A chorus of cheers crescendoed through the colosseum as heads rolled and bodies dropped. No ordinary afternoon would see a stadium crowd so alive, but the spectacle of the past week’s shows had certainly gone above wild expectations. The rules of the game hadn’t changed, a lone participant was the soul responsible for uproar after bolstering uproar. His days of underdog behind him, entertainer would be a more accurate title.
His last involuntary assailant slumped to the ground. He cleaned his sword in the sand before raising its tip to his left flank, the seat of the man he had been a slave to for far too long already. Sending deathly glares the same direction were his tired eyes, eyes of a man who had taken on too much, eyes of a man constantly on the verge of losing everything he still had.
‘I’ll fight.’ he spoke, loud enough for the front rows to hear him had they not been chanting his name. ‘I’ll keep fighting fight foe and friend. I’ll earn a better death, a death not orchestrated by men of position.’ His sword sheathed, his arm resting. ‘I’ll fight’ he repeated, before turning for the gate.
The kite shield on his back caught the last few rays of sunshine entering the colosseum, but didn’t reflect them. He had better things to do than polish a possession he had no need for.
If only I had the energy and willpower to alliterate the entire damn thing.