Brutus

THEY NAMED ME Valerye Valka.

Thereafter in an instant, my eyes were open to the spoils of a war. The moment my heart started beating was the moment I understood who I was.

I've been watching him for my entire life

I saw how their people looked in my direction. The way their fleeting gazes held nothing but hatred and wrath. The way their eyes held nervous fervor when in front of me stood a man. One with eyes as blue as mine, and hair as golden as the sun. They named him Mikael Valka, one with me, a kin, so alike.

I hate the air he breathes, his foolish decrees His words so contrived

I started to envy the man. The fire that had once been put out lit itself, a small flame alight. It roared, crackled, and flared in my mind, its sizzling whispering words of bitterness and rabid wrath of war. I hated the way he seemed so sovereign yet at the same time so alive. I hated the way he looked so full of pride. The way his people looked at me with fury at his apparent command.

And I hate the way the townspeople gather outside; They hang on every breath, cling to his chest; Home to his heart full of pride

The winters came and went with the wanting of warmth. My mind was kept broken and that fire grew to thrice the last size. The whispers were so loud, just as loud as the howling wind on the coldest day of my life. That fire rose twice its size, the whispers waiting for the the one they called a kin of mine. I waited and waited for impending death or demise.

The oracle told him to beware the Ides; And I'd be lying if I said I wasn't wishing; For untimely death or demise

And every time I peered into the crowd, his gaze found mine and then I looked to the people nearby, their eyes held high admiration, and then a poet he was called. All while looking into my eyes said he named me his muse, one of war and wrath. And after all I could do with my still broken mind was wish that I was like him. That the people would see me as a poet, and not just his muse.

Or am I just wishing I could be like you? That the people would see me too as a poet; And not just the muse

The days came and went and the fire still grew. Its once minuscule size was now as high as the tallest of pines. While that fury and wrath only doubled inside. But I never understood he was my only kin, my brother, my lineage, my blood. Never did I seem to mind the crackling of the flames and their whispers towards his untimely demise. Except that now the whispers that filled my broken mind were others where I didn't wish for him to meet harm. We once were the same brethren of different sires but of the spirit of the same womb. Thus to him, I'll always be grateful, but I'll never be his muse.

Oh, it's not true, I don't wish harm upon you; From birth we've been like brothers of different mothers; Within the spirit of the same womb May the gods strike me down if I forsake you Frater meus, you're beautifully made; And to you I'm forever grateful

I will never forget the love he showed me, it was like art. Oh, it was so pure, from the warmth of his noble and prideful heart. But never was that warmth as fiery as the whisper in my shattered mind.

I'll never forget that you showed me to make art; And I know the love you showed me came; From a pure and noble heart

His people called him their lord, hah! what a funny way to show their love. The way the people look up to him as their savior only seems to fuel that whispering fire within I. At the cold of the night, I stay and watch as the fire dies, the winds carrying its ashes and my thoughts full of blood. Why? I keep asking myself, why? My eyes never seem to want to close as I think to myself, why him and not I?

I love you, and if you want, I'll call you King; But why do I lie awake each night thinking; "Instead of you, it should be me"?

And then one day the winds carried more than the smell of blood. A terrible surging anger wedged itself in the cracks of my shattered mind. Who was I to deny it entry? or should I not face it, should I run? How would I even be sure if it's anger, could it be loathing? is it love? Only would I know if that dam would let the goddamned water out.

Something wicked this way comes; And as I set to face it, I'm unsure; Should I embrace it, should I run?; What motivates me? Hatred? Is it love?

And would it be wrong of me to wish I was like him? Be the same as his level of art. And, oh, how wrong would it be of my mother to wish he was her son. And even if she won't accept me as one, I could at least pretend to be like him, mimic his pure, noble, and prideful heart. Will she accept me as I am? or will she still wish me to be him, not a daughter but a son?

What's more wrong; that I too wish to be great; Or my mother wished she'd had a son?; And even if I can't be the one; Maybe I could at least help make way for him; Until the day that he comes

But if only the people knew me to be good, not fix their gazes at me with hatred deep in their seemingly soulless eyes. Only then maybe will the people know, that if I could be like him, I'll give them greatness in this war.

Then said war was given way and the people fought with haze. And strength did they find to fight the foe, then there was I. But never would I have known, that their enemy was not mine, and I was theirs from the start.

Maybe my name could also be known; That I helped return good to the people; And restored greatness to Rome

That was when I understood, while my eyes opened to this war. My heart now felt once again alive, and a broken and shattered mind, now let that dam be broken down. Though instead of water it was that fire, now consuming me for all I was. A swipe of a sword was all it took to bring me back.

My name is Valerye and my name means strong. So with that raging fire, I'll drive a sword into the one I called kin, now an enemy. The wrath I had forgotten of came crashing down on me. The whispers took over, the fire burning the love I once had for him. Consumed by the flames I turned to my people, and screamed for the slaying of our enemies joyously.

My name is Brutus and my name means heavy; So with a heavy heart; I'll guide this dagger into the heart of my enemy

Even if he was always there for me. I couldn't stop the fire, the anger, the sorrow. He was a brethren of mine, a kin, my blood! He even showed me how to make art! Oh but I knew it wasn't a simple envy, it was anger, not even love.

And I would never go back to how I was.

My whole life, you were a teacher and friend to me; Please know my actions are not motivated only by envy

Now I don't wish for him not to meet harm. Now I wish for his demise, hah! his people were right.

I will have my own destiny!! His death will be just like art. The one he was so eager to teach me, now it will be his undoing, so contrived. And a victory will this war be, while my people and I make history. The townspeople will speak of this war for years to come.

I, too, have a destiny; This death will be art; The people will speak of this day from near and afar This event will be history, and I'll be great too

His name will be forgotten and his death will be history, he'll make my name great too.

And while I drove my sword to his heart, my lips made it known.

"I don't want what you have, I want to be you."