Your Wish, O Father is Mine

Your Wish, O Father is Mine

The sunlight blinds my thoughts as I wonder if finally my time has come to join Carneios.
The sound of thousands royal Roman trumpets bounces from the gladiatorial combat walls of the arena the Coliseum of death. As I raise my sight to look one more time at the blue sky, I feel it is not only a question of surviving, but also of winning each and every battle against ever more powerful wild combatant opponents. That makes my heart bleed. No words can describe the weight of my tears at night…

Now, as I stand in fresh traced blood in the middle of the arena, the crowd goes crazy as I kneel. They all know I pray. I never ask in my prayers to win. I only say, “Your son is in your hand. Your wish, O Father! is mine.”
I’m just a simple slave who became a gladiator, but I win entire crowds, whereas a terribly jealous Emperor is being spat upon by many, even his closest relatives… I was told that very soon, I will be allowed to retire, or to continue as a gladiator trainer. Too many scarves and dreams of triumph over Death, my real opponent the extreme pain of reviewing the thumb up and the crowd acting like bloodthirsty animals… the poor slave men, just like me, looking into my eyes when I had to kill their last breath… it was understood that this visual existence was made just for a few, and I had to be one of them. I can barely feel if my body is free of injury. Seeing all the crowd’s evil eyes, their shouts for frivolous attraction…

A suddenly deep feeling of pity washed through me as I ask myself, “How could humanity become so low, so dark, so repulsive?” At last I see in vision the Holy cross, where the ultimate pity was cried out loudly before the last breath… Looking at the Emperor after all of this, how could I come to think for an instant about forgiveness?

The south gate of the arena opens, and my opponent proudly starts to move towards me as the crowd falls silent. I hold my sword as though I may decide the outcome of the fights. After we both salute the Emperor and he waves his right hand to start the combat, we face each other, analyzing our movements and both falling into the pulse of monstrous killing-beasts.
Heavy breathing ensues. After the whistle of sword hitting shield, deflecting, and spear bouncing back, suddenly the glare from the sun blinds me. As I try to turn my head a little, there is a small pain pinching abdomen. I see my opponent step back few feet, bringing down his spear. The crowd stands with an echoed sound of surprise. My right hand is full of blood, proving the spear thrusting was done. I know now: today it was my turn. For a few seconds, as I fall on the dry ground, the pain is gone, but I cannot move. I am surprised to see my opponent kneel down to me and say, “The Emperor didn’t favor for the thumb-up. Neither did the crowd.”

With my last breath, I tell him, “Gladly brother, O Father did…”
— S.W.P.