Icarus

"He set off to the mountain to challenge the sun again."

Icarus gasped as he washed up on the beach of an island. Everything hurt.

His wings had been eaten by the sun and sea, feathers scattered all about. He rubbed his head. The fall had not been pleasant. He saw a mountain in the distance. A little olympus challenging the horizon.

Barely missing a beat, he started to collect the feathers. He melted a few together with mud and bound the rest with a bundle of twine. He set off to the mountain to challenge the sun again.

Because what's a few more steps and a little old climb?

The first leg was in the forests. His wings were caught in every branch and every bramble. There were several times it got tangled in the leaves, leaving Icarus to tug and pull under the mocking stares of the birds. One time, when the wings became tangled in a rosebush, he nearly gave up. But then, he remembered the mocking stares of the birds, and raised his chin a little higher.

He then scaled the mountainside, his wings weighing him down as he gripped stone and stone. As he scaled, there was a flash of light, and Helios God of the Sun floated by the cliff face. He smiled at Icarus, but not in a friendly way.

“Those wings look awfully worn little bird.” taunted the Sun God. “I wouldn’t recommend using them.”

Icarus didn’t respond, he simply continued to climb.

“You know this is foolish, right? Mortals aren’t meant to fly.”

Icarus continued to climb.

“You are going to fail. I will simply burn these affronts again and again until it gets through your thick skull..”

Icarus continued to climb.

When Icarus reached the top of the mountain, he decided to rest for the night. The night was cold, and the moon was unsympathetic. The wind billowed, taking all the heat it could from Icarus’s bones. But the young bird wrapped his man-made wings around himself, and they shielded him like a blanket.

In the morning, Icarus felt rested and optimistic. The mountain’s ledge was filled with old pine trees, sturdy and uncompromising. Icarus felt oddly at home. He wandered the trees, looking for a very particular thing. The arrogant god had been right about something, Icarus’s wings were very worn.

The young bird crouched down and scooped up a bit of resin from the tree. It was golden and gooped in his fingers. His father’s design had been brilliant, but it was flawed. Icarus would improve on it.

So he bound his wings with the resin, with the wisdom and sturdiness of the pines, and made his way to the top of the mountain.

The view was beautiful, but only a fraction as beautiful as what it was like in the sky. Icarus lashed his wings to his back, and took a deep breath. The air was inviting, unlike the mud, stones, and sun. It challenged him, but with an honest smile. It was curious to see if he could tame it.

The old god and his sun blazed above. Furious at the little bird's progress and gaul. Icarus smiled, and made a rude gesture to the sky.

Then he jumped. Then he flew.