A Loathsome Task [Banquo's Death] {Original}

To explain; in grade 10 the play that my class studied was Macbeth. One assignment we were given was to write an interpretation of a scenario through the POV of one of the characters. I chose to write as Banquo - ultimately my favorite character - during the scene of his death. It came out something like this;

E're we begin, it let be known that 'tis the whispers of my mind which speak and not the medley of a pen. I beseech, the passing of tales across the chasm of death is no feat to jest of, forsooth 'tis a torment to enact. Though 'tis a loathsome task, and a fell fardel, it be one asked of me - a deed I mustn't refuse. Prithee, listen to this parley of mine.

Shortly afore the closing of the night, my Fleance and I strolled to the exterior of Macbeth's roynish castle. With torch in hand we stepped into the attack of three rug-headed scullions. One cut at our taper and the fullness of the night blocked all views. I called for dearest Fleance to flee as I challenged the varlets. Those caitiffs, forming a pack, avaunt! Under whose guidance did thier attentions divert to me and mine? But, despair, I shan't know - for the brazen blade of a drab struck through the beat of my chest.

Anon my vision was only of my loves. Was it that long of yore my Fleance and I passed riggish banter? Did my lady wonder of me, being away to this multitude? Will the bard say sooth of this, or was my attempt for naught. But here, I worry much.

It is in the accounting of this vile night which brings new knowledge before these blinded eyes. My lord, King Duncan, was dispatched in the dead of night behind whose walls but Macbeth's. Myself was slain afore this very castle, whence again 'twas night. Call me daft, but the man I once called 'friend' hath grown distant of late. No more is he the great soldier - the great man - I knew. Clouds cover him now, hiding the once-brave heart whence had it's own following.

Ifaith, this shift elapsed when the Weïrd Sisters told upon his coming fortune. 'Twas it in their intent for such misery to befall us? Might their minds control as their eyes watch? If what methinks is forsooth then, by-the-by, might Macbeth be acting as their hand? Or even, I shudder to say, might Macbeth be the beat that drives this blood to flow?

The shattered fragments of this horror begin to piece together. The fell fortune of mine has brought light to the terrors that plagued my skull. If my thoughts cozen me none, then I am fain to hope my once-friend shall be given the rope necklace for his treason. I only ask, for myself, the knowledge of those swine who took the life from my body.

Alas, my strength wains. My deed is done, the promise fulfilled. Now I might con the happenings and note upon divers facts. If I must, I shalt avouch in any trial deemed of importance, for now my eyes no longer bear the fardel of bias. I can achieve nothing more. But zounds, the conceit which Macbeth be a drab... My only wish is my lady and dearest Fleance be safe, I'd druther they not come here betimes.

So fare thee well, may we meet again over something less noisesome.