Gladiators.

Gladiators.

A Story by mdrosen

As I walked through the overpass to the lab, my stomach twisted in resentment.


      I don’t want to be here.


I don’t want to see these people. It seems that we share nothing in common but frustration and stress. We all resent this place, but we all handle it differently.

 

How can I resent such a place? How can I resent the people here? It’s easy.

 

I was put through intellectual boot camp here. I was stripped of my old ways, and had the “wrong” beaten of me. I was not only given tasks in which I was prone to make mistakes; I was constantly shown each and every make, and had a “photomultiplier tube” of sorts to amplify the feelings of stupidity.

            We were thrown in the arena, given material and forced to build intellectual weapons out of them. We’ve battled, and we still battle to this day. Competition reigns over as king of the program. We expect the best of the best. We expect the best performance, from the best students. I hope you can handle it; I’d hate to have you leave.

Alone, bruised, burnt-out, and angry. Is this the price I pay? How does one survive the constant scrutiny of every action taken, of every word spoken, and the repercussions of every error made? Very carefully.

So why on earth would I show my family the arena? After all, I loathe the fight. I look down at the cutthroat battle, and the way others are killed and dragged out. There are a few of us left standing.

You don’t have to be here, you know. You can quit.

Yes, yes I could. If I wanted, I could quit. My bruises would heal, and the cuts would become but faded scars, and the memories of the war would haunt me for the rest of eternity. So why, then, do I stay?

I stay because it’s an honor. I stay because I’m still standing. Not everybody stands in the end. Others fall, and some die horrible, slow, painful deaths, or at least their dreams do. We are beaten so that we know the pain of the world, and if we’re lucky, our hardest beatings will occur in this arena. We are forced to hang onto the vines of the plant, with thorns piercing our fingers so that we know the taste of blood. We are thrown on our knees, and forced to analyze the rocks we’ve piled in front of us until our knees bleed, and our hands have callused over many times, so that we grow extra skin, and so the next time, may we choose our rocks with more care. We are hit in our weak spots so that we know the importance of being able to defend every question and situation that comes our way. And we are often given seemingly impossible puzzles, in that we may focus so much on the pieces, that we understand the foundation of problem solving theory-deep, and learn to build our own puzzles.

Why do I stay? I stay because I’m still standing. I stay because I’m a survivor. Because I’m a sword, sharpened by rough stone, to be wielded through some of my future patients’ toughest battles. I’m still here because as a patient, I’d want someone used to facing the odds.

 

I’d want someone to help me fight my odds.

© 2013 mdrosen


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Added on May 6, 2013
Last Updated on May 6, 2013

Author

mdrosen
mdrosen

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