Monthly Microfiction: The Ides of March
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.