what the head thinks, the hand puts down

no place for love

The loud cries piercing the dark night awake everyone, even the sleeping soul. The wail is too loud to be ignored.  Soon, the night is back to its silence. A baby boy has been born. He cannot see yet but there is joy and celebration in his name. Another male has been brought forth. The army is growing.

He was brought up in a society that only believed every male was a soldier. With every waking day, his playground was a mock battle field. He learnt the pain of a scratch two, the stab of a spear at five, and the use of a shield at 7. Acts of love in the form of a bigger spear from his father were shown when he brought home the head of a man from another village at 16. It was in the early days. Men were still not civilized. They believed in war to conquer. They would invade, kill, steal, destroy and take away whatever they could all in the name of power.

It was a cold morning when they arrived at his village. These rough, tall, villains with torches that scorched down all the dwellings. It was then that he last saw what he called his true blood. Their army was crashed in little time. They were no match for this new tribe. He was chained and taken slave.

Tied to a long stick, he and many from the same soil were made to walk for days. They fed on each others blood that was spewed at every crack of the whip that was used to guide them; like blind dogs going up a hilly terrain. They were locked in a dungeon and made to stay with no water and drank their urine to quench thirst, little food. After all, they were slaves. Who had any mercy on them? They were made to do tasks no one wanted, build city walls for their captures’, toil the ground for food that never reached their mouths.

He was picked for he had a good form. His master paid a tidy sum for him. He was going into training. He was already a soldier. They wanted him to do more. Only this time, all he did went two ways: die or live. He was trained for months, alongside others. They were made to do all sorts of tasks, and fight all manner of beasts. An extra plate of food would be yours if you shed blood.

He looked up at the metal grills open; clad in heavy iron, carrying the two things that would save his life: a spear and shield. He was ripe, a full grown gladiator. He stepped into the arena with tears in his eyes. Tears not borne from fear but pain in his heart. They were making him fight a beast. All in the name of a game. Should he kill this animal, his master would be rewarded. He got nothing. The thought of letting himself lose his soul was too painful to bear. He wanted to die, but not commit suicide. So he fought. Match after match, day after day.

He had had enough. Witty as he was, he managed to convince the fellows that they could get freedom. One cold night, when even the dead are asleep, they broke out. Their cries filled the air as they fought off the guards. Their drive was the pain and bitterness in their hearts that had eaten to their souls. Many died, but the majority few got away. They were free. Finally.

They set camp in the mountains and went on with what their forefathers had done. It was nature and that was the only way, he knew how to survive. You had to earn a place in this world. It was here first so it owes you nothing. Tribe after tribe, village after village, they trounced, growing stronger by the day.


She looked straight at him and asked if he could love. His eyes said it all. That was alien to him.  After all, he was brought into this world a boy, fought to be a man, became a soldier, slaved into a gladiator. There was no pace for love in his world. Not now, not ever.


May 21, 2010 - Posted by | Uncategorized

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