Roman Arena Narrative
I was born into a small family in Plovdiv. My brother, my Papa, and my Mama. The four of us were miserable but strong at heart. I believed that I had the gene of my Papa and the strong spirit of my Mama. My Papa was the most energetic person I know, a farmer, but with the arms of a fighter. My Mama was also a farmer but with a beautiful heart. She used to cultivate her crops, even though on a dry season, the plants grew with much love and health. They were my role model since they brought both my brother from poverty and me. Our home was close to an arena that my father forbids us from participating in fighting games. But it was a tradition that every male child to participate in the fighting games. I had the passion, strength, and capabilities. I only lacked the blessing of my father.
It was in 59 CE outside the amphitheater market center when my father and I got involved in a riot against the heavy taxation imposed on people. I noticed a gladiator guard beating an over some old people forcing them to pay their taxes. It was gladiators’ culture to follow the guideline of the emperor. But I was not going to sit around and watch old people be beaten around. I raised my fist, and with the little combat, I knew I defended the helpless. But I was not in any way able to match the strength and fight of the gladiators. All I had was a heart. But it was no match. My father had forbidden me from ever raising my fist to anyone, but I choose another path. While facing my punishment in the training area, I noticed I could follow a different way of life. I begged to be trained as a means of discipline so that one day I could fight in defending my honor. That was the beginning of my life.
I trained every day in the house of Thracian. A diminishing house since it had lost many battles, but the owner saw something in me, and I had to prove something to myself and the house of Thracian. Many of the competitors despised me. “Son of a farmer, you will never be a gladiator,” they said. My Papa had not blessed me from all my efforts, but my Mama believed in me. “Gannicus Pesadion, since I gave birth, I have always believed in you, follow your dreams. Be a man; shape your path.” Those few words made me strong. I ought to be a gladiator, a man who fights to the death for the honor of others. As two gladiators circle each other, each knows that his objective is to trap or maim his foe rather than to kill him quickly. I realized my purpose in life. I worked every day to be fighting and killing machine. To lift the house and my honor and to face my punishment. I was turning a negative to a positive.
The house of Thracian had a history of real gladiators, a once glorious man known as Spartacus, but his downfall was also the downfall of the house. I aimed at being the best—the real deal, a killing machine that represents the weak and needy. During my first match, the arena was packed. I was given two opponents to contest with a sign of punishment. I had to prove myself as a worthy gladiator to the house that took me in and the emperor of Rome. With my shield and sword, I armed myself ready for war. My opponents had a net with spikes (retiarius), and the other one had an ax.
With the strength of my Papa and the heart of my Mama, I matched on and made the first move. One swing and one blow, I was surviving rather than fighting. It was more of defending myself; I had a great strike that sent me in the ground. The arena went wild, praising the bloodshed and the Roman sports game. I was fighting for the weak and the poor. They have been looked down on, but no more. I swung my sharp blade, aiming at the legs, with one on the ground, I had to slay the other. With the change of events, I was winning the crowd. By the look of the emperor’s face, it showed a lot. He had never seen a fight like this for a long time. The crowd chanted my new name, Hercules, the god of the arena. I won the battle with a lot of bloodsheds. My blood was hot; I wanted more. There was nothing more glorious than people chanting my name aster a great win and entertainment. I was showered with roses and sight of beautiful women. It was a joyous day; I did not feel any pain from the beating I had received. It was a thumbs up from the emperor and my house ruler. The beginning of Gannicus Pesadion (Hercules), era. A son of man with the swing of a god.