gladiator.

 A blade snaps and clatters to the ground-

splattering crimson. 

That clings to the sand. 

The crowd roars. 

Sweat trickles down my neck, 

doing nothing to cool me down from the stinging sun. 

A soft prickle of pain bites my chin-

I was hit with the hilt a moment before. 

The lifeless bag of flesh hangs at the end of my blade. 

I snap my blade away,

and someone shouts. 

My hand is held up to the gods. 

I don’t get to in lounge in my victory, 

I’m already pushed away for the next match. 

My feet scuffling the dirt. 

A clanking carriage takes the body away. 

Ready for the next show. 

Soon there will be a day, 

my own sword will break,

then I’ll mark the sand with my blood.