Atlas

• Charlotte Russell, Grade 11
• Short Story
• 2022

Thump. Thump. Thump.

I step in time to the familiar rhythmic heartbeat that echoes throughout the bustling city. The groan of life is dissipated by hundreds of other lives, walking, taking, snoring, laughing. Few people can hear such an ominous sound, reverberating through dark alleyways, rippling hot coffee freshly made in looming skyscrapers.

My eyes scatter around, wondering if anyone else heard such a deafening groan. They don't. ‘It’s dying’ I think to myself. The heartbeats slowing, the weight of a thousand people crushing its echoing heart.

I try not to ponder the effects of when the creature does finally stop. When the rhythmic thumps die out to silence, only to be immediately replaced by the hustle and bustle of an ignorant city.
I wonder if they know they're killing it? If they know each light switch flipped and car key turned is simultaneously draining and drowning the creature beneath us. I doubt they would care if they did. Too engrossed in their phones and ambitions to change the course to our impending dystopian future.

I take a breath of borrowed air as crossing lights begin to sing, beckoning me to cross the vibrating road. Myself and fellow strangers are complacent in our traveling, allowing the repetitive beeps of urban control to lead us to the safety of an opposing gum ridden path. Devouring broken moans and echoing organs, the constant beeps give me a sacred moment of ignorance. I forget the dying creature under me and the apocalypse it will bring.

Thump. Thump. Thump.

What would happen to the creature once it died? Would it sit lost underneath an uncaring world - one too preoccupied with its own dreams to uncover such a specimen?
Would it decompose? It's lifeforce polluting the air in sickly odor?

When I was little I used to believe the creature living beneath us was Atlas, holding up the world in all its glory. Now I believe - I know - the creature isn’t holding us up. We’re pulling it down.