Nero the Bigman

           Ave, and good morning, esteemed citizens of Rome! Are you familiar with my identity? Oh, who am I kidding, undoubtedly you have surely been admiring the full extent of my excellent self. Nevertheless, in the unlikely case that your insignificant minds are still confused, let me, nay, the emperor’s prerogative of using the pronoun US for our magnificent selves, assist you: I am the epitome of a hardworking man, an scintillating intellect, an independent thinker, the most passionate artist; a humble musician, an unparalleled poet, a veritable prophet; and finally, I am the ultimate leader,  greatest emperor of the eternal Rome, Nerooooooo!

            I inherited my divinely rightful throne, at the end of my stepfather’s overly long and tedious reign. I ruled my vast estates with unfettered wisdom and the stubbornness of one born for the reins of leadership. The songs and poems of old relate of barbarian kings’ feasts so glamourous and majestic that their legacy has haunted the centuries. (laughter, shakes head) Those petty gatherings in pigsties, organized by fickle despots could never rightfully be mentioned on the same page as the grandiose holiday diversions in my glorious palace.

            I had been the true picture of the perfect emperor. A flawless leader with a sparkling reign… unless one were to mention perhaps a sole fault. You see, I was surrounded by inadequate advisors, as anybody with the slightest sense of power was vying for control over a juvenile figure such as myself. However, I am not petty, and no historian with the slightest sense of justice could ever claim that I was fickle!

            My dearest mother has always been an irritating aspect in my excellent dealings. I could sense it in her eyes: over time, she commenced to perceive me as not her sweet son, but a mere tool with which she could maintain and amass her own power. But I won’t be indecisive, I would never be an impotent puppet to someone else’s will! She became a vexing nuisance. And one day, like a fire that blazes for a fleeting second… my mother was no more.

            Nay, I was not the one to set fire to Rome, the greatest jewel of my glorious crown. Those vile villains who were responsible, the Christians, had been hunted down like sewer rats, a just consequence of their abhorrant actions. And yet, while I clearly wasn’t the perpetrator, I became the victim. Following the horrid burning of the eternal city, the rest of my empire sparked a vicious rebellion. In shame did I flee from my humble palace, devoid of of any supporters. I was to meet my undue end before humiliation caught up with me. One of my few remaining friends’ faithful sword, lodged deep into my passionate torso… what an artist had the world lost that day, I sighed with my last breath and saw a devouring flame, the last spark of Rome fading away into the distance…

Rácz Mózes   XI. R