13th June 19 - Arena

I was talking to two friends of my dad, telling them about surgery I'd had last year. I asked what time they think I actually went into the theatre, and they didn't really know nor probably care. I began to tell them the tale... Only it wasn't quite about my surgery.

Between Liverpool and Warrington there was a less travelled route, heading north. To the hospital. Getting there was difficult, though I don't recall why, only that the journey itself was important.

Inside the hospital was an illicit arena. Mage combat, with slavery and pure brutality. It was all very cold-castle-dungeon style, with flaming torches providing light.

The hospital/surgery story sort of disappeared here and I think I was trying to talk about a tv series I was watching whilst in hospital. Some sort of combination of Dr Who and Buffy. I said to my dad's friends that I'd been watching it for so many years and felt really let down by the direction this show took.

Back at the arena, which it seems was part of this TV show, brutal fights were getting underway. One really tall fellow with full blackened plate armour and a tall rectangular shield about 5 foot in length started advancing on someone wearing basically clothes and armed with a dagger.

The dagger guy tried to dart around the armoured man, but he kept shifting his stance expertly to prevent flanking. Suddenly he lashed forward with his shield, and stabbed the lower edge into the ground, slicing the toes from the dagger guy. He was in a lot of pain, but managed to pull back and started using some sort of black smokey magic. The smoke sidled around armour guy and hit him straight in the back, killing him instantly.

Another fight got underway, this time a group against a group. One of them featured Michael Keaton, who looked to be protecting the others, looking wary and not pleased. He pretty much single handedly fought off a group of thugs, with no armour and only a short sword.

My dad's friends chimed in at this point, they asked if I knew why he was there. I did not, and they explained that his family were enslaved and brought to the arena. He came in to rescue them only to find out they were basically free to leave already but they had decided to stay and enjoy the lifestyle of killing the weak in forced duels. So he stayed to protect them, hating what they had become, hating himself for continuing the violence, and hating himself for hating them.

I could picture the worn out Michael Keaton, holding his sword up to guard the smirking people behind him, looking forlorn and determined at the camera.

I woke up.