I know you made him with gunmetal bones and wolf's teeth. I know you made him to be a warrior a soldier a hero.
But even gunmetal can warp and even wolf's teeth can dull and I do not want to see him break the way old and worn and overused things do.
I do not want to see him go up in flames the way all heroes end up martyrs.
I know that you will tell me that the world needs him. The world needs his heart and his faith and his courage and his strength and his bones and his teeth and his blood and his voice and his— The world needs anything he will give them.
Damn the world, and damn you too. Damn anyone that ever asked anything of him, damn anyone that ever took anything from him, damn anyone that ever prayed to his name. You know that he will give them everything until there is nothing left of him but the imprint of dust where his feet once trod. You know that he will bear the world like Atlas until his shoulders collapse and his knees buckle and he is crushed by all he used to carry.
Dear God, you have already made an Atlas. You have already made an Achilles and an Icarus and a Hercules. You have already made so many heroes, and you can make another again. You can have your pick of heroes.
So please, I beg you— he is all that I have, and you have so many heroes and the world has so many more. Let him be soft, and let him be mine.
