I now find myself, face to face, glaring at a cross-hatched metal gateway, this simple sheet of metal, is all that separates me from my destiny, am I a champion? Am I a true gladiator? Or am I just a stepping stone for my adversary’s career? The gateway is hoisted up, and in an instance, the spectators ascend to their feet, wanting their money’s worth of a gladiators battle. Regardless of their feral behaviour, I have a sole intention, for my weapon to be covered in a thick red paint.
I glance from corner to corner, and there he stands, my path to fame, my cash fee, my boosted reputation, he is my next victim, and he will be smited. I feel like god, I WILL kill what I have not created, and I will strike him down with the force of a chariot powered by one thousand pearl stallions.
Slowly, but surely, I find myself edging closer to the antagonist, his apparel of a white linen cloth engulfing his body, seems so simple, oh how I can only imagine that white slowly turning into a scarlet, and the cloth, no longer being pristine, but instead, containing an abundance of puncture marks, all fashioned by yours truly.
My victim seems impatient, as he sprints towards me, I instantaneously reminisce about the countless times that I have found myself in this circumstance. He leaps somewhat gazelle-like, aiming with meticulousness for my kidneys, however, to the normal gladiator, this would be a deathly situation, yet I AM GOD. With the response of an adrenalin-ridden cheetah, I evade his clubbing blow, only to penetrate his thin layer of skin, with the prompt reaction of my trusty lance, abruptly, he turns from a gladiator, to a blood fountain, emitting crimson from his carcass, the sound of halted breathing is his final, and his eyes glare over at the cerulean sky.
The crowd scream, some squeal with fright, some yell with pleasure, yet I do not care for their noise, I have finished another career, he is my statistic, another notch on the post, for some, this would petrify them. Not for me though, for I AM GOD.