Monthly Microfiction: The Ides of March

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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.

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