Write by the Cards: Day Twenty Two
A Hidden Danger
If you’re new to The Rebel MFA Way, welcome! This is my daily work for my Write by the Cards: 30 Day Challenge that I’m hosting. Learn more here. Scroll down to the end to see my behind-the-scenes commentary and source material.
But the bold action uncovered a hidden danger: {draw a card}.
Here’s the thing about being born into a “legacy.” Everyone tells you it’s an honor, a privilege. They hand you trophies before you’ve even done anything, pat you on the back for carrying the family torch like it’s not burning a hole in your hand. For me, that legacy is Nike—yes, that Nike, goddess of victory, wings, and all.
But let me tell you, being descended from the actual divine personification of winning isn’t as great as it sounds. There’s no escaping it: the shiny plaques, the unspoken pressure to win at everything from dodgeball to spelling bees to life itself. And don’t even get me started on my dad’s motivational speeches, which boil down to “failure is not an option.”
Anyway, all of that led to me standing here, at the edge of the old woods, holding a golden feather and wondering if the goddess herself was about to smite me for skipping track practice.
•••
When she showed up, it wasn’t with fanfare or trumpets. No, Nike came out of the shadows like she’d just had the worst day of her immortal life. Her wings dragged behind her like they were too heavy to lift, and her armor? Rusted in places. Not that I was judging her. Honestly, I appreciated the vibe. It made her look less “divine warrior” and more “overworked retail manager who just broke up a fistfight in the cereal aisle.”
“So,” I said, because someone had to break the silence, “is this the part where you tell me I’m special, and destiny’s calling, and blah blah blah?”
She raised an eyebrow, the kind that could cut a mortal in half. “You’re about as special as anyone else who’s ruined their life chasing something meaningless.”
“Wow, thanks. Great pep talk. I’m really feeling inspired now.”
She sighed, folding her wings with a rustle like dried leaves. “You think victory means winning.”
“Uh, yeah? Kind of the definition?”
Her laugh was sharp and humorless. “Victory means sacrifice. It means carrying the weight of every win on your shoulders until you forget why you started. It’s looking at your reflection and not recognizing yourself anymore.”
•••
She threw the laurel wreath at my feet. It was just a circle of leaves, nothing special, but the way it shimmered in the fading light made my stomach twist.
“Take it,” she said. “If you want to keep running the race, chasing the finish line, this is yours.”
“And if I don’t?”
Nike tilted her head, her expression somewhere between pity and exhaustion. “Then you stop. Right here. Right now. You break the chain. But it’ll cost you.”
“What exactly?”
“Your fear of being ordinary.”
Her words hit like a sucker punch. Because yeah, she was right. What kept me running wasn’t the love of victory—it was the terror of falling short, of being forgotten, of not mattering.
•••
With shaking hands, I picked up the wreath. It felt wrong, like it was alive and pulsing with a heartbeat that wasn’t mine. Images flooded my mind: Nike’s battles, her triumphs, her endless, lonely flight. Always moving forward, never stopping to rest.
“I don’t want this,” I whispered.
Her wings unfurled, a shadow against the rising moon. “Then destroy it.”
It sounded simple enough. Just break a wreath, right? But as I raised my foot to stomp on it, I felt the weight of every expectation, every voice telling me to keep going, to push harder. My dad’s voice was the loudest, booming in my ears: Failure is not an option.
I closed my eyes, took a deep breath, and smashed the wreath into the dirt. The ground cracked like thunder, and golden light shot into the sky. For a moment, I thought I’d done it wrong—that I’d unleashed some ancient curse—but then I looked up and saw Nike.
Her wings were burning. Not in a way that screamed “eternal torment,” but like phoenix flames—cleansing, beautiful, freeing. She smiled, and for the first time, she looked… light.
•••
When it was over, she stood before me, her wings glowing faintly. “You did what I couldn’t,” she said. “You let go.”
“Yeah, well, don’t get used to it. I still cry when someone likes my ex’s Instagram post.”
Her laugh was soft this time, almost warm. “You’ll figure it out.”
And with that, she was gone, leaving me alone with the silence of the woods. For the first time in forever, I didn’t feel the pressure to move, to win, to prove myself. I just stood there, breathing, alive, ordinary.
And it was enough.
Behind-the-Scenes Commentary
This was another card pull where I wasn’t very familiar with the Goddess or her story, but the minute I read about her, I realized that she represents SO many of us. I immediately thought of my teenage years and the pressure to be “perfect” and to “win” at all costs which informed the narrator for this one.
This is also a great example of why I feel that myths and stories are so universal and relatable… who hasn’t felt this deep pressure to be all things to everyone?
Source Material
Goddess Power Oracle by Colette Baron-Reid