my throat was slit, very slightly, but just enough that if i spoke too loud, or said too much, i would bleed endlessly, easily. there was a bandage of sorts, from the tunic of caesar whom we had betrayed. i don’t know why or how, but i realized much too late that we had done him wrong and were deserving of whatever punishment awaited us.
mine was death and they had begun with slitting my throat, just below the adam’s apple, where there’s a bit of loose skin and maybe that’s why i was living a bit longer.
but my day was due and i was setting my house in order. i had a son or a newphew or a stweard or squire or just some idiot man-child who admired my scheming and cunning, who modeled himself after my ambition and ego. he would not leave me alone, asking me if i needed anything, a woman, a sword, an army, anything at all to survive, to overthrow the counsel that had sentenced me to death.
i longed only for rebirth, a change in identity and as impossible as that sounded, i somehow thought, while inspecting the sliced skin at the neck just above the collarbone -it looked like a papercut, i swear- that i could make some sort of appeal at humilty, not beg, no, no never that, but an appeal in logic of some sort, to talk my way out of this, knowing that talking just might make the wound bleed out and i wouldn’t do any one any good.
and i was thinking this while in the bathroom, modern of course, not ancient at all, shower stall and jacuzzi and marble floors and tiled to the ceiling, and they wouldn’t let me lock the door for privacy, lest i escaped down the drainage pipe. my stewart was just outside, chomping to come in and wipe my ass, which disgusted me. he was too willing, too craven, too depraved and i was angry and stiffled because i could not tell him off, i had to save all that for the end, for the appeal, wait until the right moment where i could blurt out for leniency before they sliced off my head entirely.
and there i was in looking in the mirror, with shit in my hands, because we didn’t have toilet paper then, only papyrus, and my tunic stained because i could not fully reach around and clean myself properly…
i realized then it was a dream and i woke up. i was in our apartment in albany, eating dinner with my family: maritza, ioanna and our adopted son from nigeria. the mail came and in with the bills was an envelope from the court. within it was a legal summons: i was getting sued for a camera i had destoryed during a yankees game in the bronx in october of 1997.
i don’t even like baseball.