Friction — Chapter One.
Not playing.
Solomon was thrown into the arena
just like that.
Crowd cheering.
For what?
He didn’t know.
He couldn’t see much.
The sun blinding.
He raised a hand
and looked around.
The amphitheater was oval, vast
and empty.
Only Alaric was there.
Circling.
“Come on. Defend yourself.”
His enemy attacked.*Sans merci.
Impitoyable.*
“What are you doing, Alaric?
What is this about?
We’re friends.”
“Shut it, Solomon.
Pick up your sword.”
Solomon was speechless.
No time to process –
Alaric was already striking.
Instinctively, Solomon grabbed a shield.
The sound of the defense
echoed in the air.
“Can’t you at least explain?”
he managed, regaining his footing.
“It’s always a matter of strength.
That’s the rule.
We all know it.”
“What? Who decided that?
I don’t want to do this.”
Alaric ignored him,
twirling his sword
mocking.
Solomon stood still,
his heart screaming,
his muscles tightening.
And none of it
none of it
was from the battle.
*Il était enragé.
Par la colère noire, il fut saisi.*
He didn’t want to be involved.
Refused to fight back.
To play this
this foolish game.
So why
did he feel
like a failure?
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