I am Atlas, son of Iapetus. For an eternity, I’ve strived to prop this earth’s heavens on my shoulders. Yet it is only now, in this modern world, that I can relieve myself of some of this mighty burden. I started my sentence as sharp as a whip and as strong as an ox, fresh from the traumas of the war. I spent my first eras scheming, scheming of ways to gain vengeance over Zeus and the other Olympians. Though eventually and inevitably, it dawned that if I weren’t here, holding up the roof to Man’s playground, who would? I’d hungered for control and power for myself yet was gifted such a beautiful responsibility that, for the while, made me whole. In recent times, all is not well. As I’ve aged, I’ve grown anxious of dropping ‘the ball’. I fear my bones are growing too brittle and my joints too stiff. A dark void is sucking away my capability; was I not better suited for this as a young Titan? I recall the days when the likes of Odysseus and Leonidas courageously led their men to run rampant across the scrub. From where I watched, high above the clouds, I could see them hurting and grieving under the weight of their responsibility, and I understood how they felt. No matter how many battles were won and treacherous foes defeated, children would be orphaned and wives widowed. It all seemed hopeless… Forever, lone wanderers have been my only acquaintances. They could never understand the titanic struggle I was battling – lashing me with cruel jibes to “man up”. Their derision was constant… at least until now. Now my visitors want to share my burden. They want to talk. They understand me.