/‘Anything can be magic if you make it so!’ she says, picking up a stone. ‘This here… is the heart of the Earth.’ Looking up at the slowly falling rain, she sighs. ‘Those are the tears of the gods themselves! All you have to do to enchant the world is change your perspective…’/ Atlas woke up with a start. Her voice echoed in his head, an eerie chorus of games and childlike laughter. He shook it off. He had work to do. He got up with a groan and pulled on a linen shirt, trudging to the kitchen of his small, wooden house. Atlas lived alone, so as far as anyone could tell, he was happy. Nobody knew how he was fighting back a sea of emotions as he sliced bread for his breakfast, or how that simple task felt like Sisyphus rolling the boulder up his mountain. /‘We’re all Sisyphus. We each have our own boulder,’ she says sadly. ‘I wish it wasn’t that way.’/ After eating, he lumbered outside to collect the eggs from his chicken coop. The chickens often gave the eggs up willingly, being so accustomed to the routine pilfering. Atlas didn’t kill or eat his chickens, instead just selling them alive to the next farmer. He knew their fate would eventually be death, but he couldn’t bring himself to end the bird’s lives with his own hands. For her. It was all for her. She hated when lives came to an end. She would’ve hated the way Atlas was fading away now. With the egg basket full, Atlas went back inside his kitchen. He peered through the doorway to his bed. He looked at his pillow and mused on all the nights tossing and turning, praying to the gods he wouldn’t wake up come morning. He held on, of course, for her. But she was gone. There was nothing to hold on for now. Nothing but his blasted chickens. Suddenly, amid his brooding, a knock sounded at the door. Atlas rolled his eyes, wondering why someone might visit him at this hour. He greatly valued his solitude. /‘Don’t be rude, Atlas. We all deserve kindness.’ She says, chastising him with a laugh for his aloof manner./ He sighed and opened the door. Standing before him was an ancient woman clutching tightly to a basket. Her dress seemed to be made entirely of scrap fabrics, and covering her white-as-snow braid was a bright purple cloth tied under her hair. “May I come in?” She asked in a voice that sounded impossibly young and clear for someone with so many wrinkles. “It’s quite cold out here.” “Yes, yes, please,” Atlas grunted, wanting nothing less than to let an odd old woman into his house. “Sit. I’ll get you some tea I have stashed away.” Taking a seat, she spoke. “My name is Chatelaine. I suppose you’d like to know why I’m here. I’ll get right to it. Vela, the love of your life, she can be brought back.” The cup previously in his hands fell to the floor with a clatter. Vela… he hadn’t heard the name in so long. He refused to think it. It brought back too many memories turned painful. “Wh- How- I-” He stammered, his breath quickening. This was too much all at once. He had too many questions. Vela, his childhood best friend, the girl he thought he’d marry one day, was gone. She was dead. She fell ill, and Atlas had to watch someone so filled to the brim with life blow out like a candle. “I know, it’s a lot to take in so suddenly, but it’s true. The gods have taken pity on you. They will bring her back from the Land Beyond Life. On one condition. You must travel and discover what makes your life worth living. When you do, the gods will resurrect Vela.” He had so much he wanted to say, but the only thing he could manage to choke out was “What about my chickens?” Chatelaine laughed at the absurdity of the question. “Don’t worry, I’ll take good care of them. You can trust me.” He really felt he couldn’t, but what choice did he have? He needed Vela back. She was his lifeblood. “But… I don’t know how to find the meaning of life. What do I do?” he asked, puzzled. “Why, I would ask the gods themselves. They can be rather vague. If you take the Spirit Road, you can make it to their realm.” “The Spirit Road?” He recalled the fantastical realm of legend that was said to lead whoever was most worthy straight to the gods. Nobody ever braved the Road out of respect for the gods and fear of what trials might await. “Yes. There’s no time to waste! Pack your things and get a move on,” she urged. He did as she asked, packing in a knapsack n necessities for the journey. All the while he tried not to question the absurdity of the last couple of minutes. He bade farewell to Chatelaine, placing his trust in her to take good care of his home. After only a couple of hours of walking, Atlas came upon the Spirit Road in all its glimmering glory. He took a deep breath. ‘Be brave Atlas,’ she encourages, ‘We’ve no time for thinking too much!’ He looked down and took his first step.
Wherever there are slashes, it’s meant to be italics lol
