Atlas

I wake up every night, gasping and sweating. My ribcage heaves, crushed flat. It's like a bowling ball on my chest. An elephant. It's the heaviest weight you can imagine.

I wish I'd never answered that stupid invitation. They told me I was a descendant of the gods, that I had divine blood in my veins. They told me I should be proud. I had a heritage. All those children of Zeus and Aphrodite and Hermes, glittering with power and beauty and miraculous gifts.

Who was my father? I asked. What will I inherit?

Do you like weightlifting? they said.

Icarus

They will call it a tragedy, an accident. My father will, I am sure. He never understood. He didn't really suffer; he was a valuable guest, and you can't truly imprison someone who lives inside their own head. He had paper and wood and glue and that's all he needs.

You can't know what it's like to feel the touch of wind on your face and know that soon you will have to go back, down to the ground, plodding like a beast.

It's unbearable.

It was not foolishness.

I chose to fly, to fly as high as I could...

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