The one thing he thought wouldn't leave him…

Memories

When he found his family, bleeding and dead, and his home, burnt to the ground, he made a vow. Two in fact. The first one he declared: the vow to avenge his family. That for every cut they received, he would give twice as hard back to their murderers. That for plant destroyed, he would burn fear into the soldiers' hearts. He would make sure that they'd pay, that they would regret it. That all of Rome would see this injustice and, for he would make this happen, change so that this will not occur to anyone else.

However, he made a second vow. This one wasn't spoken nor was it even thought of, for his mind was on his first vow. But, this goal was equally important, for without it his first goal would not happen. He vowed to never forget. To never forget the golden fields around his home nor the long dirt road to his house. To never forget the scent of the rain after a storm and the taste of the fruits around his fields. He vowed to always remember the soft smile on his wife's face and the sound of his son's laughter. The twinkle in her eyes and the pitter-patter of the boy's footsteps. The smell of her cooking and the curious look on his face when the boy found something new.

He promised that those memories would never leave him. Those memories that drove him on, forced him to live, forced him to fight.

His life changed dramatically after that. He was no longer favored by many, admired by all. He was now the lowest of the low, one that no one really noticed. He was no longer a person; now he was a form of entertainment.

He sometimes ate meals (not as good as hers were) with those he would fight later. He would learn about them and their lives, but never revealed his own (they were his, not to be shared). He would learn about how they got forced to be slaves, how they lost all of their friends. And while he understood them, he didn't allow himself to get touched by their stories—they were not his friends, they were future enemies.

Later, he would be forced to kill them, destroying those people. People who were like him in many ways: they too had their lives torn apart and had dreams to accomplish. And while he regretted it (even before, he used to regret it: she used to hate that part of his job), he knew that he had to live on. That he killed them for a purpose, not just so that he could live (if it wasn't for his promise, he probably would have let himself die). He tried to make their deaths less painful, killing them as quickly as possible (putting an end to their suffering, that much he could do). And after killing them, he would stare at their bodies while the crowd cheered (and he made their goals his, for they were all struggling to achieve the same thing: Freedom).

Even as the months passed, he carefully guarded his memories. He kept them safe from the wear of time, remembering the horse rides through the wheat and climbing trees with his son. Of the gentle kisses she used to give him and the feel of her hands. And, while he was making slow progress with his first goal, his second one stayed fulfilled.

A lot of time passed by and he found himself no closer to his goal than he was before. He was still stuck down there, in the world hidden from society. He met many people, some who he killed and some who were killed by others. There were people who were scared and died quickly, people that couldn't adapt. However, there were also people who were strong, who faced their deaths and prevailed. Those he admired, for they were like him and would one day be his opponents (if he had to die, he wouldn't mind getting killed by them).

However, he slowly found himself forgetting. Did she like green, or was it yellow? Did his son turn three or four? Did she smell like roses or was it sweet peas? Did they have two horses and did they have several fruit trees? Little things were slowly disappearing from his mind, like the winds of time were blowing them away. And while he desperately clung on to them, grabbing them, they would slip through his fingers like water, flowing on in a path he can't follow.

He thought he could never forget his home, the place he spent years in. The home that held his most precious belongings and memories. He thought he could never forget his family, the people he cherished the most. His soul mate, his angel (for, what else could she be?), the one he loved with all of his heart was slowly flying out of his reach. His beautiful boy, his treasure, his gift, his dream was slowly fading into sky.

Where before he remembered bright days and the feel of the wind on his face, he now knew of darkness and the stench of musty drafts. The sweet taste of apples and a pillow of fresh grass was replaced with bitter food and a bed of damp dirt. His home, which was a heaven, a paradise on earth, was slowly being erased from his mind. And in its place was a dirty cell, in the bowels of the city. A place where the only heat came from his willpower and the only comfort came from sleeping.

And the ones he lost once, he seemed to be losing them again. Though they were his family, he was getting a new family, a new home now. One filled with weapons and blood, not shovels and sweat. One that had gruff instructions and jabs in the back instead of loving touches and sweet voices. His son (his baby boy) who would always drag him around ("Look at this!") was being replaced by soldiers who would push him into the arenas. His wife (his one and only) turned into other gladiators and her soft touches became wounds.

(Even though it happened gradually, slowly seeping in and replacing his memories, he was still caught off guard, surprised that this would happen)

How did it happen? Did it start the day he became a slave, or did it happen all it once? Maybe they slipped out of his grasp because he hadn't fulfilled his promises yet? He couldn't be sure. He thought he had protected them, kept them safe from any change. He made sure to think of them only when he was alone, for telling others might tarnish what he had left.

And he was left with nearly nothing now. He thought that he couldn't suffer any more, that he had lost everything that day. But now he was losing what he had left and it was a more crushing blow than losing them was. For now he could've done something, anything in order to protect them, but he didn't. He failed them again.

When he was slowly dieing, after finally succeeding, he closed his eyes. And he felt something. He felt soft grains brushing his hands. He felt the sun on his face. It didn't stop at that; his other senses were flooded too. He could smell the flowers she used to plant and taste the rain in the wind. He heard the sound of small feet running towards him.

And that's when it all came back to him. She liked yellow, for it reminded her of the sun. His son just turned four, and he gave his son a young dog. Sometimes he would take her horseback riding, just the two of them, in the morning. She smelled like her flowers, different each day, but just as breathtaking. Their orchard was filled with apples and pears, nectarines and peaches.

(and all those things he lost, his memories of them, appeared in front of him, no longer see through and untouchable)

His home was filled with golden sunshine that would bathe them in the morning, the rolling hills that were home to rabbits and deer. Not dismal, crowded rooms that only entertained mice and rats. His wife, with all of her entrancing beauty, smiled at him from the distance (wiping away the thoughts of stone-faced guards and heavy armor). And his son, filled with life and innocence, looked at him happily (and soon the death and blood became a bad dream). He didn't want to leave this again.

However, he opened his eyes again, to the cheering crowds and the harsh glare from the sun. He still had one more promise left to complete. One that he couldn't not do. Giving his last orders, he wasn't worried that they would leave him again. For they told him something when he remembered. Something he shouldn't have forgotten nor would he forget again. Something that allowed him to come back to accomplish the last thing left to do.

They would always be waiting, in the shadows of his mind and the corners of his sight. Even if he forgot, they wouldn't. If he got lost, they would rescue him, save him from whatever hell he fell into.

However, he also told them something.

They wouldn't have to wait much longer.

A/N: …What a terrible ending…I just couldn't think of what to put there…The story just kept going on, and I didn't know how to end it.

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