what tragedies befall us

icarus, come down

AN: im sad and lonely. ;-;

(not proofread, if google docs missed it then youre stuck with a mistake)

TW: Mentions of death/violence/pain/trauma, implied suicidal themes

There was once a boy.

A boy with bright blue eyes, a wide smile, and a hope for the future.

There was once a boy.

A boy quick to befriend, ready to protect, and having enough room in his heart for everyone.

There was once a boy.

A boy who was betrayed, left to rot, and was forced to learn the hard way that peace never lasts.

There was once a boy. A loud, friendly, beautiful little boy. A boy who only ever saw the good in people, a boy always focusing on the bright side, a boy helping others before even thinking about himself. A boy who wasn't the painter, no, but the blooming colours of his masterpiece.

There was once a boy, but now all there is are the ripped and shattered remains of a bright work of art. All that's left is a destroyed home, crumbling bridges, and a broken boy, made of cracked and ugly glass. All that remains of the once-beautiful painting are the shreds of canvas, shades mixed together in murky, disgusting colours.

The boy, They called him Icarus. Bright, curious, selfless, bold. Head filled with possibilities, hands filled with gifts and warmth. Practically glowing from how pure, how innocent his poor, poor soul was.

The Gods looked down from Their perches high, high up in the sky, and what They saw pleased Them. So young, so new to the world, so trusting and friendly. Perhaps at some point, the Gods would've had mercy on such people and spared him the pain, but They'd long ago learned good things never happened to heroes, no matter how hard it was for Them.

And so the boy, for his kindness and helpfulness and every good deed he'd done, was rewarded with fire and war and death. He was stripped of his valuables, of his peace, of his friends. He was cast out of the place he'd called home not once but twice, was there to witness the people closest to him get injured and even killed.

In the end, he strived for unattainable things, he flew too close to the sun. And we all know what happens to Icarus; he was dragged back down into the cold, harsh grasp of reality.

"Icarus, come down," The Gods murmured, and come down he did.

There was once a teenager.

A teenager with empty eyes, a slouch in his step, and a bleak future before him.

There was once a teenager.

A teenager unwilling to trust, too defeated to care, and keeping his heart closed under lock and key.

There was once a teenager.

A teenager who was taken for granted, neglected, and had been cast aside by the very people he loved the most.

There was once a teenager. A quiet, sullen teenager. A teenager betrayed too many times to count, a teenager no longer blind to the hate, a teenager too tired to do the best for him. A teenager who wasn't the painter, no, but the shredded pieces of canvas that remained.

There was once a teenager, but now all there is are the charred and smoky remains of a destroyed land. All that's left is the overwhelming feel of emptiness, the faded ghost of a brother, and a tired teenager, splintered into tiny fragments. All that remains of the once-solid frame are the shattered pieces, fabric scorched and ripped beyond recognition.

The teenager, They called him Icarus. Broken, tired, selfish, gloomy. Head filled with dreams of death, hands filled with pain and scars. Practically glowing from how beaten, how emotionless his poor, poor soul was.

The Gods looked down from where They were seated high, high up in the sky, and what They saw broke Them. So tired, so sick of the world, so silent and dead inside. Perhaps at some point, the Gods would've had mercy on someone like him and allowed his release, but They'd long ago learned heroes were forever needed, no matter how much it pained Them to see his misery.

And so the teenager, for his work and trauma and every wish for escape, was rewarded with the torture of having to live. He was dragged down from his pillar, pulled back from his bridge, kept in sight at all times. He was forever separated from the sweet feel of catharsis, was forced to withstand the apologies and pleas of people he no longer knew.

In the end, he pursued something he couldn't have, he flew too close to the sun. And we all know what happened to Icarus; he was held away from the soft, pleasant release of death.

"Icarus, come down," The people murmured, and come down he did.

AN: i actually took a week to write this and im tired, byee