I’m walking around the temple of Apollo with wide eyes, astounded by the beauty of the sculptures and the architecture.
I gaze up, the ceiling is high enough to erase any doubts that it reaches the sky. I watch the sculptures blend into the tall walls: their faces in awe, their eyes closed, restful. Tears seem to be falling down their unmoving cheeks.
All of this takes me back to a time where Gods were real. I’m lost in my thoughts as I take another step towards the stairs.
I’m lying flat on my back and the world is turning around me. My ankle hurts, throbbing as if my foot’s been torn off.
“Look where you’re going,” God Apollo whispers with a smirk.
Should I thank the Gods for this great lesson?
I want to cry as the Sun pierces into me, getting in my eyes and making my head spin. It’s too hot and I’m slowly fading away. I’m going to faint and probably die here. I hate Apollo. I hate temples. I hate romanticizing the past.
My mother looks at me with worry.
“I’m dying,” I whisper.
“We’ll get a cab to the hospital.” She gives me a hand and I force myself to rise, silently cursing at Apollo while he laughs, at least I think he does.
We take a cab under the gazes of pitying eyes.
“How did it happen?” The doctor asks when we arrive.
I look at him. “Apollo did it.”