Roar

"You have to get up. Come on. Come on!"

He was dazed but he could hear the urgent pleas of another. He opened his eyes to blazing sun and he smelt the dryness of dust. His leg hurt. He reached to put his hand on it and it felt wet, slick but also rough where dirt had stuck, like a crust. His head was pounding, like his heart was in his frontal lobes, trying to beat its way out.

"You have to get up! You're just meat if you don't!"

He heard the grunt of human effort and the sun was blurred by the swirling of dust as if stirred by feet. He was so thirsty. He heard a snarl next to his head, a curse and a lightning flash on his retina, as sun hit the steel of the weapon being held by whoever was protecting him. He felt the spray of something warm on his face and was assaulted by the hot, fetid breath of a dying animal, malodorous with the smell of rotting teeth.

"Get up! Get up! You have to get up!"

He felt his arm being yanked, the disorientation still holding him captive and disabling him from taking action. His leg was smarting still but his vision was starting to clear and the force being exerted on his arm was raising him up from the ground. He tried to place some weight on his leg and found that he could, although it hurt, and suddenly, he was standing. He looked around and remembered where he was.

The circular amphitheatre surrounded him, filled with patrons of the games, keen for entertainment of the blood-letting kind. The noise was an attack in itself, the coarse shouts of those willing others to die, and die horribly.

Angry. Vicious.

Next to him was a man, another prisoner forced to fight. The ground was a rustic red, beside it the sandy pelt of a fallen lion.

The crowds were roaring but the lions weren't. They were prowling and stalking, the scent of blood in the air and its trail staining the sand.

He knew now why he was there.

To fight for his life.

***

365 words

I've gone for a Roman gladiatorial theme here but bestiarii fought the animals and were trained to do that, whereas here, I have prisoners being attacked by lions in an amphitheatre and having to fight for their lives.

They could be Christians, I suppose but there is speculation about whether or not Christians were actually thrown to the lions. They were killed cruelly by the Romans but maybe not by lions. There is a story of Nero putting the skins of lions onto Christians and having them torn to death by dogs...

Whatever the historical truth, what I have attempted to do here is describe a particularly horrible situation of desperation, fear, injury and bewilderment. Hopefully, I've pulled that off.

Thanks for stopping by! If you do read this, please do leave a comment as I love to interact with my readers.

121/366