Coloseum

Colosseum

Recently, I found myself walking into what I thought was a sanctuary, when in reality it was a Colosseum and I was pitted against someone trying to take my heart. On his arm was a shield, and in his fist was a sword. I held the same. It was a vicious battle; the first strike was one of miscommunication. From there, he attacked using only his sword, discarded was the shield of emotional control- both hands held a blade. And here stood I, caught off guard; in one had a skillful sword, crusted and brown from blood. This was not the sword's first battle- but it had experience and knew what was coming. The weight of the sword became familiar, its handle comforting. I knew how to wield my sword. I knew where to hit his weak spots. I had become my sword. And when that realization hit, so did the shame. Realization took place: to be skilled fighter means to know when to use the sword and when to use the shield. And here lay my shield: polished and intricate. Clean.

And so, when this battle finished and the smoke cleared, both of us stood on either end. He stood heaving, angry, dumb for wielding a double-edged sword and unaware of how to use it. Meanwhile, I perched on the hilt of my sword, its blade deep into the ground where it couldn't be used. I stood lightly and balanced while he lumbered clumsily and a fool, thinking he looked powerful. To an outsider, it looked like I lost the fight, because I walked away and left my sword. But when I looked at the shield- now dull and scratched, I was proud of it. I had just done something I had never done before. I had come out of the battle unmarred without using my blade. And when I looked at my opponent, I realized that although his shield was used, it was weak. And a single strike of my sword would have done more than just harm him; it would have killed him, and left him bitter, full of loathing and self-hatred. When I left the Colosseum, there were two things inside of it: my opponent and my sword, so deep into the ground that it was useless. I left the battle, in hopes of a new sword, but not in need of it- for I knew my shield was strong enough to defend against any weapon until I was ready to forge a new one.