Unbroken, Forever Free

The people in the small cave scatter.  The soldiers crowd around us blocking the exits.  One of the soldiers clamp metal cuffs on my wrists, pinching my soft skin.

 “This one will make a great slave, why not request him to be sent to the Games?” growls one of the soldiers, glaring at me.  The other soldier nods and drags me away while the other draws his sword.  ‘My Lord in Heaven, protect those men and women.  I pray their deaths come quickly!’

I wake with a start.  The morning bell rings loudly, forcing me out of a painful sleep.  I look about me, trying to remember where I am but then it all floods back.  The Games, the training, the beatings, and the blood.  I creep down to kneel at my bed to pray.  Maximus stirs beside me, reaching for his helmet, always on his head.  He gets up and puts on the hard leather sandals meant for riding in.  He sticks his foot through the bars of our cell and looks towards his feet.  I get up and reach out to help my friend but one of the other gladiators shove me back.

 “What do you think you are doing, Christian mutt?  Let the blind do it himself!” sneers the Trainer.  He then removes the tightly bound black leather whip from his belt and swings it around, feeling the tip of the whip break the sound barrier as it comes crashing to the ground.  The crack echoing through the badly lit corridors of holding cells, more fit for animals than humans.
 “Get up, lazy slave!  More training today!”  I follow the gladiators out the cell and look at Maximus, who attempts to tie his straps together to hold his sandals in place on his foot.  I look around to see if anyone is paying me any mind.  I reach between the bars and tie up his shoes.  Maximus’ hands feel the distinct features of my face, my chiseled roman nose, my thick eye brows, my chapped lips, and my sunken in eyes.  I put my hand on the back of his neck and slowly bring his head to mine.
 “Meus frater,” I whisper in my native latin tongue.
 “My brother,” whispers Maximus back in slow Latin, as I imagine him smiling under his helmet, carved manually with no eye holes.  He is lucky, being a Dimachaerus and an Andabata, a gladiator who fought blind on horseback, wielding two short swords.
 “Christian!” hollers the Trainer, cracking his whip from down the hall.  I quickly jump to and hurry down the hall, nervously clutching my worn wooden cross, hanging low down on my belly.


As instructed we line up, shoulder to shoulder.  The highly muscular gladiators, graffitied with painful looking scars stand next to me, not showing me any acknowledgement.

“Start with mock fights!” barks the Trainer, glaring at Maximus.  He twitches in fear.  The Trainer takes his chance.

 “Was that fear, cripple?” he mocks, the other gladiators remain silent.  The Trainer tries again.

 “Perhaps you and your Christian friend should show us how creeps fight.  Arm the  Andabata with two wooden swords.”

 “What about my horse, Mars?”  The Trainer flicks his whip and the tip grazes Maximus’ chest, leaving a bright red mark.  Maximus steps back nervously.  Being a Velites, I am given a blunt trident and a loose rope, which I wrap loosely around my right wrist.  I look at Maximus, trying not to pity him.  He nervously swings his swords around his head.  I loudly place my steps in the shallow sands.  Maximus’ head sways rhythmically, moving in the direction of my loud, elephant like thumping.  I glance at the Trainer, my eyes hinting fear.  The Trainer just sneers.  I look back at Maximus.  He approaches bit by bit, silently creeping in the sand.  Then he swings his blade at my chest.  I do not flinch.  His wooden blade comes too fast.  I am hit.  I fall to the ground and Maximus pauses, one of his swords inches away from my own eyes.  The Trainer whirls his whip and it comes down hard on Maximus’ helmet with a clang.  He jumps back, frightened.  I stand and pick up my trident.

 “Fight Christian!  This fight was over too quickly!”  Maximus shakes his head and swirls his right sword.  He leaps in again and this time I move left.  I avoid Maximus’ blade but his left one catches me in the shoulder.  I stumble but do not fall.

 “Ease, brother,” murmurs Maximus in his scattered Latin.  I suddenly get a wicked idea.  As Maximus leaps in again, I stick out my foot and Maximus falls.  The gladiators whoop with pleasure.  I draw back.  This arena is poisoning me!  Not in the body but in the heart.  I try to help him up.  All I do is knock off his helmet and as it clatters to the ground, we all gasp.  Ragged scars run from Maximus’ lower cheek, all the way to his forehead, cutting deep gouges over his eyes.  Plain white eyes sockets look back at me, glazed over with a white liquid, keeping them forever open and unseeing.  God in Heaven!  What happened to this boy!?!  I grasp my wooden cross again, holding it tightly to my chest.  Then I see them, round poker marks, pressed deeply into the colored part of his eye.  His bright eyes now forever a dull white.  Maximus feels the warm sun beating down on his face and scrambles for his hemet.  I go in to help him but he pushes me away!

 “Tergum! Vos perfectus satis!  [Back!  You have done enough already!] ” he screams, tears coming from his damaged eyes.  The Trainer steps in and shoves Maximus away.  He picks up the helmet, throws it back on Maximus’ head and kicks him squarely in the chest.

 “There is a game tomorrow!  Eat well tonight.  There is beef, bread, pig, cheese, bird, and wine!  Eat your fill but be wary, do not let the wine go to your head!”  The Trainer dismisses the rest of the group but looks at me.

“Christian, come with me,” commands the Trainer, beckoning me with an icy finger.  The rest of the gladiators run off and grab wooden weapons, starting their own mock fight and some rest under the shade of the barracks.  I follow the Trainer back into the stables.  I follow the Trainer down the hallways until we reach a smaller courtyard.  He picks up a wooden sword and unhinges the black whip from his belt.

 “Fight me!” he orders, cracking the whip at my feet.  The Trainer throws me a wooden sword.  I look at it puzzlingly.  The Trainer glares.  I raise my sword and the Trainer lunges in, pushing my sword towards my face.  I hold it and push back, sending his sword off mine.

 “In the arena, your opponent will not be patient with you.  They will attack and attack again if you do nothing.  Now attack me.”  I throw my sword down.

 “No.”  The Trainer looks at me puzzlingly, his eyes wide in disbelief.

 “I said no.”  The Trainer’s face scrunches up and his whip lashes out.  He begins to beat me with his sword, hitting my back and head.  I cover my head with my arms and finally he stops.  I whip the blood from my lips and he looks at me.  His eyes settle on my cross, stained with blood.  He flinches and I nod.

 “My God does not permit me to harm any living thing, especially not man,” I smile, getting up.

 “I cannot understand you Christian people.  You all are such cowards and have no hearts.”

 “Fighting and drawing blood with swords is not having hearts.  We are not cowards either, just believers.”

 “Are you willing to die for what you believe?” asks the Trainer, his eyes testing me.

 “Yes.”

 “Then you shall get your wish in the arena tomorrow!” he cackles, throwing his wooden sword at me.  I bow my head and pray, harder than I have ever prayed before, praying for my soul’s strength.

I hold my cross to my chest as I am shoved towards the arena again by the Trainer, angrily brandishing his whip and hot iron, both having already decorated my back.  I  see Maximus in the arena, battling a Sagittarii, a mounted archer with very little armor.  I see the archer pull back his bow as Maximus rides blindly towards him.  I see the arrow fly towards Mars, Maximus’ black stallion.  I cannot move.  I am frozen in time.  I look away as I hear the panicked whinny and a thud, a metal helmet coming into contact with the hard sand.  I look back, seeing the Sagittarii draw his dagger.  He dismounts his mare and strides over to Maximus, lying on the ground in pain next to Mars.  Maximus strokes his dying companion, whispering words of love.  The horse looks at his rider for the last time and his head hits the sand, his life’s blood run out.  I begin to run towards my friend.  I must repay the kindness he showed me when I first arrived in the arena.  I begin to run, heading straight for Maximus’ opponent.  I hit him right in the chest, knocking him over with my body weight.  I raise my trident but realize it’s usefulness.  I cannot kill this man!  I would be as sinful as he.  I cannot.  I cannot!  The Sagittarii lies on the ground, staring at me.

 “Do it.  Do it!” he mocks, his eyes glazed over with madness.  I hold the trident over his neck.  What am I doing?  I cannot harm this man!  I will not!

I cast down the trident.

The Sagittarii looks at me, puzzled.

 “No!”  I turn away from him.  Behind me I hear a ‘thuck’.  Pain overwhelms my ribs and chest.  A burning sensation overcomes my mind and body.  My hands go to the pointed dagger protruding from beneath my ribs.  My blood runs down my tunic, soaking my legs and hands.  I fall to my knees but everything is already in slow motion.  I call out to Maximus.  He rushes to my side.  I feel his salty tears dripping onto my face.

 “Brother,” he whispers.  I smile, feeling weightless already.

 “Brother,” I say, my breath, shaky.  Maximus draws the dagger out.  Blood drips down my chin.  Maximus throws the dagger and it strikes the Sagittarii in the thigh.  He cries out and sinks to the ground.

 “You will be granted a place in the Warriors Fields in the Underworld,” smiles Maximus, tears still falling.  Thunder booms from the sky and the rain begins to fall.  The rain seeps into my wound and tickles my belly.  I pull my cross off my neck and place it in Maximus’ bloodied hands. He looks up at Caesar, his eyes pleading for his life.  A single tear drips from the mighty emperor's face and he nods.  I smile at Maximus for the last time.  My eyes slowly close and I sink off into darkness, no longer a world of pain.

As Maximus lays my body down in the soft soil besides his horse.  He takes the wooden sword, the symbol of Caesar's mercy.  He then ties my cross around his own neck and places two gold coins over my eyelids.

 “Christian, may your God grant you rest,” he says, bowing his head.  As he begins to cover my body, I feel fully at peace.  I finally know that we are both truly free.

Author’s Note

I wrote this story in the specific time period because I enjoy learning about gladiators.  While visiting Rome a few years ago, I participated in an educational gladiator training simulation for a whole day.  It was thrilling and I still remember it.  I was able to use the real weapons and armor and at the end we had our own little 'game'.  I was really fun but I can now better understand how the gladiators felt fighting for their lives.  That gave me the idea to research more into what went on ‘behind the scenes’ of the arena.  I found that many Christians were executed and by having Christian ties, I found my main character.  I found my resolution for Maximus' character because the Emperor had the power to spare gladiators he took a liking to them.

I noticed how many Christians will not harm another man so this seemed to fit my character and gave the story an ironic conflict.  Once creating the main character, I then created a character that needed his help.  The Christian needed to make a choice, to break his way of life or help his friend.  I ended both, as were the Christian helped his friend obtain his freedom and did not harm anyone.  This took his life but his freedom, not like Maximus, comes in a more realistic way.

For my research, I used many scattered sources but the ones I mainly used were articles on the type of language they used to call their weapons in the arena.  I did a lot of Roman history research on this topic in my free time and I have read the Historical Fiction novel, Gladiator, by Simon Scarrow which helped me see the lives gladiators lived when they weren’t fighting.

I decided to change my story around because most gladiators were fit and healthy, none were really blind or crippled in any way.  I wanted to put Maximus’ character in my story because it shows the cruelty of life and how not everyone is complete.  It seems to show where crippled or disabled people would end up in ancient times.

I hoped the reader would be left with thinking about choices.  Everyone has a choice but it depends on who you are.  The main choice the main character had to make was whether he was going to stay true to himself even if it involves taking some hard risks or to change who you are to ‘fit in’.

I did enjoy using some real Latin in my story.  I found it thrilling to have my characters speak to each other in latin because it was the language used and taught by the Romans.  Not everyone was educated enough to speak fluently, thus people like Maximus.  Certain phrases in Latin were common among the outsiders or foreigners and that is why I have my characters use those phrases.

After the Christian dies, Maximus pleads for his life in the arena when the Sagittarii comes back to kill him.  The emperor spares his life and lets him go free.  Maximus takes the bodies of his companions and takes them elsewhere to be buried.  After Maximus buries his friends, he goes to Crete and makes a living there as a palace guard, living peacefully until he dies of old age.  Although, he never forgets the Christian and wears his cross the rest of his life, not harming anything until he dies.

Batter Up!

Batter Up!

The tension rises as Dad playfully gives his finest competitive glare from atop the chalked pitcher’s mound.  I center the heavy bat on my shoulder to prepare to let it loose against the ball, hopefully direct hit into the neighbor's yard.  I smile smugly as my father pitches the ball and I watch as my bat connects with it.  Crack.  Off the ball goes, direct drive into midfield.  Dad warns Mom, who stands, unmoving, shaking in fear of my hard hit.

“Karen!  Don’t just stand there,” smiles Dad, hoping the encouragement would help.  Unfortunately not.  Then in laughter, I race around the chalk bases with ease.  Mom scrambles to find the ball, which thankfully disappears into the thick bushes that seem to cushion our field from the unprotected house windows.  As I round second base, my small feet pounding the pavement, Mom makes a sloppy throw to Dad.  He calmly waits for the perfect moment to strike when I round third and make the tense sprint for home base.  Dad used to play this type of baseball when he was younger, although, in those days all he had to hit the ball with was his hand.  He had years of experience and on the other hand, I was a small girl of eight.  With his long legs and speed, tagging me out would be a simple feat.  Although, you can’t get that competitive with your own children.  As I near home plate, Dad makes his move and tries to block my path.  I swerve around him and pass over home plate.  I smile as the thrill of victory seeps into my conscious mind.  Karina expresses her victory thrill.

“We won, Lena!  We Won!”  I remain silent.  Mom smiles at Dad, for they both know he could have easily tagged me out.  My sweet sister embraces me to reward me on my contribution to our victory against the mighty adults.

Mom hollers my name from up the hill by our old house and I am jolted out of my flashback.  My mind returns to the present day.  Now as a teenager, such simple games no longer have a pleasing effect on me, but this memory does.  I look down at where my feet have taken me.  Perhaps another time.  Even though the chalk outlines of the bases have faded, they will always be there in my mind.  I put my arms up behind my head, supporting a bat that is not there.  I follow through with the swing and seem to watch that home run hit fly over into the bushes.

Poem Collection - Some written by me - Some written by others

Poems written by Elena Morey (me):

Tick, Tock

3.

2.

1.

Hurtle to green and blue earth.

Crash landing.

Not broken,

yet.

Downward spiral,

fall into black hole.

Crowd of haters.

Tic.

Plutonium

swirl and swish,

the toxic flammable

crystal blue mouthwash,

ready to light the

wooden dominoes.

“Yes, she said-”

Tic tic.

Clench ground

beneath my

metallic container.

 “-alone-”

Tic tic tic.

Hold back heat waves.

Atoms mixing

and vibrating.

 “-no more-”

Tic tic tic tic.

Wire twirled together

like shoe-lace candy

of blue and red colors.

“-can’t be friends!”

Tic tic tic tic tic.

Ground shake.

Lose control.

 “-go away!”

Tic tic tic tic tic tic.

Signals connect

from HQ.

 “-rumours-”

Tic tic tic tic tic tic tic.

Clack, clack, clack.

vhmmmm.

vhmmmm.

vhmmmm.

World spiraling into darkness.

Heat melting

titanium cage.

 “It’s not them.  It’s you!”

Tic tic tic tic tic tic tic tic.

Smash red button in corner,

shattering glass

case covering it,

marked with yellow zebra lines.

Glass flies through the air,

like tiny bees,

biting into the flesh of the hand that

disturbed the hive.

Eyes tightly closed.

Fists clenched.

Beast becoming...

BOOM.

This poem’s meaning is revolved around pain and self reflection during hard times with friends.  It is about how the person/ bomb cannot take what is going on and just loses it or explodes.  The italics stand for the things that are in real life and the rest is in the extended metaphor about the bomb.  I used a lot of sound devices such as alliteration when I repeated the tic, tic, tic which is also onomatopoeia.  Also, I started in a place where the bomb is rocketed into orbit and I end when the bomb explodes.  My beginning is intriguing because I start with the numbers counting down from 3.  I find that is what brings my reader into the extended metaphor.

Green Leaf in December

What does it mean to be on your own?

To stand,

waiting

for something to happen.

Or is it when no one understands you,

they just can’t get

inside your head.

But maybe it’s when you’re caught,

stuck inside the

never ending

twist and turns of

the maze you built,

from the depth of the dark,

unexplored corners of your

immense mind,

when no one can join you,

when no one

wants to.

What does it mean to be on your own?

To pose,

no one at your side?

Perhaps it is when you are

at a disagreement,

and no one takes

your side.

What does it mean to be on your own?

To hear your own thoughts

bounce around

inside your skull,

while you run from

the large,

rambling,

intimidating factory,

collecting your thoughts like

sheep,

forcing the wool from their backs,

then spitting them out-of-the-way,

letting them run off into

darkness,

back into the maze.

Or maybe to be

driven insane by the

silence,

that irreplaceable essence,

absent forever.

Or maybe it is just

reading this poem to

myself,

unjudged

and

free.

 This poem delivers a deep sense of individuality, not just being alone.  It is almost like a silent battle with being yourself and fitting in but not being happy.  This poem is quite slow and made up of many strong beats, slowing the tempo.  I was inspired by past experiences and my deep feelings.  I do have a high sense of individuality but yet I do know the feelings of being alone.  I guess my message in this poem is about the drawbacks of being an individual.

Laugh On, Even if You are the Only One

These are the birds,

whose sweet voices

have faded.

These are the ants,

who seem too small

for anything.

These are the caged animals,

given up hope of

freedom.

Arise.

These are the eagles,

whose wings have

been clipped.

These are the frogs,

who have forgotten

their spring.

These are the flowers,

whose petals

have been painfully picked.

Arise.

For all who

no longer believe,

those who

can’t go

on,

Arise.

Hope has not abandoned us,

there is

and escape from the

decollate

Island of Misfit Toys,

there is

a life out there

for you.

No matter how long we wait,

how hard we look,

a small crack

will appear

in that

thick

glass

wall,

where we can gaze at

those people,

who think they are

so much better than

us,

from our

silent solitude,

when they can’t seem to

look

back.

When they

don’t

want

to.

Arise.

No longer shall

any of us be summarized,

looked at like aliens in our

own land.

All that

must

be done is to

Arise,

and pull the

outsiders

in,

for no longer will the

Island of Misfit Toys exist

if

we

all

Arise.

 This poem was written after the poem, Green Leaf in December and is about rising up against the ‘status quo’ and finding yourself.  Although, sometimes people don’t like you for who you have chosen to be.  Even though they shun you, you find yourself wanting to stay an individual.  This poem means a lot to me at the moment because Middle school and High school are about finding who you are and about how you are a piece of the world.  Sometimes people don’t understand and can’t except you.  The person in this poem is finding other people like her self and they join together to make an impact.

Poems written by others that I love:

This is Not a Love Poem

This is not a love poem no way

you need big words for that

like “luminous” and “eternity”

you need lots of serious rhyme

or at least iambic pentameter

you need merciless starts

deserts on moonless nights

foamy surf on gusty beaches

you need to get smashed

into such tiny fragments

you can only use the small i

when you write

i love you.

Teenagers

One day they disappear,

into their rooms.

Door and lips shut

and we become strangers

in our own home.

I pace the hall, hear whispers,

a code I knew but cannot remember,

mouthed by mouths I taught to speak.

Years later the door opens.

I see faces I once held,

open as a sunflower in my hands.

I see familiar skin now stretched in long bodies

that move past me

glowing almost like pearls.

By:  Pat Mora

 In Pat Mora’s poem, Teeagers, the poet talk about watching your children grow up.  She brings down the mood by slowing the tempo by using more strong beats and metaphors and similes to deepen the initial meaning.  Also, her poem really connects to me because she explains the process of letting your child go.  I am about to go through this with my parents when I go into High school.

 Mora uses more strong beats then rests because when there are more rests, the poem moves faster and lifts the mood.  Such examples stem from Dr Seuss’ writing.  Slowing the moon is represented in one of Mora’s lines:

    u   /    /  u     u     /  u    /   u     u  /     /        u  u       /

“Years later the door opens.  I see faces I once held,”.

 Mora uses similes and metaphors to connect things to how she feels about the bond with her children.  In this line, “glowing almost like pearls.”, she uses a metaphor for she uses ‘like’.  She is referring to her emotions and how proud she is because when someone is proud, they often glow.  Pearls are also a very expensive, valuable, and beautiful things, as a child would be to their parents.  Also, Mora uses a simile here in this line, “see faces I once held,open as a sunflower in my hands.”.

 Finally, and most importantly, Mora’s poem really connects to me through her message.  This poem seems to give me a glimpse of what it to come in my life from the parent’s perspective, when I go to High school.  I find that there is so much truth in the way Mora writes the poem.  The line that really helped me understand my own parents was this one, “I pace the hall,  hear whispers, a code I knew but cannot remember,”.  This shows me about the pain and stress parents feel once seeing their children grow up and the big gulp they have to take to let them go at the right age.  I found that  the initial emotion I was left with was awe and pride in who I am going to be.

Poems I Like to Read:

Years of Solitude

To the one who sets a second place

at the table

anyway.

To the one at the back of the

empty bus.

To the ones who name each piece

of stained glass projected on a

white wall.

To anyone convinced that a monologue is

a conversation with

the past.

To the one to who losses with the

deck he marked.

To those who are destined to inherit

the meek,

to us.

By: Dionisio D. Martinez