"Atta."
His lips rehearsed. Twas to himself. His eyes were wide. His rage was kindled. There was no one to assert it on. He wasn't actually willing to assert it on anyone but of course he would be very glad to do it if the opportunity came tumbling to his way. He would be very glad to snap at it. How heavenly it would be for him to have a grasp on it and tell himself that things would work out differently. Tell himself that he would pass the test of time. That he would last the ordeals and wiles. That he would make pawn of so many a stances. But he knew that he was telling himself a lie. He knew what a lie was and would not hold back its semantic denotations. He needn't to be so worry about so many a things. Of what use was it to him? Of what stance was it to him? Worry is a figment of illusion which makes itself feel as though it's more than what exactly it is. It
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Glad He Hate All ~Gladiator~ XXXIV
"Has anyone seen the Nymph?" The gladiator before him shook his head. The same looked at another one standing not far from him. He also shook his head. That went one like a spell till all of them were done shaking their heads. Probably that was a new art. Or simply put, they didn't want to say anything. Like didn't have anything to say. And kept travelling their gazes from the seated master to the rest of them. They probably had somethings in mind against him but wouldn't spill it. Like a gaunt grudge against him. But it didn't matter. They simply couldn't act. What is defected is therefore not worth it. He could say that over and over again. He was done watching his back. He had left the gladiators to make rage of whatever they wanted to do. They could go ahead and ambush him whenever they wanted to. He didn't care whether or not they would have a hold on him. He didn't care whether or not they wou
Glad He Hate All ~Gladiator~ XXV
*How much longer would we have to walk?* He didn't know what to say or ask. His thoughts were of their own accord. They flowed freely with no objection or restriction. And he had no right to stop or mute them. He simply would let them be and doing that wouldn't be too much a task. His legs were beginning to quake. Like the hankering of the hoisted hay. Like the lips of a wrenching cloud. Like the hips of a pregnant woman. He could simply just stop walking. He could really. He felt the hurl urge to, but he decided to ignore it. It's been a voluptuous while since he took that kinda walk. He was used to carriages and carts. He wouldn't had mind if she had asked them to use either of the two. But he had simply followed outta what he would call love or whatever. He was sure that he wasn't in love with her. How could he be? They hadn't been acquainted since like forever. She had been only a stranger in his life. A visitor in his
Glad He Hate All ~Gladiator~ XXVI
[Bìxîa, things do not seem right.] He looked at who was talking. The gladiator seemed serious. He didn't know what for. But he hadn't seen him as that ever. He was tempted to believe that what he was saying was of great consequence. He had no choice but to believe that. He was a pawn of his own feeling. He allowed the pain etched in the forehead of the gladiator to ease. He knew that the fellow had his stances and had quite the number of things to project. He had no idea how and why. He was simply at the verge of spilling his guts. Everyone who has to do that would simply do just that. Their was no exception to it. There had never been. The gladiator was keen. His robe were becoming grey at the tip of his collar. He had no idea when last the gladiator had washed it. And that didn't matter. If he had given them the right to make meaning of their lives, that probably wouldn't had happened. He probably was responsible for wha
Glad He Hate All ~Gladiator~ XXXVII
[Arrrgghhh]He turned firstly on the berth as though he was going to roll off. He steadied his body and decided to have his pupils hid behind the cottage of the eyelids. Hell no he thought. That was not the best option that moment. He wanted to assume the clone of gloom again but he knew quite alright that he stood no chance. He really loved to delve into that substratosphere, but he couldn't just blend. He knuckled under doing the right thing. Or to say, the supposed right thing. He opened his eyes. They were not of their own makes. He could tell the difference. His eyes always weren't like that. He wanted the sleep more than he wanted life. He knew that but wouldn't deceive himself. He knew that achieving that would be a moaning mirage at that moment. Then he ignored. He looked towards the spot his eyes would always travelled to after sleep. He wanted to jump up and squash his doubt, then rustic reality made pawn of his marred memory. Hell forgetf
Glad He Hate All ~Gladiator~ XXXVIII
"Dickhead" He looked over his shoulder to be sure that the lad was not tailing him. It seemed as though he saw something and halted. Though he couldn't see the owner of the draws, yet the sassy sun canvassed the pored presence of a trailer by sketching his silhouette in the eerie earth. He knew what to do with the lad. He had no idea why the lad was tailing him. He had said that he wanted power and that he wanted to perform the acts of the apt alakazam he had seen him prune in the arena sometimes back. But he wouldn't show him the alakazam. He wouldn't teach him. He would rather show him the pulpy path to hell or Utopia, where he wished to go. He would teach him not to tail anyone of such sort as him. He would make him know the difference between a human and clone. He didn't care whichever of the two he was called. He was simply not moved by anything! Since when had he started to be moved. But an instinct wouldn
Glad He Hate All ~Gladiator~ XXXIX
"Uhmmmm." He acted as though he was confused. Like the Monarch didn't say anything positive about the Cod. Like something of such sort. He looked the Cod over again with the impression of raising his hope for naught. His plans were hideous and probably trained by dimwittedness. There were obviously a lot etched or seeped in the eerie expression which his face puked. The Cod tried very hard to be patient and sane. Not to prick some hideous act. The porter looked through him, then past him, considering the plain. The Cod had no idea what kinda psycho such porter was. He probably was pawning him. He probably was a clown. That didn't matter to him. He hated jokes. If the porter did know who he was, he wouldn't prune such jolting jokes before him. A part of the Cod wanted to smash the Porter's head. He wanted to crush his guant guts and teach him how to deal with strangers. He thought over it again. He wanted t
Glad He Hate All ~Gladiator~ XL
[Uhh?]Who was that? He was damn sure that he saw something, but he simply couldn't trace the form. He couldn't register the person of the silhouette. Many thoughts dangled in his mental Ken. A part of him lent him that twas the lad. How could it be him? How possible could it had been for such lad to had escaped such security and fight his way into the castle? He wanted to go in that direction, but a part of him just wouldn't him. He was bent on knowing who it was, but of course he got to be sane about it. He moved further. It was more of a totter. He couldn't even be sure what he was doing. Whether he was moving or crawling. All he knew he was doing was that he was tasking his limbs. And those were all that mattered at that moment to him. Then at a point, he knuckled under trailing the silhouette which had chopped his interest. And he was bent on knowing who it was. Probably when he was done trailing it, then he would go to meet the Monarch in the throne hall.
Glad He Hate All ~Gladiator~ XLI
"He's my son." He wasn't sure who that was meant for. He looked around him, there was none there but him. The monarch hadn't even used the first person pronoun but the third. A part of him told him who he was referring to. But he couldn't process so many thoughts at a time. It ain't because the thoughts were remote or farfetched. Twas simply because, most of the thoughts seemed to him as illogical. He didn't know how to make meaning of them. He actually was trying pretty hard to make meaning of them twas to no avail. He tried to concentrate and process the sentence. At that bid, tons of questions swelled up in his mental horizon. Their heights mocked the sway of the waves. A part of him told him that he stood no chance of making meaning of or surviving the torrents such stances would lend. The first questions which snapped at his consciousness was: if truly he is your son, why then would he have to han
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