Crack!

SlavesCrack! His back arched violently. It was the eighth strike that morning, and the first that broke skin.

‘Faster!’

Blood sprayed from the whip. Crack! Further opening his wound.

Picking up another rock, from the seemingly endless pile, the slave mumbled under his breathe…

’I wish we could build Rome in a day.’

In response to 365 things to write about’s word prompt: Rome

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