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Newly added art was not a rare thing for any museum, no matter the prestige. Pieces often rotated through their halls and this was never as true as it was with the A. Lynn Museum of Fine Art. Its paintings were sought after and some were bought by private collectors within days of its reveal - priceless artifacts laid safe within its walls and no thief had ever managed a successful heist. Yet, for all its famous painters and one of a kind heirlooms, the A. Lynn Museum kept great pride in their marble statue collection. Shown only during certain hours, the statues lined the outdoor paths the museum had curated just for public showing.

No one was quite sure how old the statues were, just that most were delicate relics from the past. Never had a statue left—any statue that had entered the courtyard stayed. But as the years went by and as the generations passed through one of Europe's oldest museums, no one quite understood nor recalled the ages that had weathered itself into the fine lines of the marble. Experts had argued with each other over the statues' precise ages; and when a brand new statue was added to the collection, another group started arguing yet again. They had never stopped their speculations and had never quit, their stubbornness lasting throughout the years.

This second group was the statues themselves.

The statues were forever arguing over their age, none but a handful staying silent. So when a new statue was added to the collection, they quickly detested the others. The older statues were broken in many ways: some had been fated to balance on one leg, another simply a head with the most expressive of faces, others yet with no arms and unable to hold a thing. A particularly unfortunate statue had kept it all except their head, forced to communicate in gestures alone. The new statue, a beautiful rendition of the artist's husband, had yet to fall prey to time and they had no issue in telling the others their many faults.

Days passed, weeks gone, months over in the blink of an eye. Yet the statues argued on into the night and into the seasons. The arguing did not head the uncomfortable stickiness that often accompanied summer and the newest statue, called Husband, had finally had enough.

"Would you all be quiet for once?" Husband exclaimed, crossing his arms. He usually did not deign to speak with the older statues, so his question was met with complete silence. Satisfied with all the attention on him, Husband preened for a few seconds before he continued, "Honestly, who cares who the oldest is? You're all run down shams of what art is suppose to be anyway."

Most of the statues rolled their eyes, used to dealing with the more egotistical pieces of the museum. But, instead of staying completely silent, a growl pierced the damp air. Bodies turned and eyebrows raised as a statue hobbled forth on their one leg. The statue was of a woman, her body curved as the goddess statues were, her body made out of the more uncommon black marble rather than the accustomed white. As one of the usually silent statues, everyone was surprised by the storm in her eyes and the thunder in her throat. Even Husband found himself without a voice.

"You've got some damn nerve, boy," she spat the last word out, her trusty paintbrush pointed at him as if it were a knife.

Covering his sudden bout of anxiety, Husband swallowed his flash of fear and sneered. "And why should I care about what you say, old woman?"

Whispers ringed at his words but the other statue just broke out into something too ugly to be a smile. "Because I am A. Lynn! I am the founder of the museum you are in, sweetie." A. Lynn laughed, her short hair lightly bouncing as she threw her head back. Still snickering, she said, "You best respect your elders. After all, nothing's stopping me from giving you a nice little push."

Shocked gasps echoed throughout the empty garden. No statue had ever threatened in break another—not even the most heated arguments ended in such a threat. Husband, however, was oblivious to her sincerity.

"Oh, please," he scoffed. "Why can't you act more like the old man over there? After all, he obviously knows his place."

A. Lynn raised her eyebrows and turned to where Husband had pointed. Her eyes found his mark in the shape of an older man. He was one of the unfortunates who had lost a leg; now all he did was kneel upon his podium, a rock perched on his shoulders, chips and slivers of marble gone from his arms and torso. A. Lynn turned back to Husband, his face glowing in smug satisfaction, and laughed again. She laughed until she was choking and would have been on the ground had another statue not come to her aid.

Husband, eyes flashing and mouth pulled tight, hissed, "And what is so funny?"

Gasping for air she did not need, A. Lynn wheezed, "B-because you still don't get it! We—we do not care about being prettiest, whatever the hell that means." She rested her weight against the headless Adam statue that had helped her, his Eve still at their platform, and grinned crookedly at Husband. "Kid, we all argue with each other on who the oldest is so we can guess as to how old that old man is. Hell, I'm modeled after the museum's creator and I've never known a day without him."

"And? What's so special about a guy holding a rock?"

"Really? That's all you can focus on?"

"Of course! Who cares about his age when he's doing nothing? Not to mention he hasn't ever said a single word since I've been here!"

"That has absolutely nothing to do with—!"

"That is quite enough, Lynn. Let an old man defend himself, hm?"

Shocked into absolute stillness for another time, the statues could only look at the moving statue in glances. The man had finally raised his head, his shifting sending a shower of dust to the ground. The newest statue eyed the oldest for a few seconds before he pursed his mouth in distaste, but even he did not make a sound.

"Young man, I am Atlas, the Titan punished to hold the world I once tried to destroy." Atlas' voice did not creak as an old man's would - rather, it boomed out of his chest as if he were still whole and shining. "This rock on my back is the world, its years with me turning it into something unrecognizable. Yet I still hold it, no matter what."

Husband's eyebrows were furrowed. "Why? Why not just let go?"

"Because, should I let go, the world shall cease to be. Because I have long since accepted my punishment. Because it is what I was created to do." Atlas' voice was soft, though it carried easily. Without another word, Atlas lowered his head and spoke no more.

Around them, the statues picked up where they had left off. Questions bounced back and forth and old arguments started up yet again. Across the pathway, Husband saw A. Lynn return to her own podium and he wondered when he would end up broken and scratched by the elements. So when the next statue came and the statue after came and every statue that always followed suit, Husband was the first to set fire to their eyes. He would be the one who explained, with a quick glance to Atlas every time, that nothing was quite as it ever seemed.

After all, it wasn't him holding the world.