Survivial

This story is about a gladiator. It was a story I wrote for an english class.

The aura of the unlit chamber was grim. The breeze that crept through the barred window was bone chilling. This dark chamber would have had any normal man frightened, but it didn’t faze me. I liked it.

                It wasn’t the darkness, or the chilling breeze that I enjoyed, but the solitude and the chance to just sit down and think. Some would call it ‘the peace and quiet’. A gladiator doesn’t get much of that in his lifetime. Mainly because most suffer an untimely demise, but if you’re like me it’s because no one gives you the chance to. Some would say it has to be earned, and to earn it you have to accomplish a task that is impossible for most gladiators. Survive. For a few, surviving isn’t a very hard task, and I just happen to be one of those few.

                About two hours ago, I would have been fighting for my life, in a ring of death under the burning sun, as people got to watch death firsthand. I would have been slitting the throats and slaughtering any of those who dare to challenge me. And for what you ask? To provide entertainment for those who can afford to stay out of the ring. For those who will never have to murder a friend, and have to stand there and watch as their blood spilled on to the sand. For those who will never have to experience life as a gladiator. For those who don’t have to try, to survive.

                After the brawl, the one gladiator who was lucky enough to survive was taken to a chamber under the ring, and had to wait until the coliseum was empty. That’s where I was now; just enjoying my peace and quiet, but I knew that good things don’t usually last. “Crassus!” The guard’s voice cracked on the word, like saying it was a sin and that he was going to get whipped for speaking of it.

                “Please, Crassus is my father’s name and I despise that man. My name is Damian and I would prefer if you referred to me as such.” I stood up and stretched, and as I did so, I noticed that the guard stood frozen like an artist was sculpting his statue. I proceeded to glide across the stone floor, through the arched doorway. As I came in line with the guard, I patted him on the back, but as I did so he flinched and grabbed my arm. It took the startled guard a moment to realize what he had done and once he did he let my arm go, and recoiled his arm back, like he just burnt his hand on a branding iron. I chuckled and continued to walk. The confused, panic stricken guard underestimated my knowing of this procedure, and so he just followed me, always making sure he was a few paces behind me.              

                The hallway would have been pitch dark if it hadn’t been illuminated by the torches, but I have walked this hallway so many times, that even if the torches were to go out I could still find my way.

                We finally reached the ending of the passage, and by then the guard had eased up a bit. Probably because he knew that, at the end of the passage he would be accompanied by another set of guards. The light from the opening hit me straight in the face. That was the one aspect that I hadn’t gotten use to.

                It was much brighter outside then I had expected it to be. The mid-day sun was high in the empty sky. I was besieged by the heat. It came at me from every side, and it distracted me. Two guards came at me from either side, and grabbed my arms. Another guard came from the front and cuffed my wrists together. There was no point in struggling, so I just let them tow me along, like a dog on a leash.

                There were people on every street and every corner. Venders trying to sell all different types of merchandise, and street rats trying to figure out what merchandise they can pickpocket. Even though the streets were crowded, they somehow managed to part wide enough for us to stagger through. All wandering eyes were fixed on me. Some clapped for me, some spit at me, and some just stood in awe, like I was some weird creature.

                I somehow managed to block out all the noise, long enough to reach the wooden establishment I called home. Ha, home is an overstatement. It’s more like a holding place, for me and others like me. The walls were a creamy peach color, with barred windows on each side. The entrance was a grand wooden door, the size of 7 men. Intimidating to some, but to others it was just another door. We waited a moment for the door to open, and then continued into the structure.

This building wasn’t as crowded as the streets were, but still full, and like the streets, the individuals stared. They did this, most likely, because it was unnatural for a gladiator to survive as long as I have. I could tell, from some of the disappointed faces that I wasn’t supposed to survive. I smirked and let the guards undo my cuffs and free my hands. They packed the cuffs away; they walked the opposite direction, out the grand door and disappeared into the crowd. The doors shut and most of its inhabitants continued on with their own business. I continued my path through the crowded courtyard, brushing past the ones who weren’t afraid to be near me.

                 The building once was an Inn that belonged to a wealthy Lord. He was a fan of the gladiator fights and so he donated the building, so that it could inhabit many gladiators. Since it was an Inn, it was designed to please any of the patrons to which it inhabited, so the building was actually quite beautiful. There are a number of roman gods gathered on the ceiling, just staring as us mortals. Every doorway is actually an archway, with a woven curtain as the door.

Even though the buildings use to be for paying citizens, we are definitely not treated like as such. All the gladiators are given a small chamber with a wool blanket, and bed of hay to sleep on.

I walked down a hallway, while the gods watched from above. After a number of twists and turns I finally arrived at my chamber. I pulled across my curtain, and entered the small room.

 I unstrapped my armor and placed it carefully on the ground as if I was setting down an infant. A gladiator’s armor is essential for him to stay alive, without it he won’t last a minute in the ring.  I then moved over to my ‘bed’ and laid down on the crisp, dry pieces of grass. Even though the sun was still high in the sky, there was no one I wanted to speak to and I needed my rest. In less than a fortnight’s time, I would be back in the ring, fighting for my life, just trying to survive.