Their last breathe
I take a seat on the cold stone bench of the arena. The rumble of the crowd fades into my head; the thick July air makes it hard to breathe. It is not my fight but my nerves acts as if it is, shaking in anticipation and fear. The competitors take their places on opposing ends of the field. I'm too far away to see their faces behind their masks but I can feel the adrenaline flow through my body and know that it doesn’t compare to what they must be feeling; knowing that this could be their last minutes alive. I wonder what they did to deserve this. Was it a crime of vengeance that earned them a spot in this place; or were they just an innocent slave that isn’t entitled to this harsh of sentence? One gladiator charges forward to begin this blood bath. His challenger shelters himself with his shield, knowing that he has to strike back or be killed. I watch in amazement of the sheer strength that these men have derived from the thought that failure was not an option. The sight of the crimson liquid spewing from one of the competitors makes me nauseous; this is undoubtedly the cruelest thing I’ve ever witnessed; yet it steals my attention. I need to know what happens next. I need to see who comes out alive, but a sudden blare or a horn bring me back to reality and I realize is now 1956 years later and I am actually standing in Rome, holding a ticket for the famed coliseum. There is so much that has happened there that it is so intriguing.
My feet have blisters from what seems like miles that we have walked, it’s about 3:30 p.m. but I feel much more tired from the jet lag. It hasn’t quite set in that I’m in Rome, Italy. It just doesn’t seem real yet. We are headed to the coliseum; I can’t wait to take pictures of it because it’s such a famous landmark. We already have tickets so we skip the massive amount of tourist that have the same plan as we do. We are following our guide that I stopped listening to 10 minutes ago because of her strong Italian...
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