The crowd cheers as I step out from the dark tunnel into the open arena. It is nice to finally feel the heat from the sun’s rays. Being locked up in a cold, dark prison cell for months can really get to you. The guards equipped me with a simple leather tunic and leather chaps. The only weapons left in the armory were a rusty iron short sword, a bloodstained wooden shield, and a bronze dagger. Although it’s different from my usual choice, it’s all I had. I slide on my helmet and wait for my opponent to enter.

My opponent enters the arena. Nothing good about his appearance. Cuts and scratches cover his bodies like tattoos. He is missing an eye and covers the wound with an eye patch. He is equipped with an iron great ax. Nothing I can’t handle. This will only be my one hundred and twenty seventh opponent. Meaning he will be the one hundred and seventh person I have killed. The Arena has taught me something. We all fight for a chance to be free, another chance to live. The truth is we can never be free. We brought ourselves into this arena. There is no coming out alive. I grip the hilt of my short sword a little tighter. “Lets get this over with.” I mutter to myself. My opponent gives me a strange snarl, and yells at me in a language I do not understand. I give him a smirk, “Nice to meet you too.” and then he charges.

He charges at me with great, heavy steps. His ax held tightly against his shoulder ready to bring out a great swing. The look of eyes tell me he means business, or in other words, slaughtering me. I hold my shield out in front of me for some protection. I then hold my short sword above my shield ready to stab at him from a higher angle, in-case his swing is low. It did not take long for the big guy to get to me. He yells at me, spit flying into my face. As he yells he swings his ax towards me, attempting to rip off the top part of my body. Fortunately, I react quickly. I duck under the swing of the ax and swing my short sword at his ankles, ripping out a giant gash in both of his legs. Blood had been spilled

The warrior cries out in pain. It does not take long for him to turn and try swinging at me again, this time he hesitates. The pain in his legs cause him to move even slower. I throw my shield to the side, I wont need it anymore. I pull out my bronze dagger with my free hand and prepare to make one last final blow. My opponent laughs at me as I continue to dodge his swings. At this point, I’m doing my best to wait for the right moment to strike. He swings low, this time as his arm passes I bring down my blade, slicing right through his flesh and bone. I could try to describe to you the bloody mess, but maybe it’s best that I don’t. Let’s just say there is no way he will pick up his ax again. The man falls onto his knees with a shocked impression on his face. I kneel before him, putting a hand on his shoulder. “You fought well and you have served your time in this horrid prison. May your soul be set free and leave this torturous place.” I whispered to him, loud enough for him to hear it. I then place the point of my dagger at his stomach. Then gently I push the blade deep into his flesh, the fallen combatant takes one last breath and then falls onto the cold stone floor of the arena.

I leave the arena and make my way back into the barracks. In the middle of the armor is a pool of water where I am expected to clean the blood of the weapons and armor. With a sigh I begin to soak the two blades in the water. I am about to scrub down the blades when I notice my reflection in the water. The water ripples fade away and I begin to see my reflection clearer. “Who am I?” I ask myself. What is my purpose in this place? Why must I take the lives of so many people? Why is it that I am not the one who falls before my opponents? I splash at the water, causing the reflection to blur. I begin to scrub the blood of the blades.

After cleaning the weapons and armor the guards lock me back up in my cell. I look down at the shackles they put tightly onto my wrists and ankles. The faces of all those I have killed flood through my head like a waterfall into a pond. All of them wore the looks of hatred and blood lust. I begin to wonder if I also wore the same expressions. The thought seems to vanish as I try to answer the questions I asked myself earlier. Who am I? What is my purpose here? It didn’t take me long to remember exactly why I am here. This no place for any man. The arena is for those who have done wrong, even so, no one deserves to be here. We must kill each other to live and live to kill each other. Those are the rules of the arena. Prisoners are forced to live by the rules, but I live by my own rule. No one can leave the arena alive. So I will continue to live only to free the imprisoned. My rule is simple. I am captivated to free the captive.