Fiction
4 min
My Son and the Sun.
Crow Van Thiel
"May the Gods protect your soul. Be free, Icarus."
Another night. Another day. Daedalus was seated in a cell with his own offspring, rotting away in the stale air that marked the walls. It was quite the claustrophobic experience, especially for his son. He could see his sorrowful expression, his desperate glances towards the sun that awaited him outside. It was painful to witness.
"I want to go outside," his son had said one day. Daedalus responded as he always had.
"We cannot," he replied. "It is forbidden."
"But who says it is? I only ever hear you speak these words. It's dumb is what it is." Daedalus remembered rubbing his temples only in frustration.
"Mino says it is. It's not dumb, Icarus. If we were to leave, he would surely kill us."
"Kill us?" His son, Icarus, had scoffed. "What a lie. I'd have his head before he gets a hold of his sword!" He remembered Icarus standing and outstretching his hand, fist clenched as if holding a weapon. Icarus let his arm fall to his side. "Anyways, he can't kill you. He needs you, remember? So why can't you leave?"
"Because he needs me," Daedalus repeated, having glared off to the side. "He wishes to use my inventions for his own selfish purposes, and can't bear the thought of me leaving Crete."
"What nonsense!" Icarus had boasted, throwing his arms up into the air once again. "This is all nonsense! I ought to escape right now!"
Daedalus had been significantly annoyed at this point, and responded in the same manner. "Let's see where that gets you," he had sighed, sitting down whilst crossing one leg over the other. He knew Icarus would see the fault in his words pretty fast; they were so high up after all, it would be impossible for his son to do so much as climb his way out.
"Thank you!" his son had sighed dramatically, walking over to the singular window Mino had ever-so-kindly gifted to them in this tall tower. With one look out the window Daedalus could tell that Icarus remembered the height at which they were elevated. Icarus' hands grew pale as he stared out at the sight before him. "Maybe... Maybe not today," the boy stuttered, having shaken himself free of any fear as he walked back to his father.
Another day inside the tower. Daedalus and Icarus were bickering. It was nothing new. The same old argument on just another day.
"Today's the day! I swear it on my life!" Icarus was louder today. Maybe it was the heat, but both the son and his father seemed much more agitated than previous days.
"Oh, what will you do? Grow wings?" Daedalus grumbled, rubbing his temples in visible frustration as he always did. "Maybe I will then!" his son had replied almost immediately. Icarus turned to look out the window again just as he had done days before, little fear in his eyes.
"Grow wings..." the father pondered. What a remarkable revelation, he had thought at the time.
"Yeah? Yeah, what of it?" Icarus challenged, stomping around this cell of a tower. "I will do it; I swear on my life! Mino won't even see me coming! I-" Daedalus held his pointer finger to silence his son, much to Icarus' dismay.
"Do you know why Mino trapped me in this tower alongside you?" he had questioned the teen, staring off into the distance whilst heavy in thought.
"Yeah, you could make lots of inventions and such. If you left he wouldn't be able to have those inventions anymore--how could I not know?" Icarus rolled his eyes. He flinched as Daedalus snapped his fingers. "Exactly," his father declared with no further explanation. His son attempted to get more out of him, including many unanswered questions, but he wouldn't budge.
He had work to do.
Not just another day. Today was the day.
Hidden beneath an old dusty tarp in the corner of the tower was what Daedalus had been working on for several sleepless nights, hiding from the nose of Icarus. But today he would show him--today Icarus would fly.
The tarp was released. Dust flew throughout the singular cell. A sneeze sounded, then a gasp.
"Wings!" Icarus exclaimed, and Daedalus knew he remembered their conversation days earlier. "Are these for me?" His father nodded, visibly sleep deprived yet proud of his fine work.
"Yes. These are wings made of fine wax I cultivated, and, being as light as you are, you will wear them and fly to freedom!" Daedalus held his hands high into the air as an act of triumph, seeming the happiest he's been ever since his own capture.
"How will this even fly?"
"It will fly so long as you continue to hover. But there is one simple rule that you must follow," he had warned his son, "you must not fly too close to the sun, otherwise they will melt." Icarus had audibly sighed at the mention of a rule to the wings, especially when they were supposed to promise freedom. He reluctantly obliged, though, and strapped the wings to his back. Daedalus tightened them, then stepping back to admire his work. His son would fly.
"Be free."
After heavy preparation, Icarus was positioned on the sill of the window, and with a grin back to his father, he was off.
Icarus was ecstatic. Initially believing he'd have fallen, he instead was soaring through the air. He could see everything from this view. Everything looked like miniature models, the people ants. It was enamoring. With a tilt to the right, he could soar in that direction and the same the other way--he could even fly higher if he so pleased. His father's warnings were far behind him; he was free, flying as high as a bird.
Maybe even too high.
Icarus, the boy heard as he flew higher. Icarus, come and join me.
Icarus knew not where the voice had come from, but knew he should do as it said. It was a calming presence, if anything can be described accordingly at such an elevation.
Join me, the anonymous voice beckoned once again. You will experience this same freedom. No laws, no regulations. We will be free.
Icarus looked up. He knew where the voice was coming from.
He knew of the consequences; he knew of his father's warnings of the sun. But his father was rule-based. He was strict. Icarus could finally be free, from both his father and the tower.
So he flew higher. The heat became more imminent, but he did not care in the slightest. Icarus, with the desire and intent to be free, flew higher and higher until it seemed as if he'd reached the sun.
And he did.
~~~
Daedalus knew of what had happened almost immediately after his son had left his sight.
His Icarus was gone.
This was an entry for a writing contest held in conjunction with Center for Fiction and The Decameron Project
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