-Je’troc, guard of the arena-

I yawn as I stand in formation at the entrance to the guard center, awaiting command from the guard captain. The process of being commanded is a lengthy one, never does the captain deem us worthy of seeing him on time, it’s always the same, we wake up long before the sun warms our windows, stuff our faces with as much gruel as we can get before standing in formation outside the center, and wait.

Sometimes we have enough time to take a quick nap and restore some much needed processing power to our tired minds, other times its barely enough for our eyelids to close once. And once the captain does arrive he always wears the same look of disappointment, never have I seen him smile in front of us, heck, I have never even heard of him doing it.

Every end is also a beginning is what people say, in some cases that might be wrong, but in this one it always strikes true, after the captain is finished with his mental abuse of his dear guards the immediately begins his verbal version, of how we are unworthy of serving his master, of how we shame the very uniforms we wear, of how he would rather have a bunch of women serve him instead of us, at least then he would not be so frustrated all the time.

To tell you the truth it’s all routine, it’s a part of a guard’s duty to be ridiculed, that serves the purpose of proving your worth, as well as being antagonized from the moment of waking up. I know of a few that have chosen to serve as guards, never have I understood them, haven’t really tried even… they seem like a different sort of men, wanting to “do their duty”, a stupid bunch really, doing their duty by watching over the beasts that die for a bunch of nobles to laugh at. They could always go and be soldiers, heck even officers’ maybe, but they don’t really want to fight for what they believe. Being a guard is as much as being a soldier to them, stupid as they come, they stay.

With the words spoken he finally gives us our assignments, I am to switch with the kitchen night shift and at dawn; when the staff arrive I will be patrolling the cells until the branded get their release to break bread before the games. Every branded gets a meal before his first battle, as even slaves don’t deserve to die on an empty stomach, the ones that survive their battle get to eat an additional meal before returning to the cells, after which they need to earn their meals. They get no training time, as to keep the competition based off of their raw talent, the ones that have enough talent to survive will sharpen their skill accordingly, at least it’s what the management preaches. I personally think they just like watching men die an early death.

As for me, well… I don’t care much. I’ve been here for a few years now and have nothing to really brag about, no “great uprising” or “rebellion” took place, just death and more death. It does have a special appeal, I won’t lie; a battle to the death is as exciting as they come. No man is safe, no ending known, fate is uninvolved in the games, only the men who fight have a say in the arena. Once they’re unleased upon each other their lives are their own again, they hold the future, they live more in that moment than any other man, they are immortal… at least that’s what I think, and not many agree with me.

Life sure is dull in a sense; I have never imagined that I would end up where I am now, a pitiful guard, taking orders from a low life turned guard captain. I knew the man before my life went to shit, he was a thug that used to beat old-timers’ for protection money, not better than road bandits, only difference was that he was smart enough to wear a scarf to cover his face when the beating took place, not that it takes a genius to recognize him by his stature, not many grow to be that big in these parts, but I guess that was enough of a hassle for the city guards to just let him off and say there’s no proof.

The cities are beautiful when one looks from a distance, just as a woman walking down the street always looks young and pretty from behind, our eyes deceive and lure us closer, making us see what is not there. The cities are the same; they will seduce you in with promise of profit and luxury only to grab you by the balls and follow along with either a debt higher than the city walls or a brand on your forehead, and I am of the former mentioned group. My father was a merchant, a pretty good one at that, I used to travel with him in the family caravan, from village to village and from city to city, peddling wares purchased along the road or at the nearest harbor.

Along the way I met a girl, a woman, the fairest flower I have ever seen, oh the eyes she had, as if she was looking at exactly what she wanted, and she knew how to get it. Needless to say I was ensnared, I felt as if for but a moment I could be like her as well, I felt as if I knew what I wanted, and what I wanted was her. Two weeks after our first encounter I was married, the celebrations were magnificent, we had wine and fruit; nothing was amiss. And she… that woman was nature in the flesh, a goddess who decided to grace me with her gaze; I walked the ground as my carpet and wore the sky as my crown.

A flower withers with age, but women wither with time. And as some time passed I no longer felt her gaze upon me, she was the same, yet not the same. I still loved her of course but I needed something, I wanted something, I just didn’t know what that something was.

On the evening of our arrival to the city of Cassia my father gave me the answer, he offered me a night of freedom from my thoughts, a night of nothing, which was exactly the answer I was looking for, nothing, a chance to clear my mind and start over with a clear purpose. So together we went to the pleasure district of this “great” city, together we went as father and son to indulge in what we were offered. When we got to one of the “Houses of Companionship” I thought that these women were peddling in sex and discretion, I was wrong.

What they sold was passion, release, and false promises. I remember falling in love twice in my first two hours there; the times they were… the first few days were mundane after that night, empty. I could not look at my wife the same way I had before, she no longer held that sway over me, I could taste the indifference in her voice, I could see it, and so I ran away. One last time I thought to myself, no harm done, I would throw away the hand fate has dealt me in the morning, this night was to be mine and mine alone, that was when I snuck out of the inn with a pouch of small coins I had in my bag.

That night ruined me, I got drunk and passed out, waking at dawn on the next day I had a terrible headache, my throat felt dry and my knees weak. I felt around my body and found my coin pouch still attached, the rest of these people were probably less sober than I when they fell asleep. Heck I didn’t even remember where I was, the whole night was a blur. After gaining stable footing, I slowly made my way forward and around the drunkards, above the old wooden doors to the outside I read the name of the Inn that held me as a patron, “The Misty Brew Tavern” it read in interlined silver letters. Pushing the doors open had lead me to the street, the cold morning air filled my lungs and a chill ran down my spine, the sun was slowly making its way up in the horizon, the first rays of sunlight barely creeping above the buildings, a mere moment of observation was enough for me to avert my gaze back to the still cold cobblestone road, the shadows of the many building keeping it safe in slumber from the menacing warmth of light.

Now and again I wonder if my choices were my own, or were they the workings of some figures in the shadows that opened the door and guided my way to misfortune and hardship. Very little is influenced by us, much less so by our hands; and my hands failed on multiple occasions. Once I got back to the inn there was no one there, not a soul, I didn’t think much of it at the time but now, now it just seems so bizarre. Every step I took in that abandoned inn lulled me closer to despair, the monster called fear was greedily eating away at my mind, with every step the world seemed to become smaller, I was suffocated.

The creaking of the floor planks brought endless questions to my mind, the stale smell of mead and candles followed with answers I didn’t wish to hear. It was my fault they left, they wanted to leave me all this time and I made it easy for them, she never loved me, I was just additional weight on the horses, they were probably laughing soundlessly on my behalf, the dimwit who ran away for some strangers company and cheap whores embrace, just to return to an empty bed and absent wife.

The period of time following the incident was chaotic to say the least; I decided to stay a guest in the city, forgetting that it was the host at the table of my grief. I drank and fought, gambled and smuggled, I stole and I raped, I was a disaster on two feet, two human feet, at one time I didn’t think myself human anymore, I was afraid of looking in a mirror and seeing my true self, the demon, wearing a foolish man’s face. The fear that fed on my mind since that day had never left me, the only companion in my decent to madness, I committed deeds that were unforgivable to the former me, to the normal me, to the old me.

But fate is a strange lady, years went by and I saw the opportunity to become human again, I could change, become a better man, leave the past behind and start anew, alas fate is indeed a strange lady, vindictive would be a better choice of words. The world crumbled in my hands just as I was reshaping it, and a certain noble offered me a hand, I could transfer my debt to him in exchange for servitude, with the alternative being hanged; I of course took his hand in my own.

So after all that befell me all I know now is boredom, I don’t even watch the games anymore, I don’t wager or gamble, I just sleep eat and walk, walk eat and sleep. That is my life, and the life of those like me… I sigh as the kitchen staffs finally arrive and I am relieved from its halls and make my way to the holding cells. There lie the ones whose fate is worse than mine, a sorry bunch of creatures really, while I think of myself as inhumane, these people; well they’re just beasts, fed to fight and die for the pleasure of the masses, for damaged beings like me, who come and watch for the sole reason of knowing there is someone worse off.

On the way to the cells I stop to wash my face, ridding myself of the last bits of sleep and dreams, now; awake and focused I make my way to the outside. The little courtyard between the kitchens and the cells is my favorite place in my narrow world. The first step outside is always accompanied by a breath of fresh air, unlike most of the arena, the courtyard is the only place the servants, including the guards can enjoy the undisturbed shine of the sun, and of the aforementioned fresh air; as it is the only region with an open roof.

The world is big, huge even; I know that for fact… my time with the caravan was well spent on reading, so there was always this awe that was reserved for new sights and places. Right now, right here though, my world is small, so small that it holds no change, leaving me stagnant and dying inside, not that it matters much, what is known to me about myself is enough that I won’t even try to change anymore, it always bares ill fruit for my mind.

This is my world now, and it holds no more than it should, yes… I have just enough. With that thought I open the door to the cells, the smell would be disturbing had I not been used to it by now, the management lets the branded bathe in exchange for coin, yes they make coin. Not much but they have their own economy here, the management built it. After every match one survives one receives a coin, one coin for surviving and one extra for every additional man killed. The coins have no value outside the arena, so they can’t be used to buy the branded their freedom; it’s just another way for the management to control the herd.

Some use their coin for women, some for food, some for water, and some for clothing or even armor if they live long enough. I walk from cell to cell, just looking at them, thinking of what lead them to where they are, what choices they made and what choices were made for them, what lives they had before they were taken, never again to return to past times of happiness. In this place you hear a lot of stories, some make you gag, other weep, some are just plain stupid, other are well deserved.

I like to think that we were all people once and that the world decided to change the status quo, the lady playing her cards and tossing a tantrum is how I imagine it, the tantrum being how all of our lives went to shit.

I pass by a cell and my eyes meet a similar pair on the other side of the bars, the eyes disappear in the darkness only to reappear once more, like flickering flames in the wind. A second chill runs down my spine today, I feel the eyes watch me, look through me, they see the real me, not the skin I'm wearing, they see me as the monster that is looking back at me every time I stare at a mirror, they see me for what I am.

“Don’t look at me” I whisper at the being in the cell, there is no answer.

“I said don’t look at me” I whisper louder this time, still no answer.

“Who are you?” My question bears no fruit, yet the eyes are still locked with mine, my stomach turns and I am ready to gag and vomit, my fears grow and the monster is yet to be sated, I want to run away and hide from the world, I am not ready to face my fears, I am not ready to be seen.

“Speak!” I bark at the orbs that seem to flicker in and out of existence, as if they’re a figment of my imagination, one more trick that fate decided to play on my behalf. Why must it be me that suffers, I'm sure there are countless others that could take my place, I did not want any of this… it’s all her fault, that whore… she probably ran away with my father, he was always behind my back, staring… waiting for the right moment to take what was mine, he lured me to that damned place in the first place, it was his idea… he put all of this in motion, he’s probably sitting with her right now, laughing at how they made it all work, at how much of a fool I am, at how much I deserve what I got…

“Stop looking at ME!” The words leave my mouth in a frenzy, and I take a step towards the cell bars, no answer.

“You sit there and judge me as if you know what road I took to get here,” I swallow a sob and more words flow from my broken soul, “the thorns I crawled through are still with me to this day, they cannot be pulled out, the wounds I bear CANNOT HEAL.” I scream away at the orbs that are the cause of anger I now feel, still no answer.

“You look at me as if you’re better than me, as if you know what’s wrong with me,” no answer, “ SPEAK THEN, tell me, enlighten me with your wisdom oh great one…” The silence continues and I feel cold sweat; slowly rolling down my back.

“You know nothing of life you beast,” The eyes that still stare into my own seem to be holding the answers to questions not yet asked.” you hold no sway over me with your silence,” It feels as I my mind will break if this continues. “I know who I am,” a sob escapes me as I realize I am only a shadow, a shadow holding onto the last bits of darkness before the sun takes it all away, and I disappear. “I am better than you-,” The air in my lungs stops its ascent and my mouth stills its movement, my mind races to approve of my words yet It fails to deliver false truth, I am the same as him, I just live in a bigger cell. I hear ringing in my ears, my mouth goes dry, I feel nauseous; my little world is fake.

The silence continues and no cell is asleep; yet the silence drags on still. The eyes are still locked with mine, the only difference from before being that mine are now moist with tears of realization. I know what he wanted me to understand, it’s not something spoken with words, I can yet be free, I still hold control over myself, I am still me. I smile, for the first time in years; I smile. I feel as if all this time I was drowning yet only now do I surface, taking a long breath of air I feel it pass through me, it feels almost sweet, it feels right, it feels mine.

My mind is clear, after all these years I am finally my own again. I head to the corner table, each step taken makes me feel so much better, it’s the right choice, I know it. I glide my hands over the worn wooden frame and I feel every odd fiber, every dent and crack reveal themselves to me, the dust rising; eager to follow in the wake of my design. I reach a flagon, one which was probably left by the guard from last shift, taking it by the rough handle I catch a whiff of liquor, sniffing it reveals nothing new so I decide to down it in one go, it tastes of earth, slowly spreading through my body until it reaches a resting point, from which it spreads its warmth about in my frame, warming my core.

I enjoy the moment until its passing and place the flagon back on the table, my gaze meets a rusting key ring, I recognize it as the object of my desire and grab it with my fingers, slowly swirling it about in the air. I hum a song I often heard as a youth, it was popular in quite a few of the villages we passed through before my meeting with that woman, “The Plans of Tomorrow” it was called I believe. I approve of my memory and smile once more, turning around I start making my way to the cell again, keeping my pace in accordance to the humming of the song.

“Thank you,” I say to the bearer of the eyes as I open the cell, “as you helped me find my freedom I would like to do the same.” I don’t wait for a reply as I turn to face the door to the courtyard, tossing the key ring along the way. I exhale as I push the door open, it seems as light is starting to make its way above the horizon, comforting. I glance at the only tree in the small courtyard and make my way to it, thinking about how it’s still a part of the bigger world, the man made walls doing little to stop nature, much less divide it.

The hum is carried away with the wind as I reach my destination, I place my hands on the bark and feel the perfection of it, everything is perfect, and everything is unique. I can become a part of this, I have the freedom to choose that for myself, my eyes were opened to the truth now, I was always free, just too scared to realize it alone.

Turning my back to the tree I lean onto it, my back sliding down along the trunk up to the point of my decent to the cold ground of the earth. I feel my arm touch my belt and glide along the scabbard that holds my knife, time moves so slowly now, It feels like it’s been forever since my back was pressed to the tree, an eternity in its own right. A silent clink is heard as my knife leaves its home and my eyes rest on the blade in front of them, the sun is not yet high enough to illuminate my world, but right now this blade looks so clear, so magical, it looks just right; as I observe it from every angle. My freedom is my own, my world is my own, and my life is my own. With that thought I trace the knife along my neck while my gaze still lingers on it, not daring to look away, lest I find out this is all a sick fantasy.

A sharp breath escapes me as the blade divides what was once whole, separating my skin and letting warmth escape me, soiling the ground with my life blood. I smile once more, blinking away the tears that found their way to the outside, set on following my example to freedom. My eyes wander to the hand, my hand; which is still holding the now crimson blade. Alongside it, a puddle of red expands and grows, drawing the eye to its sole ambition of becoming more than it is now, I blink once and discover that the puddle met the first rays of light, now both of them share their warmth with the ground, a comforting thought.

The light has now made its way to me yet I feel it not, I see it, but it does not share of its warmth with me. I turn my gaze to the source, the sun, now being high enough in the sky to be visible; it’s so smug and arrogant…I wonder if one day it too shall find the heat escape from it, I wonder if it too shall look for warmth yet find none with the lights departure, for I am certain that its light will not stay with it forever, just as mine hadn’t…