ICARUS

This was all my fathers’ fault, but out of respect, I couldn’t blame him. He was a brilliant inventor, a brilliant man, and yet we were locked into this labyrinth of death, which was, ironically, designed by himself.

He never should’ve given Ariadne the clew of wool. If he hadn’t done that, King Minos wouldn’t have locked them into their own labyrinth. Now, Father and I were lost, never to return to our lives. It wasn’t that great of a life, but it was a life, and this wasn’t.

Icarus let out a sigh, and walked to the window that was looking out on their self-designed prison. There was no way out. To the left, there was the seemingly endless ocean, to the right the miles-long labyrinth with the Minotaur roaring at its victims. Not the best place to be for a reckless young guy with a genius as father.

He turned around and walked down the steps of the tower they were in. In the labyrinth, no one was safe from the wrath of the half man, half bull that was never meant to exist, except for in the tower where they resided.

He soon reached the room his father was in, and curiously took in the instruments his father had made. Not only was he reckless, he was also nosy, which, combined with his high intelligence, wasn’t a great trait.

“Father, what are you making?” He asked. His father looked up from the pile of mess he was working with, and furrowed his brow at seeing the face of his son. When working, he wanted, needed, to be alone, and Icarus knew that.

“A way out.” was all his father said, before bowing over to the pile of feathers and sticks again. Icarus, being his nosy self, walked around him and studied the pile carefully. His eyebrows drew together a bit, his brain working overtime. Eventually, he let out a breath and his eyes widened. “F-Flying?” he stuttered. “Are we going to fly out of here?” His voice was laced with disbelief.

His father’s head came up again and he locked eyes with his son, who had guessed right, to his surprise. He nodded approvingly, proud his son had figured it out. Then he stood up, and walked to the window, just like Icarus had done a few minutes earlier. “You see, son, there is no escape.” He made a gesture to the window to prove his point. Because there was no escape.

“Unless...” At this point, Icarus had taken a stand next to his father, staring at the glimmering blue ocean. “Unless we fly.” Icarus whispered.

Because there, at the end of the ocean, was a city. Land. He had known that all along, but never paid any attention to it since he would never reach that land. In the beginning, it had called to him, luring him to the window to stare at it and dream about how it could have been.  He imagined himself in that land, dancing with beautiful women, eating delicious food, inventing amazing things. But soon, he had found that vague spot in the distance poison for his mind, as it was slowly driving him crazy between the round walls of his imprisonment.

“Unless we fly.” his father confirmed. “I calculated the distance, we should be able to make it.” He turned to his brown haired son, peering in his eyes. “Icarus, your life has only just begun. You can do many, many amazing things, and you will. But I have never had such a hard task as this, and I need your help. Let us be the first Greek who have flown.” His hand rested on the shoulder of his precious son, who nodded, his eyes full of determination.

They were going to escape.

They worked six days without pausing, and on the seventh day his father and he were the proud owners of their very own wings. Made from feathers his father had collected, twigs and wax, their wings were gorgeous. Never had they seen something alike to their feathery escape route. And they would never see something like that either. They were unique, sprouted from the mind of one of the most genius people Greece would ever know, and his son.

Exhausted, Icarus and his father dropped on their make-shift beds they’ve been sleeping in since their arrival. That night, Icarus’ dreams consisted of himself flapping through the clouds with his own pair of wings, making beautiful figures in the sky, before landing in the town they had been looking forward to. Gorgeous women surrounded him, scantily-clad and excited to meet the first man that had flown. All he felt was the giddiness of actually flying, and what it would mean to his future.

The next morning the first thing Icarus did was skip over to his window, still taken by the giddiness of his dream. This was it, this was the day they were going to write history. He silently thanked the Gods, and ran down the stony stairs.

In his own room, his father was already preparing a measly breakfast made of one of the chickens they had plucked for the wings and berries. They enjoyed it in silence, Icarus’ face filled with excitement, his fathers’ overtaken by a worried expression.

“Icarus, contain yourself. You must not make mistakes whilst flying, because every mistake is followed by a definite death.” His father spoke. Icarus looked at him questioning, wondering what his father was talking about. There wasn’t anything that could go wrong, was there?

His father took him by the arm and led him to the window, staring at the sky above them. “You must be careful. If you fly too high, the wax on your wings will melt and you will fall to an immediate death. There will be no saving you.” He pointed to the hot sun, already burning on the azure ocean. “And if you fly too low, the salt from the seawater will make the feathers heavier and they will drag you down.” Now he pointed to the innocent looking ocean. Icarus swallowed hard, imagining what kind of horrors would be waiting for him in the dangerous waters. “I shall take off first, and you will have to follow my path. If you don’t, you die. If you do, we’ll arrive safely on land. Understood?” His father’s brown eyes stared into his own scared ones. He nodded once, and took a breath.

The images of his dream came flooding back to him, replacing his fear with a certain kind of giddiness and cockiness. He was Daedalus’ child, of course he could do this!

His father and he turned to the wings and carried them to the top of the tower, then proceeded to put them on. Daedalus helped him with putting his wings on without breaking the feathers, and soon they both stood next to each other on the edge of the stone wall. His father turned to him one last time, mouthed a good luck, and jumped. Icarus closed his eyes, and like his father instructed him, reopened them after counting to ten. Then, his eager eyes searched out his father.

There he was, graciously sliding through the air. A grin broke out on Icarus’ face, and there the giddiness was again. Without thinking it through, he took the jump and fell down.

The wind was soaring around his ears, as the ground came closer quickly. He flapped his wings like his father had told him to, and soon his body was positioned horizontal. He was flying!

Icarus laughed like he never had before as he flapped his wings in the same direction as his father. Soon, he was floating over the beautiful water, the sunlight warming his back as if it were a blanket. He didn’t know where to look, his surroundings perfect, amazing. He enjoyed the wind he caused when he flapped harder, loved the rush he got from falling down a bit when he stopped flapping for a second. It was as if he couldn’t get tired of it, he could do this forever and ever.

Icarus became reckless, his excitement winning the battle from his rational thinking. He flew a bit higher, pushing his limits. He had long forgotten his father’s wise words, and only thought of the clouds where he wanted to fly through. He imagined it would feel as if diving into an enormous pile of pillows, soft and feathery, fluffy and amazing. So he soared higher and higher, completely forgetting everything but the clouds and the sun. He was enchanted by their beauty, his body warmed to the core. He flapped harder and harder, until all he saw was the suns blinding beauty. It lasted for a second. He swore he saw a gorgeous man winking at him for a second, before the rush of falling down took over all his senses. Fear overtook his mind, his head shifting from the left to right, seeking for a sign of the wings which he no longer possessed. As he dropped straight out of the air, he saw a single feather fall down, more gracious than Icarus had ever been. He closed his eyes. He had been stupid, reckless, and it had cost him. The images of his dream that would never be flashed in front of his eyes, a single scream from his father: Icarus! , but it was too late. He crashed into the alluring blue water, it engulfed him, dragged him down. He opened his eyes one more time, right into the welcoming sea blue eyes of what he presumed was Poseidon.

                         Welcome home, the water whispered.