The Note: well, yeah. i'm a bitch for not posting for a millenia and half, and when i do get something up it's this crap. anyway, i just watched the gladiator for the second time, and i realized how sorry i felt for commodus, in comparison to maximus. yeah yeah, i know, max there got his whole world turned upside down and into crap while commodus just became emperor and got a boner for his sister, but still. he was sick. think it through. the following is from his point of view, during the great finale.
thanks for reading; make sure to tell me what i can do better on, what i should do, or if i should be very, very ashamed of myself.


He feels the bite of a sword for the first time.

There's bile in the back of his throat, a shudder just waiting to climb his spine, a scream ready to rip from his throat. Fingers probe the wound; it's nothing serious, a scratch that leaks blood despite how shallow it is. And then he realizes that the blood is his. Anger flares, stoking an ever burning fire of hatred for the man before him.

Kill him kill him kill him killhim killhim killhimkillhimkillhimkillhim! His sick, diseased mind rages.

Why should this mere man, this soldier, get all the love in the world, and then some? While he, prince of Rome, gets nothing! All he ever wanted was the love of a father, the love of a sister, the love of someone more than a sister. Alas, the man before him received the love meant for he and he alone! Then he spurned his sister's love, a love that he could kill would kill will kill shall kill for!

His sword is knocked from his hand.

Eyes like ice roam the faces of his men, his soldiers, his people, his loved ones. Words flow from his mouth.

"-sword! Quintus, give me your sword!"

Blank stares, nervous twitches in the eyes of the men around him.

"Shield your swords!"

His mind blanks, for a millisecond, for a half a second, a full second of nothingness in his thoughts. Were they . . . disobeying him? HIM? The anger soars to an all time high. Now the man before him has taken away his army? A small blade is pulled from a sleeve. A roar bubbles in his throat. A step in the right direction.

Then it is over, and there are faces flashing before his eyes.

Her face; their father's face; the man's face; his nephew's.

And then there is light.

The madness is over.

He can rest in a semblance of peace.