My eyelids were cramped by the black blindfold shoved onto my face. I couldn’t see no matter how much I strained me eyes to, no matter how wide I got them, it was still pitch black. Crying out for help was futile, I knew that I was far away from home, the sound of cowbells and the chatter of merchants made that clear. My legs prolonged to ache as they continued to drag my feet along the dirt, which hurt even more when the occasional rock jabbed at my knees, as if the rocks had been placed there on purpose just to punish me.

As much as I wanted to take it off, the only safety I had was behind this blindfold. From the dust that was coming off the dirt, from the evil stares the men had given me before they chained me up, from the stares the crowd would give me if they saw my face. I wondered what my family would think if they saw me like this. In chains. Would they show sympathy? Would they be disappointed, even though the accusations against me were false? Or would they just stare at me like the rest, as if they didn’t even know me? As if the boy who had strived to be like them was no longer able to.

We soon moved from the dirt to wooden floorboards, creaking under the pressure of the armor the men in front of me wore. I was then pushed onto a chair where my chains were removed and had been replaced by some rope, which connected my already sore hands to the legs of the chair I had been placed on. It made me want to go back to getting dragged. The blindfold was finally taken off of my head, and I quickly began to cough as I tried adjusting to the air outside of my blindfold. My shredded up tunic now revealed the scars that I received when begging for water halfway through the trip, the only time that I had spoke.

“Isn’t he quite young for this?” one of the romans asked the others.

“H-he should do just fine,” another said, examining me closely, although he couldn’t help but stutter a bit when he said it.

The roman who was examining me looked like a Centurion, and the others surely treated him like one, but he did not act like one in the slightest. His movements were aggressive, untamed, disorganized, and the look that I got when he put his face close to mine was not anger but instead fear. He made sure to hide it with his long strides and his loud barking towards the romans encircling me, but there was no doubt in my mind that it was there.

The other romans didn’t seem fazed though. Surely this was just a daily routine for them. No way was this their first time. They went out of the wooden shack and came back with a cart full of swords and shields. They then started grabbing each one out of the cart, testing each one out as they swung them back and forth, and had little sparring sessions with one another. That’s when I realized that the swords and shields weren’t for themselves, they were for me.

“I think these should do just fine for our young gladiator,” one of the romans said, bringing them over to the Centurion.

“Yes, just fine,” the Centurion said.

Then, out of nowhere, he jerked his head towards the rest of the romans and charged at the romans with the sword and shield he had just been handed, striking all of them down. It was so random that none of them expected it, and soon the Centurion was the only one left standing. I wish someone would hand me the blindfold back so I could forget what I just saw, but it was too late for that now, the Centurion was already making his way over to me.