Glad He Hate All ~Gladiator~

IV

    "Now, see who professes to care. Hypocrite!"

     He stood abruptly. He had been sleeping. After the futile search for the eerie but callous creature, he'd returned with what now he'd called either his partner or pet. He'd eaten and had consoled the cold floor of the cave. He had no idea who consoled who. Whether he consoled the land or the land did him, he couldn't be sure and never cared. All he cared about was the fact that he was still breathing and had a hide. He had wanted to be alone till death would catch up with him, but felon fate would also have his worn way. He'd fed the cub with the remains of the leopard he'd killed. But the cub growled heavily and in keen detest and would not eat it. Then did it occur to him that a leopard would never eat another leopard. He wasn't sure if that was the only the reason the leopard had growled at him in such manner. He knew there was more to it. He wished he could speak to it. He wished he could understood its plight. But simply put, he just couldn't. How could he? He was just a man! A gaunt gladiator! And from taunted tales he'd heard, no gladiator had ever being able to converse with an animal appropriately. Not even closely. He had dumped that thought and had betrothed salient sleep as he watched the cub lay adjacent to him. Hungry! Twas! Really! And he couldn't do anything about it. He had not seen any Deer, Impala or Gazelle since he'd been in the jungle. All he'd been seeing were Leopards and Adders, Asps and other species of snakes. He had such a great detest for reptiles, especially the hissing one, snake! It nauseated him. Like pretty offensive to him! Even to his sense of pleasure! He'd watched the cub sleep and had trailed the same track. And at dawn, he'd heard that voice which pricked his mercy.

        He looked around the cave intently to see if anyone was in. The stoic walls were indifferent. Or had he been dreaming? Probably that was just a figment of dream. He wasn't sure. He decided to seat again. The cave wasn't that big a place that could had housed a human that'd be hard to discern if such was present. The cub was already awoke. He was having his feeble head between the lusty limbs. It was quite indifferent to the call that'd set him on an edge. Since the animal was not stirred, why then in wanky world would he be? He couldn't and wouldn't. He edged towards the cub to fiddle with its furs, but the groomed growl it pruned tossed the fact at him that it wasn't pleased with him. He probably had no idea why. Probably because he'd left him hungry. But it couldn't had blamed him for not eating watch he'd served it. It was its exception not to eat it. At least he had presented a meal to it. He was conspicuously troubled and his mind was made a pawn between the thoughts of mystery and of guilt. The former was quite the mountain, while the latter, a hill. Tossing a hill about with the feet would be of no consequence as moving a moaning mountain. He sat again. He was going to go out before, but he had a rethink. His new friend, pet or family was vexed with him. He thought he knew why, but if his thoughts were right, then the cub must be childish. Animals most times share archetype maladies with humans. A child would nurse a grudge against even her father if he refused to give her what she wanted. It isn't their fault. That's to what extent their mental horizon can expand. They couldn't have used some devices to extend its flexibility. Nobody could. He had no idea how he'd behaved when he was a child. He had no idea. But of course he knew that he wasn't in the care of his pestered parents. Parents who couldn't fight for the survival of their child. Perhaps when he was with whoever had abducted him, he was caught in such state the cub recently was. He zeroed in on nursing the thought when the voice he'd heard earlier intruded:

       "Why would the baby leopard be pleased! Who would be pleased with a murderer?. Not just even a murderer, but of his only parent!"

        At that moment he wanted to run mad. Assorted thoughts reached at his sanity and ripped off his patience, smothering his ire and rage. Being angry wouldn't ease the burden and was not the best thing he could think of at the moment. He stood abruptly. He looked again at the wall and felt the sharp curves of the walls teasing his palm. He could scream at them to stop, that he was caught in the claws of a very serious stance. That he was quite the serious one and wasn't in for dices and chips. He then felt the wall with his ears, perhaps there were hidden lips there etched by some gaunt gods yearning yore. To no avail was his striving. He then rushed out like the bewitched wing of a worn wind which strayed from the company of its counterparts. He looked across, it was quite the clear sight. Few leopards where in the distance, he knew that they dared not come to his cave anymore. He looked sideways to no fruit. He ran to the back of the cave, what was there was yet the raving raven and hankering asp closer to the locks of water few strays away. He was tired of searching. His efforts were to no avail. He hated admitting to himself that there were some spiritual creatures who do whatever that seem good to them, leaving out how whoever they'd be doing it to would feel. Such thought was horrible! He couldn't help but puke it in rage and attestation of the fact that there was no God nowhere. He resigned. His leg would pass the baton to his brain to maintain the track of search.

       He began to try to make meaning of what the owner of the voice had puked. Such syllabic decays. He couldn't help but savor the aroma. What choice did he have? None! Had the voice said that he was a murderer? Yes! He knew he'd killed fifty gladiators. And that was not evil. He'd done it to survive. He knew he'd killed few citizens. And that was not an evil. He'd done it to preserve his pedigree. He knew he had killed Cyclops. And he had done it to prove Ja Lia wrong and had taught him a great lesson his pride wouldn't spare him. And yes! He'd killed leopards that wanted him dead. How then was he a murderer? He tried to make the smithereens of the syllables spilled by the voice contract into his acumen and make a whole. But hell no! It wasn't going to be that easy. He knew he was trying hard to register all, but his acumen seemed to lack grace. He was to suffer for it. He was going to. He was about to. But halt! He could recollect few more!

       Did the voice say that he killed the mother of the cub? And the cub was angry with him? Like he was the reason the cub was lying almost lifelessly on the earth? Was it awaiting the arrival of his mother? How bout its father? Was he like his own? Why are many fathers like that! All they're skilled at was fueling and refueling! No maintaining or grooming. His had been worse and wouldn't want to set an eye on him anymore. But think of it, if that was true. That he killed the mother of the cub, how would he be able to discern which was the mother? Or was it the one which had accosted him when he was having his first day in the jungle? That leopard that was ferocious to death. Was it unwilling to die because of her cub - even after having a sword's swig of some of her limbs? Is that the kinda pain mothers go through to provide for their younglings? Was that the same his mother had suffered for his sake before placing him under some shrewd shrubs? No! That couldn't be. He didn't live to know his mother. He couldn't vouch for her! But know what he could do? Of course he could vouch for the mother or the cub and kindled keener hatred for his own mother. If he had killed the Cub's mother as puked by that voice, then he had to make things right with the leopard. Though he wasn't sure if to or not. But guessing was not an option and he had no idea how to make it right with a Cub. If it were a human, it'd had been a cake. Talk of an animal, he had no idea. He dumped the thought of searching for the owner of the voice and went into the cave to the cub. It yet was in the same position. His glottis bled.

        "Bro, I know there is nothing I could tell you that'd make you believe me. You don't really have to. If I were the one, I'd had snapped at the neck of whoever tried that with my mom, if she was lovely though. I'm down to earth sorry for this shit. I had no intention of doing it. Your mama was some crazy bitch and die hard! She wouldn't let me go and I wasn't ready to die. I thought she was generous to die for me, until some psycho came to call me what I know I am, a murderer. Don't misquote me bro, I had no idea that that leopard was your mother. I wouldn't have done it, well If she'd walked away. I'm more than sorry for this shit, bro. Of course, saying this won't bring mama back, but I tell you that it'd heal the bruise and fill the gore revenge and ire had dug in your sanity, bruvh. You might be thinking that I'm callous and lack common sense for wanting you to look away, but I tell you, we're even. I also have no mama. I do hate her though. She fucking left me under some shrub after she had given birth to me and couldn't take care of me, so I had. Tell me, who does such? If you know you can't train a child, why drag him into this mess called world? Even I have a psycho for a father. He was more than annoying. He'd left upon my birth. Well, I wasn't there to punch him, but I was told. Yes, the crazy dell, so they call her, who sold me to being a gladiator told me this dipshit tale. Sorry I'll bore you out with tale that lack luster. In essence, mate, I'm pretty sorry. Super sorry. Keener sorry. Mehn, I gotta stop else I spit claptrap."

       He had no idea what had gotten into him. Had he just made so long an epistle for a cub. Was he in his right sense. But it worked! Sincerity always does. Probably there was a spiritual stance to it which he would never admit to. The cub moved closer to him and nozzled him. As he bent to cuddle the new friend, the voice came again:

       "Don't be too glad it's for a while."

       He couldn't tutor his glottis anymore. He'd gone bankrupt. His rage was swifter than his lips and the former had crushed the latter:

       "Hey, coward! Show thy ugly face. Wanna make pawn of me? I'm a fucking gladiator, I don't do hide and seek. I do blood and sword. If you have guts, show up baby!"

        No sooner he stopped talking than the girlish tone caressed the airy atmosphere again, enchanting the mood of the hay, raptures of tuning tendencies:

         "I'm a Nymph. You can't see me! Maybe not yet! But I'm interested in you. Been a while I fiddled with a stoic man."

        He wished he could make meaning of all she'd said. Who the fuck was a Nymph? He'd never heard about that. How did she know him?. How did she know that he was stoic?. What did she mean by 'fiddle'? He had no idea what those were nor a clue to the answer and didn't care! His pride complemented his glottis as he reincarnated the first contention:

     "Who the fuck is a Nymph?."

       But there was no comeback that time. Probably, his guts had been faster than his acumen! Who wouldn't pay for such?