Atalanta

Part 4

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Paused for breath, I try not to move as a single bead of sweat slicks the back of my spine. Shivering, I glance up at the crowd. Indecipherable faces stare back, lining the walls of the stadium and filling the space with their cheers. Stretching my weight from one foot to the next, I try not to consider the destiny which awaits me.

Today is one day of many.

Another day of nausea, another day of fear choking my veins. Another night of despair which poisons my dreams and keeps me awake until morning. On most nights, I lie and stare at the ceiling. I hear the cries of men I have killed – over and over, until I fear I'll go mad. My most peaceful hours are my waking ones; at least then I can distract myself, then I can pretend I am normal and not embroiled in hell.

Except on days like this one. Stretching both arms overhead, I recall with irony how I once loved to run. Now, I run every day but find no joy in the action. Only hurt. Only pain. Only fear.

In the weeks following Artemis' decree, my parents sought alternative answers. They searched for a way out of the madness, but it soon became clear Artemis would not be trifled with. As time progressed and my options dwindled, I was forced to admit the truth of the matter – I am not blessed, I am cursed.

Lowering my palms, I arch my back towards the sky. At first, my parents refused to comply with the order because my father was prideful – he thought he could determine a way in which everyone wins. He was wrong, of course.

No one wins but the gods. It was only a few weeks into our holdout the disasters began.

First, came the floods. Then the plague. After was the earthquake and it was around then, my mother began to beg. Artemis would not stop; she would continue her rampage until she got what she wanted, no matter how many innocent souls were killed in the process. Eventually, my father agreed a few willing men dying was better than all Dietas.

The moment we agreed to the trials, the pestilence stopped.

Everyone exhaled because the worst was behind us – except for me, of course. My nightmare had only begun.

The trials. So-called, because they are a test of humanity. A trial of Dietas where my soul itself is at stake. Men come to race for their future – only to lose by my hand and be murdered for sport.

Nausea curls in my stomach, seeing their faces before me. One might think that, given the quantity of death I have observed over the past year, I would become numb to the torture. Not so. Each man I race, their face remains etched in my mind – I cannot help but weep for them, each time I cross the finish line first.

Taking a breath, I expel air from my lungs. The man I race today is one I do not know the name of – this is something I choose on purpose. The first few times I raced, I desired to meet them. I wanted to look them in the eyes and beg them not to compete. It was not worth the risk I said, but all of them laughed in my face. They winked, before walking off to the lockers.

These men run a fool's errand. These men have no hope of winning. I am the fastest there is; it is the destiny Artemis decreed and I cannot change it, no matter how hard I try. The first few times I raced, I did try. I attempted to fail, because I wanted the men to live but it is impossible – I am a weapon, I found.

I still remember the first race; the day burns clear and bright in my mind. For the first length, everything went according to plan. I kept pace with him easily – even before my bargain with the goddess, I had always been fast. Things went south at the second lap, when the man stumbled a bit. I tried to slow, attempted to let him catch up but found I could not.