Blood splattered the sand and the colosseum roared.
Cenicus stood over his fallen opponent as circling beasts gnawed at their fetters.
The wounded man looked up and smiled. “Good fight, son.”
Cenicus nodded but did not lift his visor.
His eyes ran freely as he waited for the master’s thumb.
Matthew Coward is a habitual daydreamer, occasional writer, and proud night-owl. He writes fantasy inspired flash fiction, short stories, and poetry.