Icarus

Daedalus regretted the day he escaped out of the maze. He remembered the excitement that had filled his head, thoughts of freedom and so much more; the giddiness he had saw in his son as Icarus spread his arms wide and ran around and around his workshop, pretending to fly. Icarus wasn’t wrong. They were about to fly, just after the sun came up so that they could see through the daylight.

Daedalus regretted sealing their man-made wings of feathers with hot wax onto their backs. There were probably a few miscalculated drops that burned against their skin, but who would’ve cared if they were going to be the first pair of men to fly amongst the birds?

Daedalus regretted not seeing it soon enough, the way his son always veered ever so slightly upwards; Daedalus regretted not telling him exactly why not to fly upwards.

And as a loud cry of laughter escaped Icarus’ lips, down, down, down he fell under the sea, out of Daedalus’ sights.

 

~

Icarus does not regret playing childish before he took flight with his father. His father had told him of the plan weeks ago, and Icarus had obediently kept his mouth shut. He had often imagined himself soaring above the clouds just before he went to sleep, and just before the dawn, he had run around and around his father’s workshop before they escaped. He felt free.

Icarus does not regret his father accidentally burning him with hot wax. It had burned so, so hot, and he felt like his shoulder was being sawed off, but he gritted his teeth in spite of the excruciating heat; after all, they were going to be the first pair of men to fly amongst the birds.

Icarus didn’t regret the way he had soared upwards towards the sun. He couldn’t understand why his father wasn’t enraptured by the beauty of Helios’ chariot as he was. Icarus felt liberated, even when he could feel liquid wax dripping off his shoulder.

Icarus lets out a sigh of relief, along with his last roar of laughter.

He now falls down, down, down into the maws of the great, blue ocean.

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