The Ides of March

   My wife’s
warnings ring in my ears as I approach the Senate House. Doubt clings to every
footstep, but I cannot let the pleas of a woman scare me away.

   I am
Julius Caesar.

   Inscrutable
faces track my progress down the steps. I take my seat and sit up straight to
scan for Marcus. My heart sinks when I do not see him.

   Maybe my
wife was right, after all.

   I stand to
leave. Then the first knife parts my flesh. They descend on me en masse.
Friends, colleagues – even Brutus.

   My
perforated body is left, bleeding on the floor.

Photo by Yana Marudova on Unsplash

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