Breakfast for Lions

If I had to be a soldier or a warrior – I would have been one pathetic joke. I miss the gene of the warrior, something that you cannot substitute with armor made out of ancient steel - the bravery and heartlessness of the last stroke of your sword that kills your enemy. I can never do it. I always see the reflection of the skies gently kissed with the sun in the eyes of my victim, and I retreat…

I can easily see myself being sentenced to death in ancient Sparta: “Here is the walking mockery of the warrior – Olgam. He spared the enemies during Battle of Gythium (last battle in Sparta) and thus we lost. Shame on you, Olgam, and be prepared to die!”
And after that they would kill me in some dramatic fashion of that time – throw me off the cliff or feed me to the lions.
Well even though, I am put in a comfortable form and shape of existence for my weak mellow soul (I am a soft-spoken Russian maiden), I still have trouble with a lack of the cruelty and precision of the fatal fencing attacks.
I can never say that last thing that would kill my love interest or partner in friendship or love. Well, even without going far into the jungle of the relationships, I can never say anything hurtful enough to someone I care.
Hurtful statements I said in my head or whispered into the ear of the dark night:

” My mother was right, this marriage ia a major charity event. You are a loser! You could never make enough money! Our children would starve in the streets!”

“Stuffed animals excite only 5 year olds. I am 20 years overdue for that excitement. Where is grown-up jewelry?”

“You are absolutely correct. You are fat and lazy, our boobs are almost the same size, and you need to hit the gym more often than you hit the bar!”

“Every time I smell your sweat, I think of an oil change!”

" I was intoxicated with alcohol through our entire short-lived relationship. Only Jack-n-coke could cure my agony of dating a barbarian who spells apple as "epl". Yes, this is how it's spelled correctly!"

" Yes, I knew you never read Hemingway! And even Hemingway knew I wouldn't sleep with you!"

“Led Zeppelin was cool in the last century along with your smoking a pipe and wearing khaki colored clothes!”

“ Yes, we have a problem. I love tall boys and you are tall enough only if I sit down. Stilletoes or you??? Are you kidding me? My relationship with them has been much longer and much more promising!”

"My parents would die on a spot from a massive heart attack if they see us together, my tall and dark handsome stranger. They are racists and so was I, 5 minutes ago, before I started kissing you!"

"I never knew your country existed, so after we are done with exchanging insults, I plan on sctratching it out with permanent marker from the plastic World Map i purchased for $9.99 and going back into denial that it was never there"

" Your ethnic food gives me diarrhea, and I think your mother is a witch!"

“I will find someone hotter than you before you will be able to sneeze!”

“You are just like your mother… (/father/brother/sister/idiotic best friend)”

“I was too good for you, and everybody thought that including my high on coke neighbors and their obnoxious infestated with fleas, cat!”

“You are so goddamn cheap. Ice cream is not good enough as dinner only in your world. And that’s why I am dumping your ass once finished with a vanilla 2-scoop special!”

“The sensation of your tongue in my mouth stimulates the gag reflex in me!”

"It is a problem that you lied about your age. In twenties - there are no" younger" or" older" categories. But there are bad kissers, bad lovers, and places you can't afford taking me! And your younger age is just as tempting and welcome in my life as your possible premature ejaculation on my "French Connection" dress."

“I am so out of your league – it’s a common knowledge for the entire restaurant. I can see how our waitress commiserates with me by offering more wine every 5 minutes.”

“I will have another dinner with you when Tutankhamen will rise from his tomb, and he is one hell of a dead pharaoh! “.

All of those insults are like bullets – they can really wound and hurt and sometimes kill. So I just never pull the trigger.
In the heat of the battle, when hellish monsters come out of our souls and take out swords, I shut down. I drop my sword. I cry or I dial my mother.

“Have you told him what you really think?” she would ask
“Oh yes,”- I would feed her the rehearsed and prepared lie.

Of course, you would all unanimously say that it is a good thing I am such a peaceful Jesus-loving sister, that it makes me a better person, lowers my cholesterol and has a calming therapeutic effect on my entire existence.

Only nobody knows that before being fed to lions, Olgam had another opportunity to die: he was almost killed by the angry Roman who tried to embed the sword into his broad God-loving chest but missed somehow.

So here comes the ancient question: by not killing (let’s say verbally) our enemies, do we give them the chance to kill or fatally wound us?

And the answer is: absolutely yes. While retreating and preaching the universal love and forgiveness, we are being sentenced to death by the armies of the bloodthirsty Romans.

“-You are not going to prom with me? Why?
- Well, I see us as friends only, even though you are a great guy.I still like you a lot.
(8th grade, I am talking to a short guy who just got hit with adolescence thus - cystic acne and terrible cologne overtook his world).
- Well, so you know you are not that hot either. Your nose is way too big, ears- sticking out, not so bright in algebra, completely dumb in physics, live too far away, and I kind of wanted to ask your best friend Sveta out anyway!
- Oh, ok…

That’s all I could find to say. Completely shocked and, I was stumbling away through the mist of tears …
-Also you are way too old for me (he was a grade younger) and tall like a horse! – He yelled angrily.

But I could barely hear him – I turned around and was walking away as fast as I could from this ugly battlefield …And I think if you looked closer you would see the fresh trail of fresh blood (red ink) slowly leaking on the parquet floor …I either was wounded for real by this cruel boy or cheap Chinese ballpoint was just leaking through my back pack at the moment..How symbolic though!

So I hurried away from this any adolescent nightmare just to walk right back in it few decades later.
Being killed time after time after time by destructive criticism of men I leave or they leave me (new category) behind – I can’t help but wonder - Not killing them when I could – Does it make me a Saint or a Coward?

And when would great warrior Olgam wake up in me and would refuse to be breakfast for lions?

When would he finally kill off all the heartless Romans?