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Historical Fiction Funny

Caesar was furious. Others around this magnificent, large and exceptional table tried to calm him down. Without any success, as usual.

“Giving my name, my name of divine origin, sharing my dignitas[1], my dignitas of Roman origin to dogs, four-legged little silly shit-whenever-I-can dogs. This is disgrace, this is blasphemy, this is… I have no words for it.” Like always during the meeting of significant historical figures, an annual event, although time isn’t any category in their current dimension. Annually, it meant this could be next millennium, a few days later or even on Superbowl Sunday. Caesar, famous Roman politician, senator and general, wasn’t invited regularly to the summit, since his outbreaks were typical and predictable. There will be more chances for communism to win in America, then for him to change his tune. He couldn’t accept the fact that, in modern times, people name their pets Caesar.

“There is one human named Caesar also, it isn’t everything so dark”, one voice tried to comfort once great man.

“That is even worse. What kind of profession is a dog trainer? All you need to do is kick them into their ass and they will do whatever you want”, Caesar had to stand up and walk around.

“Like you did with your troopers?” – One person wasn’t intimidated by him. We could say because he wasn’t a ruler during his time, only an analyst, but somehow, his surname became a symbol of a bad government policy – Niccolo Machiavelli. Also he was introduced into this bunch out of mistake. Heavenly angels don’t take their tasks too seriously. Running around the Elysium, playing basketball with dolphins, swimming with cats and picking sequoia are much more entertaining.

Everyone froze to their spot. As during his earthly life, in this another dimension, nobody confronts Julius. He is regarded as Mohamed Ali over here.

Caesar, with his golden hair as an obstacle, wanted to get into the face of a medieval Italian diplomat, writer and biographer, but, not just long lovely hair, the dress also was a big problem if you want to move swiftly and attack others. Again, angels at the gate didn’t achieve their duty, since the unicorn, previous to Caesar, arrived and made everybody ecstatic, holding their mobile phones and looking back to the fine and unique creature, rather to those who were coming. Evidently, Caesar, still in shock from his assassination in the Senate House, with his nose high, represented himself as of Julius clan, descendant from the goddess Venus, Roman counterpart of mighty Aphrodite. He came out, still in dismay, calling Brutus, on the other side, with golden hair and perfect dress made of seashells. Instead of greetings, he was a laughing stock, his pride punished in a worse possible way.

Holding his dress and hair with both hands, he wanted to put Niccolo to his spot, who also has his reasons to be mad.

“At least, you held the reins of power during your time. I had nothing of it, although I desperately wanted it, needed it”, he often said, especially on rainy days, to whom was listening, which was nobody of course. Every single man around, thought himself much higher than ordinary ink-man. “At the end, they tossed me like a dirty rug”, he was always finishing on a low note, addressing his stool, if not anybody else.

Just as things were settling and some king of Uganda, very tall, very black and extremely muscular, wanted to say something, Caesar screamed:

“And that character Will something, he wrote my biography, but I am not in it from the third clip. It is a disgrace, disgrace, I tell you”

“The third act”, Machiavelli boldly comments, but he is ignored, as usual. “I would be gladly among his works”, looking at prince Hamlet, typically near the window, holding some round object, seeing nothing.

“One should expect that such a praised author would write a fantastic piece on a fabulous historical figure like me and get me to achieve wonderful things as that young fellow, Harry Disher, for millions to read it”.

“Potter”, Machiavelli can’t be silent, rolling his eyes and wanting to break free.

“This is my kind of story, smart young fellow doing what is necessary…” Nobody is listening to him anymore as he is cruising in and out of the chamber putting himself back into the Senate House. This time with the armor, bodyguards and a machine-gun.

“What is the big fuss, I don’t get it?” – King of Uganda asks out of blue. “It is all natural, you are born, you rule some and then you present the torch of government to the next of kin, with several advices.”

A few voices explain to him that Caesar is of divine breed, and he can’t die, at least not in his mind. King of Uganda doesn’t comprehend these “silly, pale white Europeans” as he calls them and their lust for power, immortality and longevity. Nobody knows his name as his time was long before any “silly, pale white Europeans” entered his domain. Very soon, his lineage was broken and entire cultural identities destroyed. He didn’t hold any grudge. His time as human was over and all those emotions he has left behind. He was satisfied with the time that was given to him and nothing and nobody could change that. He was the true son of Africa, but also of the world, since he considered Africa as part of the world, unlike so many rulers over here.

Caesar is back, with his eyes sparkling, wanting to give another speech, as he is still the dictator back in Rome and everybody around his apprentices, but the king of Uganda steps up with his fists ready to share some punches as Mohamed Ali would do.

“Sit down, you … woman”, with several quiet kindergarten screams and shouts following and Caesar nearly bursting in tears.

“We are all in this together. We are the same, well not really the same”, looking at golden hair and beautiful dress of once mighty Roman general, the form which he actually disapprove, since it is unnatural for his homeland, but he realizes there are so many cultures and diversities around the globe and we can’t judge each and every. We should all let them be, which those guys don’t comprehend and their successors continue the same path like history lessons are lavatory.

As he is thinking and watching over the heads of this group, but in silence, Caesar acquires courage to stand up straight, as to the matter his dress allows him, and walks off. He is searching for any ruler from the Orient. Reincarnation is the key term he is clinging to. There was nothing else. He will join this cult or religion or what the hell it is and do what is necessary to return back and rule some more. That time he would be smarter, he would be watchful, he would take measures against any attempt on his new life form and last, but not least, he wouldn’t go, under any circumstances, out of his home on the Ides of March.

He isn’t aware that the Ides of March aren’t on the calendar anymore, so he can venture wherever he wants without fearing assassins. We must admit that, for the future of our Planet, the king of Uganda would be a more suitable candidate to be reincarnated, then Roman dictator full of himself and pretty vengeful, dressed to rule.

[1] Status, dignity, position, rank, honor, importance all in one word for Roman male citizen

September 04, 2020 00:31

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