The pressures. The expectations. They weigh down like the world upon Atlas’ shoulders. But I am not Atlas. I do not possess his strength. I let myself fall. The world of worry rolls down my arms, slides across my back. Picking up momentum it falls to the ground shattering with a crescendo of emotions. Pieces of it fly at me, piercing my skin. For that is all I am. Merely flesh and bones, nothing more. I plunge to the ground, crumpling into a heap besides my shattered world. How did Atlas do it, I wonder. How did he survive the weight of the world, of everyone bearing down on him? I figure my strength isn’t as impressive as his, but I like to think I had some. But even with what I did have, I failed. Pressures got to me and I gave in. Gave into the world.
