Duvodas
New Member
This is something I was thinking about for days, but it wouldn't take shape in my mind, until today. I hope you enjoy it.
The thunderous cheering of the crowd suffocated the scream of the dying man as he fell heavily to the sand. Staring at the sky, he blinked in shock, pressed his hands on the injured ribs as if trying to contain the stream of blood that came out of them. The blood felt hot on his hands and fingers, and although it was not a new sensation to him, he felt as if it was the first time he had sensed it. The pain became more intensive and he realized what had happened. His lips twisted in a smile and blood poured from his mouth and ran down his neck. I’m free, he murmured, so low that he couldn’t even hear it.
The wind blew fiercely and the scattered sand crashed on his face. He closed his eyes and opened them again only to see a human shadow standing above him. He couldn’t see the face, for the sun shone upon open his back and absorbed his features concealed by an helmet, but he clearly remembered the face from the day before when he had seen him training in the ludi. From that moment, he knew he would die within minutes the next day, when he would have to fight him. And so it had been.
He discerned as the shadow raised a finger to the crowd and turned around so that everybody could see it. The shouts of the crowd were so mixed that he barely heard what they yelled. He saw the standing man look down at him and instantly new what had been the answer: death!
He closed his eyes again.
The fighter tossed his gladius aside and removed a knife from his belt. Kneeling, his two hands crossed around the hilt of the blade and plunged it in the chest of the fallen man. There was no scream this time. Again, the crowds cheered loudly and shouted the name of the winner, which resounded in the walls of the Coliseum like a storm.
Decimus! Decimus! Decimus! Decimus! Decimus! Decimus! Decimus! Decimus!
The gladiator wiped the knife clean on the ripped skirt of the fallen man. He knew his name, but he had never met him. For him, he had been another man, another soul, another kill, and yet, his soul had filled with sorrow as his blade had tore the man’s heart. For how long would I be doing this? He asked himself but the answer he did not find.
“Shall your soul find the way to the underworld and walk with the heroes in the halls of Pluto’s palace,” he murmured. Reaching for the gladius, he stood up. The sun shone upon his tall figure and his ears filled once again with the sound of the bloodthirsty crowd. He raised his gladius high in the sky, and the sun shone upon it, sending sparkles of light to the people, who blinked as the reflection hit their eyes. Nevertheless, they kept screaming his name.
Decimus smiled, the crowd loved him, and the least he could do for them was to offer and spectacle that they would enjoy. Kill to survive or die to be eaten by the beasts. That was his life, the life of a gladiator.
Putting down his sword, Decimus swiftly headed to the black gates from which he had come from, the gates of life and death, the gates that one day, he would enter as a dead corpse.
The thunderous cheering of the crowd suffocated the scream of the dying man as he fell heavily to the sand. Staring at the sky, he blinked in shock, pressed his hands on the injured ribs as if trying to contain the stream of blood that came out of them. The blood felt hot on his hands and fingers, and although it was not a new sensation to him, he felt as if it was the first time he had sensed it. The pain became more intensive and he realized what had happened. His lips twisted in a smile and blood poured from his mouth and ran down his neck. I’m free, he murmured, so low that he couldn’t even hear it.
The wind blew fiercely and the scattered sand crashed on his face. He closed his eyes and opened them again only to see a human shadow standing above him. He couldn’t see the face, for the sun shone upon open his back and absorbed his features concealed by an helmet, but he clearly remembered the face from the day before when he had seen him training in the ludi. From that moment, he knew he would die within minutes the next day, when he would have to fight him. And so it had been.
He discerned as the shadow raised a finger to the crowd and turned around so that everybody could see it. The shouts of the crowd were so mixed that he barely heard what they yelled. He saw the standing man look down at him and instantly new what had been the answer: death!
He closed his eyes again.
The fighter tossed his gladius aside and removed a knife from his belt. Kneeling, his two hands crossed around the hilt of the blade and plunged it in the chest of the fallen man. There was no scream this time. Again, the crowds cheered loudly and shouted the name of the winner, which resounded in the walls of the Coliseum like a storm.
Decimus! Decimus! Decimus! Decimus! Decimus! Decimus! Decimus! Decimus!
The gladiator wiped the knife clean on the ripped skirt of the fallen man. He knew his name, but he had never met him. For him, he had been another man, another soul, another kill, and yet, his soul had filled with sorrow as his blade had tore the man’s heart. For how long would I be doing this? He asked himself but the answer he did not find.
“Shall your soul find the way to the underworld and walk with the heroes in the halls of Pluto’s palace,” he murmured. Reaching for the gladius, he stood up. The sun shone upon his tall figure and his ears filled once again with the sound of the bloodthirsty crowd. He raised his gladius high in the sky, and the sun shone upon it, sending sparkles of light to the people, who blinked as the reflection hit their eyes. Nevertheless, they kept screaming his name.
Decimus smiled, the crowd loved him, and the least he could do for them was to offer and spectacle that they would enjoy. Kill to survive or die to be eaten by the beasts. That was his life, the life of a gladiator.
Putting down his sword, Decimus swiftly headed to the black gates from which he had come from, the gates of life and death, the gates that one day, he would enter as a dead corpse.