Living on Writer's Block

“Bring the lions out!”

“Bring the —“

“Bring the lions out!”

The crowd roared above me, eager for a show.

I stood alone in the shadows of the Colosseum. 

I stood in the tunnel out to the arena. A low snarl and growl filled the sandy interior of the arena, and then a roar of pain and rage as the beasts were goaded away from the trapdoors. I raised my head, and felt my own eyes harden and flash. I could always feel them. And I could always feel my eyes. They were a flame-colored amber, and they did wonders in the dark. People had told me before that they seemed literally to glow. I paced slowly toward the light at the mouth of the tunnel, my strides measured and even. My fingers adjusted edgily on the spear in my right hand. I wasn’t nervous. I never had been. I was born to battle.

“Bring the Lion out!”

“Bring th—“

“Bring the Lion out!”

The crowd roared above me, eager for blood.

I smiled alone in the shadows of the Colosseum.

I was the Lion. The gold gauntlets around my wrists glittered in the growing light as I drew closer to the tunnel mouth. I stopped right at the edge, where I was still hidden from the crowd, and drew a breath. My eyes flickered hotly beneath the wide-banded coronet of gold that sat tight around my forehead. I looked down, checking my armor one last time for any weaknesses. My long dark hair fell forward over my shoulders, contrasting against the scarlet cape that fell back in loose folds. The Amazonian armor my mother had given me, in the last battle before I had been taken, glinted with gems and gold in intricate swirling designs. It was more for show than anything, covering my torso from collar bones to hips in glitter and shine. 

“Bring the Lion out!”

“Bring the —“

“Bring the Lion out!”

The crowd roared above me, eager for me. 

Alone in the shadows of the Colosseum, I felt heat growing deep inside me as I smiled, and poised myself to sprint out the tunnel. 

Digging my sandal into the dust, I crouched low, and drew strength from the thrumming energy of the crowd’s voice. I charged my spear with my own energy, and it seemed to glitter and flicker with the power I had sent through. I smiled wider and narrowed my eyes as I watched the gleaming, fiery tip, tendrils of flame-like light crawling sinuously along the bronze head. I exhaled slowly, feeling the air rolling out of my lungs in a silent hiss. 

I was alone in the dark, in the shadows of the Colosseum.

I was ready. 

I was eager. 

Eager for a show.

Eager for blood.

I was the Lion. 

And I wasn’t about to back down. 

I pushed off the ground, dust flying after my fleeing foot, and sprinted out into the light. 

So here’s the question — this story goes on. This part is only about 300 words, but there’s about 900 or so more. Anyone interested? Let me know in the comments! (Also, no, I do not think women should fight, let’s get that clear — most of you probably know that but I just want to make sure. I do not sympathize with her.)