almost
"Stop it," Athena demands, "I’m not good enough — look."
She gestures at the bundle of papers, crumpled and unwanted.
By all means, the grades are acceptable. But acceptable is also synonymous to not good enough.
Just like her. But not her name.
Artemis’ mouth trembles, struggling to form rebuttals or attempt to shower placatory praise, but the outcome is always the same; her breath catches in her throat, she turns to look away. Part embarrassment, part denial.
Athena is right — academically speaking, Artemis is good, too good, even. And every time, no matter how hard Athena tries, Artemis is always out of her reach. Too far ahead, too brilliant, too, too, everything.
But obviously that isn’t the only thing that matters, is a concept that Artemis fails to convey. Perhaps it is her tone — seeping arrogance, or being emotionally incompetent — unable to , or maybe it’s them — the way they’ve all been programmed to care about grades, grades, grades and grades. As well as grades. That ultimately nothing else matters, because if you aren’t smart enough to be numerically relevant to grading systems, you aren’t worth anything.
But an eternity isolated at the top is lonely, and there is far too much time spent alone pondering how one even arrived there. And eventually, doubt settles in, oxygen deprivation dulling her senses. It is almost trance-like, the way she slips into her thoughts, and the ideas of the world she contrives while in this state are the only things that anchor her to the edge of the Earth.
"Athena. Please…" Artemis chokes, as her winged goddess claws at her torso.
She doesn’t respond — at least, not immediately; she doesn’t know how to.
She knows, she knows how hypocritical it is to dare claim that grades aren’t everything. That there is more to existence in this society than scholastic excellence. And it kills her inside, little by little, as Athena’s worth is overlooked by society.
But deviation from the norm isn’t acceptable. No matter how special or talented Athena is, there isn’t enough to compensate for lack of traditional academic finesse. No amount of code she spews from her fingertips can ever patch up the gaping holes in her report book.
She could try harder.
She needs to be more focused, less emphasis on her extraneous pursuits.
She can improve if she bucks up.
"All this work, and it all amounts to nothing. I d-don’t deserve to be wi- here- you."
The wolf runs her hands through the owl’s hair. She has no words to offer, for they are all empty and cruel. There is no escaping that fact, that she will never quite get to understand or experience flight and fall, for she has always been bound to the lands.
No amount of comfort or praise can even begin to compensate for years of being labelled as inadequate.
The motion is mechanical, but Athena still finds comfort in repetition. If anything, it is still a mark of her worth, her existence, and her reason.
Tangible. Present. Loved. But musical logic does not quite apply to real life. Happiness here is not what myths and fables speak of.
Eventually the sobs quieten, but their bodies still shudder from emotion. The struggle drains, and they exhaust themselves as reality overpowers dreams.
Even in silence, there is no escape, no denying that this world is cruel and broken and blind.
There is no respite from this madness.
