No Mercy

The crack of a whip

Against calloused skin

Hardly fazes him.

That-

After years of damage,

He is left numb.

The crack of a whip,

And the trap door swings open.

He is thrust into a blinding light.

Daylight.

Floodlight,

Limelight,

Head, light from the roar of the crowd-

Delight

In a new victim,

In a new

Sick game.

He grips his gladius in dread,

A mirror for what is true.

The scarred ground,

Stained red

As if a slaughtered victim itself.

He stumbles into the arena,

Dodging stabs, slices, and swings.

His opponent persists,

Murder shining in his eyes.

Under his helmet.

Echoing among the spectators,

Waiting for him to

Fall.

He grits his teeth,

Fighting back.

Forced to protect his meaningless

Life.

Blood fills his eyes,

And the world around him turns red

Until suddenly,

He stops.

His enemy,

Lying crippled in the sand,

Stares up at him,

His eyes,

Human eyes.

Filled with

Fear.

Human fear.

His enemy,

Only a human.

He stands frozen,

Unable to move.

But the people only grow louder,

Ruthless.

Yelling, “nulla misericordia!”

Their thumbs shoved toward the ground.

He resists,

Only to be warned by a soldier’s cold

Threat:

“Occides, an occidi,”

Kill,

Or be killed.

But he is no more than a slave;

He is no killer.

Caesar has the final say,

His thumbs down

Confirming this nightmare

A reality.

So slowly,

But shakily,

The slave raises his sword,

And closes his eyes.

Silence.

An interrupted cry.

Silence.

Cheers.

And a slave,

Collapsed onto his knees,

His face,

Buried in his hands.