Cannae Monologue

“I feel a certain heaviness in the air. I am unable to think or breathe without feeling that each second a pound of bricks is being added to my diaphram. Cannae is a cursed battle. Hannibal must be beaten, for I fear Rome will fall and Carthage will rise. You must assemble an army and stop him.”
Scipio’s eyes teared as he concluded reading his father’s last letter, for he died in the Battle of Cannae along with his uncle and another 75,000 Roman men.
Scipio felt the dank and melancholy air tainted by recent losses as he rushed to the forum.
“People of Rome,” declared Scipio, “We are in grave danger. We must stand up and fight. We must unite against Hannibal in order to regain what is ours!” A rush of whoops, hollers, cheers, shouts, screams, yelps, and joy swept over the revived city.
“In two days

An warm hand caressed his shoulder, Scipio knew that the mutated ghost would be there when he turned around, but as he did, he was caught of gaurd. The face was whole, familiar, loving. It was his father, in the warm pulsing flesh. “Scipio” whispered the ghost, “You are Rome’s last chance, would you rather risk the lives of these few men or all the senators, children, wives, elderly, and injured that still remain in Rome? What would the profit of returning be? Can you even return? There is no doubt in my mind that Hannibal remains on the other side of that barricade with his army ready to pounce on your unsuspecting men. So what would you rather do? Surrender your army, or risk their lives in order to save Rome?” With one last look of hope, fear, joy, and remorse, the figure disappeared along with Scipio’s hesitations. He marched to the center of the camp, took one last breath and declared, “Men of Rome, Men for Rome, Men which Rome will deify and worship, it is time.” The army had coagulated.
They had marched out of camp and over the