On Getting Back in the Arena
The first time they tried to kill me, I did not see it coming. I knew the risk, but risk is abstract until it arrives. There was no time for fear. There was the order, the volley, the dark.
The second time was different.
The second time, I knew exactly what was coming. I had felt the arrows. I had felt the blood. I had spent weeks in a dark room, healing, remembering. My body carried the memory in its muscles, in its scars, in the flinch that came whenever I heard a sharp sound.