The Aftermath of The Fall of Julius Caesar

The land that I lived upon was a holy land; Rome was the city of powerful Senators who ruled their people with great dignity.  Only a few weeks ago, Julius Caesar fell lifeless to the capitol building floor at the hand of his best friend, Decius Brutus.  All entities know of this dastardly crime, but our country could not be more segregated. Some believed that the death of Caesar was unnecessary; however, I had acknowledged that Brutus would do anything to improve the life of all citizens of Rome, for the greater good of Rome consumed all of his waking days.  Us followers of Brutus were severely outnumbered by those who had been brainwashed by the dastardly Marc Antony, who believed that Caesar was not ambitious in his motives and successfully manipulated the majority of citizens against us.  Today would hopefully prove to be the end of the controversy.  The divided citizens of Rome stood scattered among the field upon the outskirts of the capitol building as the pyre is set ablaze. Whilst staring into the oxidation of dalbergia melanoxylon wood into the air as our leader burns upon the stake in an extreme act of martyrdom, just as he murdered his best friend for the benefit of all of us on that blessed day during the Ides of March, I realize that not all heroes lay out their destiny with perfect actions.  Brutus was a man who had murdered a seemingly perfect hero, but he disposed of him for he could see that deep within the all-powerful Julius Caesar was the heart of a tyrant.  No one could have halted this utter destruction of mayhem throughout the land.  If Caesar were alive, the great Brutus would not have to fall, but the citizens would live under the tyrannical reign of their own decorated war hero. After the joyous day of Caesar’s termination from our society, Brutus promised that if his death would settle the divided nation, then death he shall receive.  He could have traditionally fallen onto his sword, but he wanted to make sure that all knew of his death, so that we may be at peace and restore our divided nation. As I raise my head to see the glorious man, the spark turned into a raging flame.  Now, his body began to burn. There was no expression in eyes, rather they were calm and calculated as all of his strategic notions were. There was no outcry of pain, for his lips seemed to be sewn shut.  I could stop this terror, but I choose not to; even as the screams of petrified citizens fill the brutally frigid air around us, I remain frozen within my position.  I tear my vision away from the man who our principles are founded on, and a single white flower that begins to burn within the flames comes within my focus. I would be jubilant in the ignorance to how the demise and destruction of my world will be once Antony’s minions take over, but analytical conceptualization is the greatest strength of my organism.  I shall be the one to lead now that the esteemed Brutus is nothing more than ashes. 

I was always fond of Decius Brutus, for he was diverse from the rest of my peers.  Even as a schoolboy he had a nature that no one could explain.  He had an unexplainable atmosphere to him when he stated how he wanted to one day save Rome and maybe one day become a martyr.  I must not reminisce in these once present memories any longer, for I feel nothing towards them. Forevermore I shall be hardened to all aspects that symbolize our fallen leader.  As my daydreams drift away as the waterlilies so often did in the lake by my abode, I cannot be a stone-cold soldier to the world nor can the others.  I watch while Cassius and Decius fall to their knees in grief whilst Portia merely watches as the sun sinks over the deadened horizon.  There is no hope in these souls.  I, for one, can not look away from the ashes that once constructed the body known as Brutus.  I cannot seem to fathom that he is deceased, for I feel the presence of those icy blue eyes. And yet a single tear trickles from my piercing grey eyes. The atmosphere is stained with his remembrance. The fire blazes for hours and even into the dead of night, and within the depths of the darkness and the silence around me, I realize that I am unaccompanied by the masses.  Within the orange and black strokes of light illuminating my being, the rods within the lining of my retina detect the purest of colors.  How can an object be so pure in the midst of a tragedy?  The once luscious greenery around the beauteous flower is charred from the blaze, but the blossom is disgracefully intact.  Although the survival of this inflorescence is shocking, my mind becomes angered at the fact that while a bud survived, the imperative organism could not.  The once rapid oxidation calls me to its dying embers.  They glow of the sun with an unmistakable amount of uncontrollable power.  I select a narrow stick that would make for an efficient torch if not used for an instrument of violence.  The flower should be dead as well!  I shall right this wrong within the universe. Brutus thought he was balancing out his actions when in reality he was worth so much more than Caesar.  He was a true leader, someone who could lead with the logic of a thousand or more men.  Who now will lead our moral compass?  How are we so outnumbered when Antony only provokes violence and is unable to utilize logic long enough to prove his own argument?  I cannot take it!  A plethora of the exquisitely soft petals fall to the charred ground as I wrench the stem from its roots.  I bring forth the stem to the crackling fire.  The emotions that run throughout my body should be shamed.  Never has death of such an unworthy opponent felt so justified.  The innocence, along with my hope for humanity, incinerates as each petal is taken by the rapid oxidation.

I walk along these streets of cobblestone that were built when both Caesar and Brutus still walked among us.  An extreme cloud of sadness hangs over my head and develops thoughts of my own worthlessness. Who am I to wander throughout these streets?  I must return to the bustling center of the city, for maybe I could find rest at my humble abode to ease this depressed state.  As I return, my mind wanders to all that is lost.  After the announcement of Brutus’ untimely demise, Antony proceeded to return his manipulative ways to once again organize the system of brainwashed beings to destroy us one by one.  We hear threats in the streets from his followers that we shall be killed if we continue our loyalty to Brutus’ mindset.  I am ready for that day to come; we all our ready for our death.  Without Brutus we are lost in a state of grief and resentment.  Every single one of us would have taken his place last night.  If I could trade his life for mine I would in a heartbeat.  I am brought back into my tormented reality by the sound of yelling coming from around the capitol.  I begin to run towards the commotion.  There is no use for this type of disturbance this late, due to the simple fact that there is nothing in this area except for the capitol and abandoned houses. Ever since Brutus’ death, no Antony supporter dared to enter the cluster of houses that surrounded the capitol.  I was the only one who lived in this perimeter, in order to escape the masses and to protect the former house of Brutus.  All of my acquaintances under Brutus vowed to live in obscurity until we could devise a plan.  Who would be here at such a time?  Antony and his loyalists have no usage out of my abode unless…

These heartless hinds! Such pyromaniacs that dare to destroy the last materialistic remembrance of Brutus all because they cannot comprehend the hamartia of Caesar.  I let my emotions overtake me.  My heartbeat quickens and I cannot breathe; my vision blurs and refocuses, only to blur once more.  From the shadows rises the venomous offender himself, Marcus Antony.  The halo of fire only illuminates the menacing smirk.  The dagger he clutches as his footsteps come closer and closer, ever so closer, gleams within the orange blaze.  Antony’s head slowly tilts to the left, his eyes demonic and dull.  He has turned into the picture of power that he never wished to acquire.  I am paralyzed with utter fear and helplessness and, for the final time, look into his eyes.  I feel myself slipping into the abyss and hear my final words slip from my conscience.

“Et tu, Antony?”