Lady Macbeth on Halloween

 Drip. 



Drip.



Drip.



Drip. 



Blood kept dripping into the porcelain sink, diluted in the water that turned it pink. She leaned against the rim, weight heavy, breathing anxiously. Slowly, she began to shake. A quiet snort, and then giggling, turning into a full maniacal peal of laughter. Black rivulets streak down her cheeks as she watched her blood-stained hands. Turning the tap on, she tries washing it off, to no avail. The stain remains.


She settles down, the bathroom silent. She is just about to let loose another peal of laughter when-


“Oyo Macbeth! Whatever scene you wanna do right now, now is not the time. This is our first Halloween on campus and you wanna spend it acting like a crazy person? Chal na!”


“Fine! I was coming only. You should have seen it guys! I was soooooooo in character! I really felt like I was Lady Macbeth!”


“Haan haan, we get it, she’s the love of your life, you couldn’t have been the woman you are today. Lets go party pleaseee!!”


“Yes, yes coming. Just gimme a sec. Need to fix my eyeliner”


“Nahin, it looks good aise hi. You look like proper crazy person only. Perfect for halloween.”


“Oh great! Lets go then! Also what’s the plan for tonight again? I need to be back in time huh guys, I have you-know-who’s class tomorrow. Fuck my life.”


“Hum soch rahe the ki . . .”






There was no thought involved whatsoever. At least nothing that Sumedha could remember. It had been a crazy night, and somehow she had logged in for her 10:10 without much cerebral effort, which was a good thing, considering the dried up trail of drool on the corner of her mouth and the horror show of make-up that was Lady Macbeth in essence around 12 hours ago. Finally having dragged herself to her desk, she carefully inspected her appearance in the laptop’s camera app while class droned on in the background, checking every two minutes that her audio and video were off. She could just not today. 


Deciding that the damage wasn’t too severe, she leaned back in her chair, feeling every inch of that squeaking spring as she surveyed her room and the work she had done to decorate it. All her Emily Dickinson quotes, and some excerpts from Lit Theory. Even though class was a nightmare and the readings were barely comprehensible on a good day, she had managed to wrangle some good quality content after S.C.U.M. and the like. Content and finally ready to properly start her day and the journey of hangover recovery, she raised the curtains: just the first in a long line of minutes of squeaking and groaning that accompanied you at Ashoka ‘this is what I’m paying lakhs for?’ University. 

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