The razor-sharp edge of the queen’s gilded dagger grazed Athena’s throat. She could feel the cool blade against her neck and the fierce quiver of the queen’s hand threatening to tragically end the conversation.

Athena kept her head held high. “I came here for a conversation, perhaps a negotiation, not aggression.”

The queen smiled and held her hand steady. “That’s such a laugh to hear when you walked into my domain with your sword in hand. You are no longer among the ever-reverent Athenians who would light their homes on fire if you so much as mentioned feeling a chill.”

“I agreed to slay the sirens leading your men to their underwater graves for a paltry sun capable of covering nothing more than my passage. I held up my end of the deal years ago and have since completed all of your requests. Your men are safe and above land, your crops remain bountiful, and your children have flourished in the light of the security I’ve dutifully provided. In return, your financier has gone into hiding and your soldiers made the mistake of aiming their spears at me at your northern entry. And then… well, that’s the reason why my throat has the honor of meeting your blade today, is it not?”

The queen tightened her grip on the dagger and then threw it down upon realizing that no army could stop the wrath that Athena’s death would bring.

Athena rose and slid the dagger into her boot in one swift movement. “I’ve given you and your court more than enough time to settle your debt. At least the Athenians know when to open their arms and close their fists.”

She started trailing her fingers toward the hilt of her sword. Stories of her epic battles had traveled much further than the mainland. She knew that’s all she had to do.

The queen’s lip trembled. “I’ll double the payment — triple it — a wagon filled with gold drachmas for you to take with you. And then I will double your rate as a token of our gratitude for your continued protection.”

Athena contemplated accepting the queen’s offer, but what good would a few extra pieces of gold do in her pile? She didn’t do this for the money. She was born into opulence. She did this to serve and honor her homeland, to help keep these people to atone for the sins of her fellow Twelve Olympians. This time she slayed sirens, next time they would ask her to rescue them from a Titan. She was tired of being taken for granted simply because she chose not to employ her father’s cruel tactics to keep civilizations in line. There is no peace in a war waged against yourself.

“I have a better idea. You keep your money, I keep my sword in its belt. The sirens are gone, but they’re far from all that the bumbling fisherman you call sailors and soldiers will encounter in coming days, months, years… I won’t be around to find out. You are not to summon me or send any messengers. It is time for your people to sink or swim and time for me to seek solace in the magic of no responsibilities.”

The queen collapsed to her knees and pressed her hands together in a desperate plea. “Please, we will die. Anything but that. I would sooner have you slit my throat instead to protect my people.”

Athena felt that familiar twinge of sympathy and guilt that brought her to this point: defending her life and her honor against yet another gold-trimmed mortal too small-minded to comprehend the value of her supernatural sacrifices. They only sent for her when they needed something, and they laughed when she stood her ground because they knew her heart was too pure to inflict Zeus’ punishments upon them. They stomped and stomped over her light until all that remained inside her was a crushing darkness.

She had never felt so tired. They finally took all she had left. She silently pushed past the begging queen and walked outside the tent. She felt as if every ounce of energy in her had been stolen from her, yet she had never felt so weightless. Athena had never realized how heavy the burden of the world’s troubles had been on her shoulders. She shed each piece of armor and weaponry that she had carefully put on that morning, carelessly casting them aside as she approached the field of flowers outside the state boundary.

Athena stepped into the meadow and collapsed with her arms spread wide like the smile forming on her face. She had forgotten what the simple pleasure of surrounding yourself with peace and beauty felt like after a lifetime of fighting others’ battles. It was time to rest and protect herself, if she could remember what that meant again. She didn’t care about the incoming fury of the Olympians for stepping out of her role. All she cared about was the bed of irises embracing her and the new warmth of the sunshine on her tired, bare limbs.

June 27, 2101 – Washington, DC –– This morning, a HoverPod traveling on the silver rail and occupied by several dozen younglings catastrophically collapsed into the ground layer. Upon inspection, it appears that the gravity inverter failed due to an algorithmic error. As a result, the program copywriter responsible for writing the faulty prompt has been promptly terminated. His widow has been reassigned to his previous position to keep production on track.

I don't understand why people always talk about seeing a light at the end of the tunnel when you die. It's more like seeing your life in infinite dimensions and timelines in front of you, but all you can make out from far away are the moments that punched you in the gut the hardest. So you're just squinting and getting a headache and then all of a sudden, you get the wind knocked out of you.

I'm not talking about the middle school bullies or the time you wore two different shoes to work, but the ones that really threw your life into a tailspin — and the worst part? I had no clue what these moments meant when they happened. I just tacked them onto the running balance of life's memories and experiences that I let pass me by.

Then, I looked down on my most successful moment. This is what they talk about, right? Some people are curious to see what fate selects for them, but I knew exactly what was lined up. My priorities were crystal-clear. I was surrounded by everyone at my firm just a few years ago, looking out at a glorious ring of feigned admiration and poorly-concealed boredom. My ego trip made the weak, scattered claps sound like thundering applause. This was the moment that they announced my big promotion, the moment that proved that my sacrifices were all worth it. I remember how powerful I felt. I also remember how I felt when I realized I had absolutely no one to call with the good news. Everyone was long-gone by then.

Then all of a sudden, I felt like every last molecule of oxygen had been knocked out of my lungs. I saw my wife — not the way I remembered her, but the way I left her, the image I have been trying my hardest to block out for nearly a decade. Those big, brown eyes looked hollow and glazed over in the reflection of the fluorescent ceiling lights. Her skin had lost its summer glow long ago, leaving behind a pale, cold face that was tired of grasping onto something that was no longer there.

I looked down at the withered form of his wife, this grayscale version of a woman whose heart was once larger than life itself, and sighed. I could feel my mouth moving to say those haunting words and tried as hard as I could to stop it. I clenched my jaw and felt like I was stuck in the world's most cruel lucid dream, trapped in an impossibly vivid nightmare that I could never wake up from. There was nothing I could do anymore to change the past, the present, the future.

"I have to go. I'm going to be late for my flight to the conference."

I hadn't noticed it then, but all I could see now was the last ray of light in her eyes going out. That was the moment when she realized it was time to let go. She died later that evening while I was listening to a speaker drone on about billboard advertisements hours after my session. I had only stayed because the firm's senior leadership was sticking around and I was determined to make partner. Even in that moment, I was thinking about how I could climb to the next rung in the ladder to see the grass on the other side instead of watering my own lawn. I didn't even find out until I turned my phone back on at the hotel, hours later. My phone was off so as to be a courteous attendee and apparently, a devastatingly awful husband.

Honoring my wife in death as I did during her life, I ran away. I couldn't deal with the loss and could not even fathom talking to the kids then. They had flown in from their respective corners of the country to be with their mother in her last moments, and I decided to take my last precious moment with her and smash it into a million pieces under the boot of my cowardice.

I couldn't face them, and so I chose to simply not to. It has been eight long years since I've spoken to either of my children. I last saw them at my wife's funeral and felt the words get stuck in my throat every time I tried to think of the right thing to say, the right combination of words that would magically make this all okay.

Now I'm in the same hospital I last saw my wife at, living only thanks to a series of tubes and machines with the occasional mental zap of cruel irony to keep me on my toes. I had a massive stroke that my doctors say is the result of years of neglect, which is perfectly on-brand for me. I guess those long hours, intensely stressful weeks, and quick bites of junk food between meetings kind of wrecked my body over the years.

I always thought I would die surrounded by my loved ones, but I could only picture being surrounded by my coworkers also slowly dying in captivity, now seemingly mocking me with their applause at my failed spectacle of a life. I made partner by sacrificing everything. Why did I ever expect anything more? I wasn't even there.

I wish I had the strength to pull the tube out of my trachea so I could laugh one last time. All this just to give them a house in total disrepair and a check for the meager amount left after medical bills and gambling debt. This is how my legacy and my body finally die: alone, cold, and condensing 65 years of repressed emotion into one last, desperate tear.

I hope there's nothing at all on the other side. I can't handle continuing to browse through my library of mistakes. I can't handle seeing her again and needing to find the right words when there are none.

Don't leave the house without them:

Phone, wallet, keys.

Passport, social security card, birth certificate.

The tea kettle from grandma.

The crayon drawing our son made for Mother's Day.

That nice sundress he threatened to cut up.

Once I leave the house:

The door closes along with this chapter.

I won't respond to his scathingly cruel messages.

I surrender any trinkets left forgotten at the old home.

My parents' house must be made home again.

My son will ask why we're not celebrating Father's Day.

But also:

My son will finally get to take those piano lessons.

I now have help at home rather than a second child to worry about.

I never have to look at holes in the wall again.

I will find someone who loves me fiercely yet gently.

For once, I can write our next chapter.