Atlas.

Atlas, how are you? Do you ever contemplate your prison?

Does life remain a memory, or do you feel?

Separated yet inherent; not from choice, but the machinations of Fate.

When Gods bicker, who is the human to instruct? There is no place for him here.

As Atlas is left to burden the weight of past transgressions, I follow the same path.

There is nothing here. Yet everything, I see. Years of space and emptiness surround my soul; the burden of life thrust upon my shoulders.

So I ask you, Atlas, why do you remain?

Should I look unto Atlas and his monk-like silence? His enforced solitude?

Do I need to travel to the deepest point of my being? Is it too hard? Is suicide pathetic?

Why does the Titan remain?

“It will seem simple, once asked, mortal.”

“What else would a Titan do but realise his potential? What could even a Titan do to control his fate?”

Did strength determine righteousness? – for Atlas failed.

So I ask you again. Atlas, why do you remain?

“The shackles of Fate can only be undone by her own hand, or through the blessing of Fortune. Yet she is also fickle.”

Atlas stayed true to his nature, for who does a Titan bow to? Who makes a Titan prostrate?

For all his might, he could not see past his own actions to catch Fate’s ever-elusive shadow.

I see why you remain.

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