Macbeth Tomorrow And Tomorrow And Tomorrow Novels & Stories

The final day. Tomorrow. The Council Chamber. Blood will demand blood.

* I fall asleep with my phone on my chest. Hope blooming in the darkness. Tomorrow, everything changes. Tomorrow, I'll be brave. Tomorrow.

"I shall try to remember everyone's names, but if I get stuck and forget yours please forgive me. Now, to turn our attention to the semester project... and to the man Callista is allergic to. If you need to go to the nurse, Callista, please do let me know." I felt my cheeks catch fire with embarrassment. "To-morrow, and to-morrow, and to-morrow, creeps in this petty pace from day-to-day, to the last syllable of recorded time; and all our yesterdays have lighted fools the way to dusty death. Out, out, brief candle! Life's but a walking shadow." he quoted dramatically. "William Shakespeare wrote those words in his play entitled Macbeth. Your assignment is a long one, so be prepared. Each of yo

Very little. I keep going. All night long. For him. For us. For tomorrow. ---

"Just promise tomorrow. Just promise one more day. Just promise you'll try. That's enough. That's all I need. That's all I ask. One more day. Again. Always. Until we can't. Until we lose. Until forever ends." "Then I promise tomorrow." He holds me tight. "Tomorrow I'll choose you. Tomorrow I'll trust the bond. Tomorrow I'll fight the manipulation. Tomorrow I'll try. That's my promise. Today. For tomorrow. One more day." Midnight comes. He forgets. And I lie awake. Terrified of tomorrow. Terrified of the gamble. Terrified of the day the bond isn't enough. The day the manipulation wins. The day they leave. The day the Absolute finally claims victory.

Tomorrow I walk into the lion’s den. Tomorrow everything changes. But tonight— Tonight we hold each other. And pretend the world outside this bed doesn’t exist.

Not as pressure. As movement. I nod. “Tomorrow,” I repeat. And just like that— everything begins.

And tomorrow, everything would change.

Instead, I grab a boring Shakespeare play. Macbeth. I sit in the armchair and force my eyes over the old English. It's a tragedy about ambition, guilt, and blood from what is written on the back. Fitting, I suppose. I force myself to focus on the text, using the dense language as a wall to keep my own messy thoughts at bay. My finger traces the line where Lady Macbeth instructs her husband on how to deceive the King: “Look like the innocent flower, but be the serpent under't.”

The woman I tasted tonight. Tomorrow is a new day. And maybe tomorrow, my love comes home.