The Ides of March
Today is a sad day for me. My lover, Julius Caesar, was killed on this day.
I have been reincarnated several times. In addition to living my life as a reindeer in Scandinavia and as Queen Victoria's valet, I was also Sacajawea and Virginia Woolf (that was a downer, let me tell you).
But the Ides of March always reminds me of my life as Julius' secret lover. My name was Whorus Antonius. Julius and I only had five wonderful days together before he was killed. We were so in love. He called me "Hot Whorus" and he was my Big Toolius Julius.
[Begin romantic movie "falling in love" montage]
Whorus and Julius are at an open air market looking at pomegranate. Whorus pulls one from the pile and all the pomegranates tumble to the ground. Julius grins and shakes his head. Whorus covers his eyes in embarrassment and laughs. Close-up of a calendar page, indicating it is the 10th of March (The "Tides of March" as we called it).
Cut to Julius and Whorus flying kites. They run in slow motion as they look up at the sky gleefully. Calendar shot: The Rides of March.
Cut to scene of a fire blazing in the hearth. Whorus and Julius lie on an animal skin rug (I can't remember what kind of animals we had in Rome...it was a long time ago.) They are making love. Calendar shot: The Hides of March.
Cut to daylight in a meadow. Whorus is fashioning a crown of laurel leaves. Julius kisses Whorus, and Whorus places the crown on Julius' head. Calendar shot: The Brides of March...
[end romantic movie montage]
We were happy. Then came his assassination. That day is burned into my memory like Bjork's swan dress at the Academy Awards. I will never forget the sight of those blades slicing into my poor lover's flesh. Right before he died, Julius turned to Brutus and said, "Et tu, Brute?" I stood in the crowd and yelled through my tears, "Good one, Julius," and I meant it. He was always quick with a comeback.
Our time was short, but I will never forget the laughs, the joy, the romance. Shortly afterwards, I took up with Brutus. He was not nearly as dear to me as Julius, but he had big arms and could bench press me. That was pretty hot.
Although it was painful to witness this murder, I do not regret my time in Rome. It's somewhat surprising to me that I never wrote about it in my books when I was Virginia Woolf, but I was so damn depressed all the time that reflecting on Julius would have just pushed me over the edge. Instead, it was the frustration of dealing with my horribly damaged unkempt hair that caused me to kill myself, but that is another story for another day.
I know that I, Whorus, made a huge contribution to the life of Big Toolius Julius and the lives of all Romans. It was my idea to start the toga parties, for example.