I’m sure I’m not the only one, but when I was a kid I wanted to be a gladiator. When you’re five you don’t think about the downsides like horrible pain and slow agonising deaths, you just think of the thrill. Of walking out in front of thousands of screaming Romans cheering your name. In my head I’d even be able to speak Latin so I could understand them. It sounded remarkably like English.
Standing in front of the Colosseum, all those imagined victories come rushing back. The slight tangy taste of nervous excitement, the flutter in my chest as I walk out to meet the crowd, the pride of being a true hero.
I must look odd though. Gawking at the building, smile on my face, hand reaching for a sword I can’t quite believe isn’t there. I’m not the only one though, right?