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“Death to Caesar!!!”

“What!!  What did you say???”

I said:  “Breath to Caesar!!”
“Long and healthy and contented breath.”

“So which of his Legions are you a part of?”

“OH!  God, if there is one, they call us the freezing legion.
“See these fingers, well where they used to be, well
they got lopped off.  It was so cold out they didn’t even
bleed.  Saved my indentured frigging life.”

“Those that died froze so quickly we didn’t even
need litters to carry them off the field of battle.”
“Just picked them up stiff as you please and threw
them in the cart.”

“So What made you join up?”  “Trouble with the law?
or In-law?”  “Too many tarts?”  “Eh, C’mon.”

“Damn, same old story.  Dad’s a senator, always bragging
about his son, you know.”

“Agricolas this, Agricolas that.”  “Dammit, stop snickering.
He thought it would be an advantage to have an outlandish
moniker.”  “So he hung this one on me.”  “So one day I just
got fed up, said screw this, and went off to become a legionnaire.”
“Guess I showed him what he could do with his stupid name.
Now I kill farmers, well not just farmers, just about anybody
that gets in the way of the Legion.”  “Not a bad job though, as
long as your not the one frozen stiff and tossed in the cart.”

“Well, I bet your dad’s proud now.”

“Nope, hasn’t spoken to me in three years.  Says I spend too much
time hanging about with the lower echelons of humanity.”  “I told
him we weren’t partying, that I hacked their limbs off, crushed their
skulls, decimated their homes and villages.”  “Last thing he said to me
was Nail Caesar!!”  “Ya gotta love these loyal subjects.”  


for Isaiah Zerbst, The Roman Legion contest

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