Shakespeare After Midnight
The plays you remember, dreamed as rock operas.
What if Shakespeare’s plays were not retold, but turned up loud enough to become something else?
Shakespeare After Midnight is a Chesterton Radio series that takes the plays we think we know and dreams them again—as enormous songs of love, jealousy, ambition, betrayal, longing, and regret.
We begin with Macbeth.
Not with the murder. Not with the witches. Not even with the crown.
With a husband coming home through the rain to the woman who loves him—and with two people who have spent years dreaming about tomorrow.
This is One More Today With You.
SHAKESPEARE AFTER MIDNIGHT
The plays you remember, dreamed as rock operas.
ONE MORE TODAY WITH YOU
Macbeth dreamed as a gothic rock opera
You came home in the rain
with the whole damned war on your shoulders,
black horse blowing smoke into the night,
mud on your boots,
blood on your hands,
and I was up at the window
listening for you.
Not for Scotland.
Not for victory.
Not for God.
For you.
Your horse on the road.
Your horse at the gate.
Your boots on the stairs.
You coming home.
God, you used to come home.
We had a room where the rain came through
and a bowl beneath the leak
and a fire that smoked like hell when the wind turned west.
We had wine that could strip paint from a door.
We had one blanket.
You stole it.
I stole it back.
You swore you weren’t cold
while your teeth knocked together.
We had nothing.
We had everything.
We just got the words backward.
Remember someday?
Someday we’ll have money.
Someday I’ll buy you silk.
Someday we’ll have a roof
that doesn’t pour Scotland into the bed.
Someday they’ll know my name.
Someday they’ll stop making us wait.
Someday.
Tomorrow.
You promised me the world.
I laughed.
The whole world?
The whole damned world.
What would I do with the whole world?
Whatever you want.
What if I only want you?
Then you’ll have both.
God, we were young.
God, we were stupid.
God, we were happy.
Then you came home from battle
with a word stuck in your throat.
What happened?
Nothing.
What did you see?
Nothing.
What did they say?
The rain hammered the windows.
What did they say?
Three voices on the road.
Maybe women.
Maybe weather.
Maybe the night had finally learned how to talk.
What did they say?
And you looked at me
like a man confessing a desire
he hadn’t known he had until someone named it.
They called me king.
King.
Say it again.
No.
Say it.
There’s already a king.
There’s always already a king.
There’s always some bastard in the warm room
telling everybody outside to wait.
There’s always somebody born with the key.
There’s always somebody saying—
not you.
Not yet.
Maybe later.
Someday.
Tomorrow.
But when they called you king—
did you want it?
Don’t lie to me.
Did you want it?
Did that one little word
hit you harder than the whole battle?
Did you see the castle?
Did you see the rooms?
Did you see me standing there beside you?
Did you see every promise you ever made me
suddenly standing close enough to touch?
You couldn’t answer.
So I knew.
I put my hands on your face.
You put yours around my waist.
And ambition felt so much like love
we kissed it on the mouth.
If tomorrow won’t come to us,
go get it.
If morning won’t rise for us,
drag it out of bed.
If heaven locks the door—
break the damned door.
And if somebody else is sitting
in the life we were supposed to have,
then tell me, my love—
how badly do you want me?
How badly do you want us?
How badly do you want tomorrow?
You pulled me against you.
The windows shook.
And suddenly you were the young man
in that leaking room again,
promising me something
no man could possibly give.
Only this time—
I believed you.
If I have to murder tomorrow,
I’ll murder tomorrow for you.
If I have to tear down the morning,
I’ll tear down the heavens there too.
If every road leads into darkness,
I’ll ride till the darkness is through.
If tomorrow won’t come when I call it—
I’ll drag tomorrow home to you.
For you.
For us.
For every night we went without.
For every door that shut in our faces.
For every someday.
For tomorrow.
And then—
one door.
Funny.
The whole world came down
to one damned door.
Your hand.
My hand.
Warm light underneath.
A bell somewhere in the dark.
You looked at me.
If I do this,
who are we tomorrow?
I wish to God
I’d said—
us.
Just us.
Forget tomorrow.
Come back to bed.
But the bell rang.
The door opened.
And afterward—
water.
Water over your hands.
Water over mine.
Again.
Again.
Again.
Clean water.
Dirty hands.
Clean water.
Dirty hands.
You laughed once.
Or maybe you cried.
I don’t remember.
I remember thinking—
is that all?
Does the world really let you do something terrible
and keep turning?
Apparently.
Morning came right on time.
That’s the joke.
Morning always comes right on time.
Then the crown came.
And the rooms.
Oh, we got our rooms.
Rooms enough to lose a marriage in.
Rooms enough to spend a whole night
walking toward each other
and never meet.
A horse left after midnight.
Then another.
You stopped sleeping.
I stopped asking.
A chair stayed empty.
You stared at things that weren’t there.
I stared at you.
The crown shone in the basin
like a gold tooth
at the bottom of a grave.
And every night
I reached across the bed
farther,
farther,
farther—
until you were lying beside me
a thousand miles away.
Then I heard it again.
Our song.
Only you weren’t singing to me anymore.
If I have to murder tomorrow,
I’ll murder tomorrow for you.
If I have to black out the morning,
I’ll black out the whole heavens too.
If every road fills up with shadows,
I’ll cut till the darkness is through.
If tomorrow won’t stay when I hold it—
I’ll murder tomorrow anew.
For you.
You kept saying that.
For you.
For you.
For you.
Don’t put my name on this.
Don’t you dare.
The first one—
all right.
The first terrible night.
The first locked door.
The first blood.
Maybe that belongs to both of us.
Maybe we can hold hands
all the way to hell for that one.
But the rest?
No.
The rest belongs to the crown.
You love that thing now.
More than sleep.
More than mercy.
Maybe more than me.
Our beautiful tomorrow.
Our golden child.
Our third body in the bed.
Our jealous little god.
I wanted a kingdom with you.
You wanted a kingdom.
There is a difference.
So here I am.
Queen of everything.
Walking through our great victory
with one stupid candle in my hand.
Take it back.
Take the silver.
Take the banners.
Take the horses.
Take the servants.
Take every enormous empty room.
Take the crown.
Please.
Take the crown.
Give me our terrible wine.
Give me the bowl under the leak.
Give me your coat thrown over the chair.
Give me your boots where I trip over them in the dark.
Give me your freezing feet.
Give me the blanket you swear you didn’t steal.
Give me your hand finding mine in your sleep.
Give me one night
when you had nothing to prove.
One morning
when there was nothing to conquer.
One day
when I was enough.
Just one more—
And the candle goes out.
Outside,
the forest is moving.
Or maybe everything moves
when you’ve finally run out of places to hide.
Rain.
Branches.
Fire somewhere beyond the walls.
And those voices again—
soft as lovers,
cold as morning.
We never promised.
You called me king.
Yes.
You showed me the crown.
Yes.
You made me—
No.
You made me—
No.
Then who did?
And there it is.
The one answer
no king can execute.
You did.
They showed you a window.
You jumped.
They showed you tomorrow.
You killed today to get there.
And now—
no candle.
No footsteps.
No voice in the next room.
No woman at the window.
No hand across the bed.
She’s gone.
Just gone.
And suddenly the castle is too quiet
to contain your breathing.
Tomorrow.
Wasn’t that what all this was for?
Tomorrow when the war was over.
Tomorrow when there was money.
Tomorrow when they knew your name.
Tomorrow when you had the house.
Tomorrow when you had the crown.
Tomorrow when you were safe.
Tomorrow when you could finally sleep.
Tomorrow.
Tomorrow.
Tomorrow.
You lying bastard.
How much do you cost?
Honor?
Take it.
Friendship?
Take it.
Sleep?
Take it.
Mercy?
Take it.
Anything else?
Anything?
Her?
No.
Not her.
But tomorrow already has its hand out.
And suddenly you understand the trick.
Every tomorrow you ever reached
turned into today the moment you touched it,
and every today
you threw away
to buy another tomorrow.
Again.
Again.
Again.
Until there was nothing left to spend.
Until there was no woman at the window.
Until there was nobody listening for your horse.
Until you finally dragged tomorrow home—
and there was nobody home.
Then you remember.
Not the throne.
Not the battle.
Not the blood.
The room.
That stupid little room.
Rain in the bowl.
Smoke in your eyes.
Her laughing into your chest.
One blanket.
Bad wine.
Her hand.
Your hand.
You thought you were waiting for life.
You idiot.
That was it.
That was the life.
And now the bells are breaking.
The forest is at the walls.
Men are coming to take a crown
you would crawl through hell to give away.
Let them come.
Let the whole damned kingdom come.
Let heaven kick the door in.
You don’t want tomorrow anymore.
You know what tomorrow costs.
And the old promise rises one last time,
but this time
you finally know what you’re singing.
I thought I could murder tomorrow.
I thought I could murder it for you.
I tore every day from our hands, love,
trying to make one tomorrow come true.
Now I’d give every crown in the kingdom,
every morning I ever fought through—
I don’t want one more tomorrow.
I want one more today with you.
One more today with you.
One more roof leaking rain on the bed.
One more fight over that damned blanket.
One more glass of terrible wine.
One more time hearing your laugh
when I promise you the world.
One more night
when you don’t need a king.
One more morning
when I don’t need a crown.
One more chance
to come home.
One more chance
to find you at the window.
One more chance
to understand what enough means.
One more today with you.
ONE MORE TODAY WITH YOU.
Then morning.
Of course.
Morning.
Pale light through a broken window.
Rainwater slipping from the roof.
A candle burned down to nothing.
A basin full of clean water.
And on the floor—
the crown.
Nobody wearing it.
Nobody reaching for it.
Just gold.
Just metal.
Just something two people once mistook
for happiness.
Far away from the castle,
somebody wakes beside somebody they love.
The roof leaks.
There’s not enough money.
The wine is probably terrible.
And one of them is already worrying about tomorrow.
They don’t know.
How could they?
Neither did we.
The rain stops.
Light crosses the floor.
Tomorrow has arrived.
There is nothing miraculous about it.
The miracle was the rain.
The miracle was the terrible wine.
The miracle was her hand in the darkness.
The miracle was hearing a horse on the road
and knowing the man you loved
was coming home.
Tomorrow was never the miracle.
Today was.
SHAKESPEARE AFTER MIDNIGHT
The plays you remember, dreamed as rock operas.
After Midnight
Perhaps that is the cruelest thing about Macbeth.
For all its blood, ghosts, prophecy, war, and kingship, its deepest tragedy may be something much smaller: two people who had one another, dreamed of having more, and discovered too late what they already possessed.
Tomorrow was never the miracle.
Today was.
One More Today With You is the first entry in Shakespeare After Midnight—a Chesterton Radio series imagining the plays we remember as rock operas: not summaries of Shakespeare, but new dreams built from the love, terror, comedy, longing, and humanity still burning inside them.
There are a lot of plays.
And midnight has only just begun.
SHAKESPEARE AFTER MIDNIGHT
The plays you remember, dreamed as rock operas.
A Chesterton Radio Original