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Macbeth: A Fictional Narrative

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Mac winced as the steady sound of water dripping from the cave roof was interrupted by the shuffling of waddled footsteps. A hand reached out to him and he shied away, drawing into himself both physically and mentally. He bit his lip and prepared himself for what was to come. He would not give up, he would not give them what they wanted.
He would not let them harm his little sister.
“Today is the day, you disgusting worm” The voice of his old teacher growled, “Today is the day you tell me all I want to know”
Mac looked up at his captor, making a show of being scared. Then he glared at the squat little man before him and spat in his traitorous beady eyes. The disgusting man shrieked, stepping backwards as a well-trained henchmen stepped forward with a stark what, neatly folded handkerchief.
“Wow, I don’t think I’ve ever heard your voice go
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Mac wiped his face on his shoulder, removing the disgusting dribble as slowly and deliberately as he could stand before answering.
“You’ll never find out” Mac growled, grunting as another faceless minion shoved him into the dirt.
“Oh we will, you’ll talk eventually, or be killed” Mac’s former sensei said, laughing as he stepped on the young boys back.
“You were nice once, caring even, has your quest for power sapped all compassion from your sorry sack of bones teacher?” Mac said cheekily, trying to ignore the fact that he was struggling to take in air, struggling to breathe.
Ignoring the fact that he was struggling to hold on, to force back the inky blackness of unconsciousness.
Mr Duncan cackled evilly from above him, the sound eerie in the heavy silence of the cave.
“Foolish boy, compassion is for the week, kindness is for the week” here he paused, sneering down his heavily protruding nose at the injured, dirty boy beneath him. He kneeled and moved closer, moving his mouth right next to his
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