Icarus sat in the labor prison, cloaked against the hot sun. The guards are all looking at him warily. He had been here 7 years for stealing to get the money that would feed his dying neice and sister--and they all knew that both of them were long gone now without his support. But today, he was attempting to get out. And no was was going to bother to stop his hair-brained scheme, but they still felt obligated to keep an eye on him. Daedalus, Icarus’ father, had made his son a pair of wings, to fly out of the prison. One guard laughed as he looked at Icarus. Fly?! A human?!
The sun rose high above them. His time had come. Icarus threw off his cloak and pushed down hard on his wings, leaping 10 feet into the air.
The guards screamed. Some fired their guns at him. Others went to sound an alarm. One just stood there amid all the chaos, watching. “You fools! He cannot fly past the sun, his wings will melt and he will burn!”
Slowly, the cacophony slowed down and everyone stopped to watch. Icarus flew higher, higher, the wind whipping his face. His shoulder blades pulsed under the shift of the wings. The sun got closer and he started to sweat, realizing his error. Were he to fly higher, he would surely burn in the sun. But the wings were made to carry him up and up and up, he couldn’t tilt and just fall down.
Flames licked his wings and they started to melt. Icarus screamed, bracing himself for a fall that didn’t come. The fire enveloped him, hot and stifling. He couldn’t breathe. He was getting heady...floating…
And was suddenly aware that he was being reconstructed. He was melting in the sun, as well. And out of the ashes of his bones, a new form was shaping. He solidified and his senses were sharper than they ever were before. He stretched his wings and jumped into the sky, flames being created of his own volition off his body. He wasn’t just wearing wings, he was the wings!
A fiery beast, circling in the air, zeroed in on his prey. A young guard, the one who said he would melt. He dived, the flames growing at the overly oxidized air rushing past. The guard was crisp in seconds.
“Run, my friends! Run into the sun and find your true form!” Icarus cried.
The prisoners broke free, all of them running forward, leaping into the sun. None came back out.
Icarus laughed, flying up and away to his freedom. Only those who were not in their true form could possibly survive the sun’s flames.
The old Icarus was gone. And out of his ashes rose hate, anger, wrath, and, horrifyingly, beauty.
But, then again, the prettiest things were also always the ugliest.593Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡp6lEVgh8ts
