Spontanéité

Enter the Arena // snapshot

Inspired by The Arena, by Lindsey Stirling. The song only. Not the music video.
***

There was just something about this place that kept drawing her back.
Something magnetic, maybe.
Maybe it was the roar of the crowds that circled the stadium, the way everyone in the audience raised their voices in unison, chanting. The way you couldn't tell one voice apart from another because all of them blended together.
Maybe it was the mixture of smells that always lingered in the air long after most people had gone home, the scents and aromas of spices, sweat and blood. You'd think it would be an unpleasant smell, and maybe it was and she was just used to it, but she liked it.
Maybe it was the way everyone was packed into the place, or the way the sunshine hit her back and her face, always darkening her skin further every time she returned. The sun was always directly above the centre stage.

There was always the fact she didn't have much of a choice in coming back.
But still, she liked to think she was going back every week because she loved to be there, and she wasn't lying when she told herself that.
She did love it there.
It was her home.

Every week, several individuals would enter the Arena- probably around twenty individuals each time, and every week, nine of those individuals would remain inside. She happened to be one of these nine.
Every week, the rusted iron gates were pulled open by two burly men, hinges shrieking.
Every week, the sunlight illuminated the dank, musty hallway.
Every week, the gladiators emerged from the darkness, bathed in light, shadows thrown before their feet.

All nine of them had grown dark-skinned and sinewy in the time they'd been there, in the span of five years. They were family, living together and protecting each other.

Dark hair braided and coiled tightly around her head, dark eyes narrowed against the sunlight, dark skin scarred and marked with war paint, she would stalk out of the hallway with her family each week. The light outlined her skin, touching the well-worn textures of her armour- a tight vest covering only her upper torso, short, tight stretchy trousers cut just above the knee. Nothing else. Nothing else was necessary.

Then the contenders came.

The drums would start beating, matching the steady beat of her heart.

1, 2, 3.
The gates directly opposite to theirs would be pulled open.
Figures would start moving forward, casting long shadows on the sandy ground.
1, 2, 3.
The contenders would emerge, probably about nine or ten of them, each one dressed differently, each from different empires and provinces. Some of them looked older, others stronger. None looked afraid.
1, 2, 3.
She'd start moving forward with her family, sharing a look with each of them before separating without a second thought, without looking back.
1, 2, 3.
The contenders would part ways, coming forward to stand directly opposite the gladiators.
One on one, two on one, maybe even three on one. It didn't matter, really.
1.
2.

3.
The drums would silence.
The people would hush.
The time would come.

And they would begin.