Carnage

Carnage

Prologue:

Does anything excite the human heart more than carnage? Does nothing else ever bring more morbid joy than when they are confronted by their own mortality? A man dying illicits shivers to those who watch. The crueler his demise, the more feverish the crowd was becoming. With such lustful eyes, they feed on his despair until the colours of their eyes and actions transcends mere sadism. 

Arie gazed at the spectators as formerly decent men and women ripped their clothes, screams curses and begged for blood as the gladiator pinned a slave on the sandy ground. He taunted them with small cuts on the exposed neck. The slave had no skills what-so-ever and he could barely hold the blade he had been given. He was only a small entertainment before the true games; he was also the only one to die that day as it was a special occasion for the city. Arie had watched half-hearted as he pitifully defended himself until she was informed that there was only one way for the humiliation to end. 

The gladiator flipped him, flicked the sharped end of his knife and the resulting wound pooled blood into the slave's eyes. He could not even wipe away as both his arms were broken, the bones tearing through the skin. The larger and better trained slave-for his was also a slave- spat phlegm. This was met with shouts of disgust, not because the crowd felt he had gone too far but that he was not going far enough. Arie felt her skin crawl and she poised herself to stand, yet, she could not. She was transfixed at the scene. The gladiator was still playing with the crowd's emotion, stirring them even further by seemingly leaving the slave behind and walking away. In one voice, they chanted words that did not match but carried the same message: kill. Satisfy us. 

Finally, he grabbed the fallen man's shoulder and raised his dagger high. Had it not been stained, it would shone brightly in the afternoon sun. All around her, people were getting on their fight, almost falling off the stand. Unfortunately, due to the fact that they were in a high booth, everything was visible to her. Together with thousands of pairs of eyes, hers followed the progress of the knife as it came down through skin, neck muscles and piercing out of the nape. She turned her head and found her mistress was using her wide sleeves to hide her face. 

The slave spluttered and clawed at the weapon attempting to dislodge. Arie knew he was trying to say something but she could hear nothing but the sharp roar of the spectators. The man spat out blood, suffocating she was sure, sunken eyes wide in horror. Eyes that met hers. He began crawling, clutching fistfuls of sand while the jagged part of his brushed against the ground. Although, there was quite some distance between them, Arie could see everything in great detail. The noise around her dropped to a muffled din. Bubbling of his crimson blood formed and then burst near his mouth. His skin was rapidly turning blue. A piece of bread landed on his head, followed suit by many others. Soon his thin red hair had thick lumps stuck to it. 

With his final spurt of energy, the man moved his lips. His words were lost in the flood. Then his eyes became glazed. His gaze never leaving hers despite Arie knowing how much that would haunt her. Screams of sheer delight reverberated in the air. Armed soldiers jogged into the arena, hooked a metal chain on each of his leg and began dragging the body away, leaving behind a rather deep trail of wet, scarlet sand.