A slave passing by the agora sees the marble face of the dead warrior he once rode with to battle. His breath catches and shakes. His knees tremble at its youthfulness and thoughtful stare, at the lips he once coveted and dared to press against one evening, soon after conquest had sparked a fire that ran its voracious course between them.

He turns away, ashamed at the calluses on his ankles where the chains cut him for months before he yielded. But when he turns again, heart aching, he finds the statue no longer wears the visage of his beloved. And he, who for a moment, was a man anew, returns defeated to servitude.


Author: redgladiola

Creative writer happily predisposed to flights of fancy. You can find my poetry and short prose at

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