It has been a little while since I concluded the more mythology-themed short story from when I first began my blogging. I have always been fascinated with myths and creation stories because they attempt to take anything, from a unique phenomena to everyday occurrences, and explain how they happen in a creative way. In this short story I won’t exactly be explaining how something has come to happen, but thought it would be interesting to give life and zealous to the seasons. I hope you like it, enjoy!
War of the Seasons
Placed far into the Heavens, where no mortal human or animal could ever find on purpose, floats an enormous island of rock and wilderness. It was inhabited by the immortals and their creatures, and used to solve their most bitter quarrels. The essences of the seasons were no different and the unrest was already beginning to rise among their followers.
There was never much time of peace between the followers, as one would image, namely because each division were so different in their personalities and ethics. A solution or compromise was never sought when conflict broke out, the mutual need for confrontation and bloodshed stood in place of any long standing rectification. This suited the gods nicely, who also sought distraction through blood loss from the monotony of watching and toying with the mortals. This is why, among the natural beauty of serenity and land filled with life and mystic, stood the Coliseum.
Carved from the largest mountain on Earth by the minions of the gods, its shadow blanked the floating isle in every direction at some point in the day. Its walls were massively high and thick in order to contain the sound of anarchy that occurred deep within its stomach. Only the finest stone masons were given the honour of smoothing its surfaces and chiseling the figures and designs of the gods. It was a masterful work of art, perfection within every inch of its design.
It was Beauty. If only it were not used for the letting of blood for entertainment.
The day of rain had cease, the leaves and grounds of the forests and city were still covered in the cool dew of refreshing life. The last ruminates of blood ran from the drains of the Coliseum. Cleansed from the previous days of carnage, one could nearly imagine a day of peace and tranquility, of no more blood coming from the so many willing contestants seeking honour and glory.
Well, could almost imagine such a day, but already a line of such people mentioned above stood at the gates to be audience and participant. Among those that waited this day, was a young man, strong enough to win any normal sparring match with those of this own age and older. But wealth was not gained though only defeating his fellow citizens for small bets fueled by small wages. This young man dreamed of a life not of riches or luxury but of contentment and comfort for his family and himself.
Aeron knew the risk he ran by placing his life on the line for any prestige he’d gain in the Coliseum, mainly the high cost of his mortal life but even so, his name would guarantee some degree of notoriety. One round, advancing just once would give his family enough acknowledgement to better themselves, even if that meant he would not be able to enjoy their happiness with them. Very few ever made it beyond the first round and did not die from their injuries, and an even smaller few ever made it beyond the second round and survived at all.
Survival beyond the first round was Aeron’s only goal, beyond that, he would be considered unprepared. He was alright with that however, a second round challenged could take weeks, even months to be arranged, simply because of all the numerous first round challenges that are made daily. A small gesture from the immortals to their mortal challengers, because they themselves needed no recovery between opponents. The truth behind the length between rounds was that the immortals only wanted those at the peak of their strength. Anything less would be an insult.
The trumpets sounded; the matches were beginning. Fame or death, now waited for Aeron.