked like my father. As the days past by, I become more deeply affected by this deed. I have to acknowledge the fact that I have been involved greatly in plotting this murder. I’m becoming weaker and weaker everyday. I constantly utter my regrets in my sleep,
“Out damned spot! Out I say! One: Two: why then ‘tis time to do‘t: hell is murky Fie, my lord, fie, as older and afraid? What need we fear account? Yet who would have thought the old man to have had such blood in him” My conditions have grown to be much worse. This was not the outcome I was expecting. I cannot sleep at night, and if I do, I experience terrifying dreams. This burden of my conscience is too great for my mental and physical conditions.
“My hands are of your colour: but I shame to wear a heart so white.” This Gentlewoman consults a doctor. I don’t know why, they’re “observed” my actions. These nightmares are overwhelming me. Is it true what they say, that I need spiritual help? When will I overcome peace in my mind, all these nightmares? The strain upon my nerve will never be relaxed. My misery is that of a troubled conscience, together with pity and sympathy for my beloved Macbeth.
It is not that he has committed the crime, but that he must eat his meals in fear, and sleep in the affliction of terrible dreams--dreams of detection and retribution.
I can no longer hear the torments of my guilt; I am gradually becoming a victim of my ambition …
-Ashley Harrichan
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