The rain poured endlessly as if the sun were just a memory. The trees
sparkled ever so lightly and there he sat waiting. He did not seem to
notice the water dripping down his face or the freezing cold whelming his
body. It was all nothing. His eyes were fixed on the road, the empty road
itself drenched with mud. Not a person has gone by for days. The memory of
his father was blazing in his mind. It was the child's need for comfort and
home after the death of a mother. But the father's absence it seemed had
deprived such hope.
He was only a boy, in need of a bit of care and a bit of love. He understood not the scenes of war and the brutality of this world. His home was no more, except a place of misery and lost memories.
"He is gone..." The voice echoed behind him, "He is gone Maximus..." The boy did not respond, he stood as if the words meant nothing.
"He is not comming back.... he is dead my boy." A hand fell upon his shoulder. The boy shook away, still reluctant to admit the truth. "Someday you will avenge his death..."
*********************************************************
He picked up sword gripped the handle tightly. It felt as if a part of him was being restored. Being able to run his finger down the blade like his father had done, it was a gift. A gift that he will be able to use.
Everything came naturally to him. The way of the sword, the way of the general, and the way of war. Yet he never lost that part of him that only wanted a simple life. What was worth fighting but the simple life. The home, the love, and the peace.
Yet he was a child in the countryside who understood nothing of Rome. Some things came only with experience. As he first set foot on the streets of Rome he could already taste the difference and the reality of the city. The structures, the life there.
His attitiude changed as he grew. The childlikeness grew out of him leaving a man. Yet he lost none of the childhood ambitions and the sense of life.
He was only a boy, in need of a bit of care and a bit of love. He understood not the scenes of war and the brutality of this world. His home was no more, except a place of misery and lost memories.
"He is gone..." The voice echoed behind him, "He is gone Maximus..." The boy did not respond, he stood as if the words meant nothing.
"He is not comming back.... he is dead my boy." A hand fell upon his shoulder. The boy shook away, still reluctant to admit the truth. "Someday you will avenge his death..."
*********************************************************
He picked up sword gripped the handle tightly. It felt as if a part of him was being restored. Being able to run his finger down the blade like his father had done, it was a gift. A gift that he will be able to use.
Everything came naturally to him. The way of the sword, the way of the general, and the way of war. Yet he never lost that part of him that only wanted a simple life. What was worth fighting but the simple life. The home, the love, and the peace.
Yet he was a child in the countryside who understood nothing of Rome. Some things came only with experience. As he first set foot on the streets of Rome he could already taste the difference and the reality of the city. The structures, the life there.
His attitiude changed as he grew. The childlikeness grew out of him leaving a man. Yet he lost none of the childhood ambitions and the sense of life.