(Not exactly the prompt but something I wrote for the story of Icarus)
Icarus knew He knew he would burn He welcomed the flame on fragile wings
He felt the pain for far to long He saw his father suffer When days are young he longs to break free To shed the shackles and fly
Hopelessness creeps in, the dream fades Screams echo, the nightmare remains How to envision something never seen You were always a prisoner, bound by a golden chain
Fethers and wax a heavenly escape The father ready, taking his child away The son broken, longing to say "I don't know how to leave, Don't know how to stay."
They flee before sunrise On wings not their own Hearts longing for a place to call home.
Icarus flies, one last glory to be had He joins Apollo in lofty heights Bids fair well to the world behind
His father broken and full of shame His broken son has left his pain
Icarus wept for the choices he made His pain had left him unafraid And he drowned
Aster sighed as she prepared to join her mother in housekeeping for the ridiculously wealthy Mr. Forester and his son, Ransom. True, it was an annoying, tiring, and frustrating job but at least it payed well. Even better for her, Mr. Forester was away on a business trip and only Ransom was in the house. She glanced at the luxurious surroundings and sighed, feeling trapped in this golden cage of wealth and privilege. “Well, might as well get this over with.” Aster checked the list left for her of tasks and rolled her eyes at the first thing. “Breakfast for the spoiled prince of the house.” She went to the kitchen and collected the heavily laden breakfast tray and struggled up to Ransom’s study. Knocking on the door, Aster opened the door and placed the tray down inside. She blinked in surprise when she looked around and saw no one. For all of Ransom’s faults he was almost always prompt. She rang the bell connected to his room and began tidying up the study while she waited. After a short wait Ransom emerged from the door on the far side of the room. Aster winced when she saw him. He looked terrible, dark bruses under his eyes, fever flushed skin, and trembling slightly. Aster ducked her head, “I brought breakfast.” Ransom tipped his head in a nod, “Thank you.” He stumbled over to the table and sat reaching for a bite of food before grimaced and putting the fork down. Aster restrained herself from rolling her eyes, “Is the food not to your liking?” Ransom closed his eyes tiredly, “It’s not that, I just don’t think eating is the best idea right now.” Aster noted that his left arm was wrapped tightly around his stomach. She softened slightly, he looked truly miserable. “Maybe you should get some rest.” Ransom sighed, “I have to complete my studies first.” “If you try and push yourself you’re just going to get worse.” Ransom shook his head weakly, "I can't afford to rest right now.” Losing her patience, Aster marched over to the desk and looked at the work Ransom was so desperate to complete. “This is your father’s work.” Aster exclaimed incredulously. “He asked me to complete it.” Aster shook her head, “Surely he wouldn’t ask you to do this if he knew you were sick.” Ransom glanced down at the papers, his expression pained. His silence told Aster everything she needed to know. “Well never mind that, you are going to get some rest before you get worse and I have to call an ambulance.” “Aright.” Ransom finally agreed and shakily walked back to his room. While he rested Aster searched the house and found some fever reducer and asked the cook for a light broth to bring back. After about two hours later she made her way back to the room and knocked on the door. “Come in.” Ransom sounded even more exhausted. Aster pushed the door open and stepped inside, to her dismay Ransom looked even worse than before. “Were you able to rest?” “Not much,” He sighed, “It’s okay.” Aster set the medicine and the broth on the bedside table, “Do you think you can eat something?” He grimaced, “I don’t think so.” Aster bit her lip in worry, Ransom was only going to get weaker and she didn’t know how to help. “You all have a family doctor don’t you? Should I call them?” Ransom flinched violently, “No! You can’t call her.” His eyes were wide with fear and he was breathing heavily. “Okay, I won’t,” Aster soothed, “Why though.” “She’s not… Good.” He was shaking slightly. “As a doctor or as a person?” Aster asked quietly. “As a person. She…” Ransom forced himself to continue, “She always wanted to examine me alone, always asked the most uncomfortable of questions.” Aster realised what Ransom meant, “Did she ever?” “No,” He whispered, “It never went that far.” Aster's heart raced. She had to find a way to help Ransom without involving the family doctor. “We won’t call her, but you need help. Would you be okay with my mom helping? She’s not actually a doctor but she is an adult.” Ransom laughed softly, “And here I thought you were doing just fine.” Aster rolled her eyes though she felt less annoyed than usual. “Ok,” He whispered, “That’s fine.”
Aster dashed and retrieved her mother, bringing her back to Ransom’s room. He looked even worse of than when she left. He was curled up on his side, face twisted in pain and tear tracks on his face. “We’re back.” She told him. Her mother began bustling around, checking his temperature and trying to make him more comfortable. When he finally blinked up at them his eyes were glassy with fever. “Dad?” He rasped, “you came back?” Aster’s heart broke, what use was all the money in the world if you wouldn’t even stay by your son’s side. “I’m sorry Ransom, it’s just us.” Aster couldn't bear the look of hurt in Ransom's eyes as he mistook her mother for his absent father, his grey eyes filled with tears and he curled in on himself again. Aster and her mother exchanged glances realizing that there was no way they were leaving Ransom now, not until he got better or his father returned. They stayed with him all throughout the night, fighting to keep his fever from rising and him from breaking. Both Aster and her mother tried desperately to contact his father but were met with nothing. Morning came and Ransom was more aware, the fever lesser. “How are you feeling?” Aster’s mother asked. "I-I've been better," Ransom mumbled weakly, managing a small, pained smile. Aster huffed, “I can imagine.” “What do you remember off last night?” Ransom thought for a moment, “Not much, I just remember a feeling of fear, wanting something.” “Your fever was dangerously high, it’s no surprise that your memory is foggy.” Aster’s mother hesitated for a minute, “You asked for your father.” Ransom winced, “I’m sorry.” “You don’t have to apologize,” Aster expression darkened, “He should have been there.” Aster reached for his hand, wishing she could ease the shattered expression in his eyes. “Do you think you could eat something?” Her mother asked. Ransom shrugged, “I can try.” Aster went down to speak to the chef, leaving her mother speaking quietly with Ransom. Around forty five minutes had passed before Aster had food in hand and was ready to return to Ransom and her mother. She pushed open the door to find her mother with her arm around Ransom’s shoulders as he shook with sobs. “Money doesn’t change the fact that he abandoned you. The fact that he hired an expensive doctor and an expensive assistant doesn’t change the fact that he left his son, knowing you were sick. It’s okay to feel hurt and betrayed, he is your father and his first priority should be his son.” Aster placed the tray of food on the bedside table and quietly moved to Ransom's other side, wrapping an arm around him. “You’re not alone, I promise. I can’t say anything for your father but I can promise that we will be with you.” Ransom calmed slowly, relaxing against the pillows. Aster winced, concerned at how weak he was. He reached for the soup, hands shaking and to several slow bites. Grimacing, he put the bowl down again, hand coming up to cover his mouth. “Food is still a no?” Aster asked. “At least I tried,” Ransom mumbled, a hint of disappointment in his voice before letting out a heavy sigh. “It was a good attempt.” Aster’s mother soothed, worry clouding her eyes. He hadn’t eaten in far too long and his illness was sapping his strength. “Try and rest, maybe you’ll feel better.” “I’ve been resting since yesterday.” Aster’s mother huffed, “You’re sick and need rest, don’t complain.” Ransom’s exhaustion seemed to get the better of him and he closed his eyes. “Just rest, we’ll be in your study if you need us.” Aster and her mother slipped quietly out of the room, leaving him to hopefully sleep in peace. Unfortunately, half an hour after they left they heard a thud coming from the bedroom. When they reentered they found Ransom on the ground curled up in pain. Aster moved to his side, “What happened?” “Fell.” He ground out. “What hurts?” Aster’s mother asked. “Everything?” He curled up tighter, stifling a sob.
(There’s more to this story, it’s just in my head and I’m having a hard time translating it to words so I wanted to post the first part in the meantime.)
I have held many things in my hands and have lost them all. I once held a crown, a kingdom, and love. These halls once filled with laughter, now silent. A king once strong and whole, now shattered, insane. The people throng around outside my empty castle. “My prince, give us aid.” “Save us my prince.” “Oh prince, help us.” They clamor for answers and they accuse. “You stay in your castle, your palace of gold. Do you care nothing for your people? You leave us to suffer and you leave us to bleed. This plague consumes us while you fatten and feed.” They don’t understand, here is where it began. I was the first to see the bodies. I was the first to close glassy open eyes. I was the the first to be broken. Or perhaps just the first to lie. Can’t they see how I try. Oh, I know it’s not enough. If my love wasn’t enough for my family then how could it be enough for them. I’ve tried to hide the bodies, disregard the ghosts in the hall. No, of course I still hear them in their rooms and in the halls. Blood stained hands, not their blood but mine. For as much as you take and you take and you take, and expect me to be fine. I am your ruler. I am your prince. I bear your burdens. I hurt just as much as you do. I weep and I bleed and I burn. I carry the burdens. I swallow the pain. I learn to live with the curse. If I could I would sacrifice myself. Throw myself off that cliff. I would care the pain of the world. Tear myself apart. Take on your tears, your sorrow, your anguish, so that you could be just okay. For what am I but an extra. A spare. A jinx. If this blood dripping down on the marble could atone then let it be known. I’d bleed and I’d bleed and I’d bleed rose red on frozen stone. Blood mixed with the water, won’t someone make it alright. A faint hope of tomorrow. A joy so far away. I close my eyes and I here you. I go quietly into the night.
A/N This is a bit of a character study on a character in a book I’m writing. In the story a plague/curse in the kingdom that causes excruciating pain and hallucinations. The royal family has taken the brunt of the curse and my character is the only one still alive/ not completely insane. The people think that he is removed and aloof from everything when in truth he suffers the most.
Every child at some time fears the darkness of their room. I feared the things that came while asleep. Night after night, dying, my mind creating pain where none existed. Wake up sobbing, gasping, wipe the tears do it all again. Vivid nightmares, strange for a seemingly sheltered child. A crushing fear of abandonment that one floating would give. Many adults to care an love but not one to call Mom or Dad. Moving into a house. Two stone lions. Very realistic. After dark, they come alive, padding on silent deadly paws. Upstairs downstairs, they find me. I can’t bear to see them but I’d cry to leave, and isn’t that a cruel irony. Special they call it, happens to very few. Brain creates dream, phantom pain lets me die watch the ruins. Even now I walk down the left side of the stairs, they can’t see me then. It sounds foolish, even I don’t understand, running from a pain that will fade a short time after waking.
(This is kind of all over the place, sorry. Basically I’ve had very detailed intense dreams since I was tiny. My brain will actually let me die in dreams and I watch whatever happens to my body after. I also can have something happen in a dream, cause pain, and I’ll still feel it like 5-10 min after being awake.)
Zimon gasped as he sat bolt upright, clawing, scratching at his skin. His breath came in gasps and he sobbed, trying to gain some kind of control. Black spots danced in his vision and his stomach heaved. He wrapped his arms around himself, shaking, trembling feeling as if he was falling apart. His skin felt as if he was on fire, he was burning, each breath singeing his lungs. Zimon groped for the glass of water on the nightstand, fumbling until his fingers closed around it. As he managed to sip at the lukewarm, day-old water, he slowly calmed. He forced himself to uncurl and place his feet on the cold tile of the floor, he drank in the feel of it, the cold soothing his pain. He furiously scrubbed tears off of his cheeks, angry at his mind for betraying him and his body for reacting so violently. He forced himself to go about his normal morning routine, even managing to choke down a piece of dry bread. Forcing a smile on his face, Zimon walked out the door. Not trusting himself to drive, his hands were still shaking too badly, so he chose to walk to the bus stop. He tapped out a message to Kai letting him know before letting his mind wander. Before long he reached the bus stop. Zimon then checked the time and saw he still had a half hour or so before the bus would arrive. He sat exhaustedly and closed his eyes, he was too tense and keyed up to truly rest but he still tried. Letting his mind drift, Zimon lost track of time. His eyes flew open and he jumped, startled, sometime later. “Kai?!” He exclaimed, his breath coming in sharp gasps. “Breathe Zimon, breathe.” “I am.” Zimon gasped. Kai rolled his eyes, “Breathe in a way that doesn’t sound like you’re dying, your stress is making me stressed and that’s really annoying.” Zimon laughed tiredly, “Sorry.” Kai leaned back, “You okay now.” “I think so.” Zimon shrugged. Kai slung an arm around Zimon’s shoulders, “Let’s go get food.” “But we were going to…” Zimon began. “You’re clearly not up for a big party with everyone, let’s just go chill.” Zimon nodded weakly, grateful for Kai's understanding. The two decided to eat at a small diner in the center of town. They say down to order and Zimon slowly started to relax. He chatted with Kai and felt generously lighter. Suddenly, everything happened at once. The chef burned something in the adjacent kitchen, a child tried to drink hot tea, and a car alarm started blaring. Zimon began scratching the skin of his forearm, pain flared against his skin, and beads of bright red blood dotted his arms. “What are you doing?” Kai exclaimed. “H-have to make it stop,” Zimon gasped, “It hurts, it hurts so bad.” “Zimon, please stop,” Kai begged. Zimons faintly noted that he was being led somewhere. Bright light hit his eyes and he squeezed them shut, sobbing. “Make it stop, I'm sorry, please just make it stop.” Zimon shook violently, legs giving out. His whole body was on fire, where were his sisters, he couldn't leave the them. “W-where are they?” “Zimon please, you’re here with me, we're outside the cafe.” Kai wrapped his arms around Zimon, “You’re safe.” Zimon slowly returned to himself, feeling wrung our and exhausted. Kai blinked at him with worried blue eyes, “What happened Zimon?” “The noise, the smell.” Zimon’s stomach heaved and he pressed a hand to his mouth. “Zimon?” “G-gonna be sick.” Kai placed a hand on Zimon’s back, “Shh, you’re okay. You’re safe, I’m here, you’re going to be okay.” Zimon finally calmed leaning against Kai in exhaustion. “I’m sorry.” He whispered. Kai shook his head, “No apology’s, you went through something horrible, no one expects you to be perfectly fine.” “I didn’t realize how much it still affected me, I mean there were the nightmares, and the panic attacks but I didn’t think it was affecting my everyday life.” Kai narrowed his eyes, “You didn’t tell me about the nightmares.” “I didn’t want you to know,” Zimon sighed, “I felt weak.” “Pain isn’t weakness.” “I think,” Zimon began softly, “I need help.” Kai nodded, “I understand. I’ll be right here if you need me.” Zimon stood slowly, “I’m scared.” Kai stood also, “It’s okay to feel scared, but I’m proud of you. Asking for help isn’t easy.”
Blood dripped down her arm as she hung over the cliff. “You have to let me go.” She pleaded, “Just let me go.” Zane just tightened his grip, “We got this far, I’m not giving up now.” Ayra struggled to gain purchase on the rock wall, “You’re injured Zane, you can’t keep holding on.” “You don’t get to give up, not now. You’ve sacrificed to much. There’s too much at stake.” Zane dragged her up another inch. Ayra found another foothold and tried to push herself up but slip an slid down again. Zane gasped in pain as he held on. Tears stung Ayra’s eyes. How much longer could they both survive this. The night grew darker around them as Zane fought against the spell trying to claim them. As Ayra became more exhausted she stopped trying to find footholds and climb out. When he saw the that Arya was giving up, Zane been chattering about random things, trying to encourage both of them. “How can you talk about food at a time like this,” Ayra snapped, so exhausted she barely knew what she was saying, “I suppose this whole effort is a joke to you. I should have known, you are the tyrant’s son after all.” Zane didn’t respond, he only redoubled his efforts to pull her up. “Nothing to say?” Ayra spat, “Isn’t that convenient.” “If your so angry, why don’t you tell me to my face. Or are you scared?” Zane taunted. The wind howled around them, as Zane fought against his own pain and exhaustion. “I’m trying,” Arya growled, not realizing that she was steadily making her way up the cliff. Fueled by her anger Ayra finally made her way to solid ground. Zane collapsed beside her, panting heavily. He looked at Ayra with a mix of exhaustion and relief, and managed a weak smile. When Ayra recovered, she glared at Zane, “You tricked me.” Zane laughed tiredly, “It worked.” Ayra forced herself to her feet and held out a hand to Zane. As soon as they were both standing, they felt the pain of the curse. Zane closed his eyes, “It won’t let us both leave.” “I should stay, you’ve sacrificed more than enough.” Ayra murmured. Zane gently pushed her away from the cliff’s edge, “You have to go, you have to be the one to return. The people would never believe their oppressor’s son.” Ayra swallowed a sob, “Please Zane, don’t ask me to leave you.” Zane smiled sadly, “I’m at peace with this, you can go.” He pressed a hand to the ground, near the eerily glowing talisman, “I, Zane, of the Lions tribe offer myself instead of Ayra.” The talisman flared, and Zane collapsed to the ground in pain. His wounds had ripped open and were bleeding badly. Ayra fell to her knees next to him, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry for everything.” Zane turned his head to her, “Why are you sorry, I chose this.” Ayra smoothed his hair away from his eyes, “I'm sorry for the things I said. You are nothing like your father. I'm honored that I got to know you.” Zane's eyes slipped shut, “I'm glad I didn't drag you back to my father when he ordered me to. I would have missed so much. Thank you, for showing me that there was more than the constant discipline and and fighting.” Zane sighed, “I only wish I could have seen more.” Ayra shivered, unsure if it was the cold or the scene before her. Zane deserved so much better than to be treated coldly his whole life and then to die just as he had a glimpse of happiness. Zane's eyes opened, they were filled with tears, “It hurts.” Ayra took his hand, “What can I do.” “T-tell them, when you return, what happened. Please, I want at least one of my people to be remembered for something other than violence.” “Oh Zane, of course I will.” Zane winced, struggling to draw in a breath, his eyes earnest and pained “Promise?” Ayra nodded firmly, “I promise.” Zane smiled, “Good.” His hand went limp in Ayra’s and his eyes slipped shut. Ayra gently placed his hand on his chest and stood, “Goodbye Zane.” She wished she was able to do more but the ground was hard and rocky and she had nothing to dig with. As she turned away, Ayra made a silent vow to honor Zane's last request.
Ayra made the rest of the journey in shock, wondering what had happened. She arrived back at the base near nightfall and was lauded as a hero. The people gathered around asking many questions. As many times as she tried to bring up Zane, the people shut her down. They told her that there was no way the son of a tyrant could have helped her. Using the information that Zane had given her and with pain in her heart, Ayra helped lead her people to safety. Once they were finally established Ayra was asked to address her people. She vowed to try once again, to show Zane as a hero and not just a villain and the tyrant’s son. She mounted the platform and faced the crowd. Opening her mouth she prepared to speak. “Don't you dare say anything about that boy,” a low voice behind her threatened. Ayra’s heart shattered yet again, even if she tried no one would listen. Amidst the roaring applause, a silent tear fell, reflecting the story she could never tell.
I approached the crash site with caution, wondering what our enemies were doing so far into our lands. Would this be the start of a war? The state the airship was in made it highly unlikely that there were any survivors. I had my orders if there were however, if they were dying leave them to die and if I was able, bring in someone for questioning. Taking a deep breath I stepped in the wreck. Shining my light around the dim space i instantly saw that at least half of the crew had died. Bodies were strewn about and blood covered the floor. Steeling myself, I moved further in. When I stepped into the control room of the ship I began to hear harsh breathing. Someone was alive. “Where are you?” I called. A sharp breath, “Here. Please come, help.” I shone the light in the direction the voice came from a saw a young man, perhaps a few years older than me lying on the floor badly wounded. Remembering my orders, I turned to walk away. “Please, please don’t leave.” He begged. “Give me one good reason that I should stay.” He shifted, trying to turn to me but was stopped by a harsh coughing fit, blood spattering his lips. “I-I know I shouldn’t ask anything from you.” A tear raced down his cheek, “I don’t want to die alone.” My defences crumbled and I knelt next to him. “It’s okay,” I attempted to be soothing, “I won’t leave.” His eyes slipped shut, “Thank you.” I sat in silence for a time until he moved again, face twisting in pain. “Hurt’s. It hurts.” I battled with myself, I knew I could not only end this but also save him. I hated these thoughts because he was the enemy, but right now he was scared and In pain and looked far too young to be caught in the endless fighting between the nations. Finally decided, I placed a hand on his shoulder. “I’m going to heal you, I’m going to take away the pain.” I said quietly. He flinched, “Y-you can’t. You might be exiled from your people.” He struggled to draw in a breath, “I’m not just one of the crew, I’m their prince.” I recoiled, standing up and turning away how could I help the enemy prince. My people would despise me. But how could I leave, he was willing to giving up his only chance to not die alone and in pain. I looked back at the prince, he lay curled on his side a hand pressed to his chest. He was shaking in pain tears falling silently. He made no noise, no motion to call me back, even in suffering. I knelt back down, placing a hand on his shoulder again. “It’s okay,” I murmured, “I understand the risk.” I began pouring magic into him. “Thank you, thank you.” He whispered. I knew my magic was painful when I healed and I hated that to ease his pain I had to cause more. He bit his lip, drawing blood, attempting to stifle any sounds of pain. Even with my assistance I could see him growing weaker, I was going to slow. I poured more magic into healing him, wincing as he jerked in pain. “It’s okay, it’s going to get better, it’s okay.” He stifled a sob, “Please. I-I can’t.” “I’m sorry it hurts so much. But you can, you are strong enough to pull through this.” He nodded, fresh determination in his eyes. The gruelling process continued, exhausting both of us. I desperately hoped that I was strong enough to finish what I had started. The prince's suffering seemed unbearable, but I refused to give up on him. He continued to try and stay silent, even while shaking from the pain. Finally I snapped, “You don’t have to remain so perfectly silent, you are in pain, I know. No one would blame you if you were screaming now.” He seemed to take that as permission to break, sobs breaking free. “It hurts,” He whimpered, “Just hurts. I’m sorry.” After what seemed like forever, I had done what I could. If all went well the magic still swirling around him would finish healing him. “Forgive my manners.” He laughed softly, “I don’t know your name. I am Ashe, prince of the lower kingdom.” I relaxed slightly, “Lorelei, knight and protector of the kingdom of the sea.” “How long before the rest of your company wonder where you are?” He tried to sit up and then flopped back down with a pained groan. “Easy, easy.” I soothed, “You’re still healing.” Ashe had a hand pressed to his newly mended ribs, face twisted in pain as he forced himself into a sitting position “You should go.” He ground out, “Before it becomes dangerous for you. Thanks to your healing I will be fine now.” I reached out and gently squeezed his shoulder, “I’m not leaving. I started this thing and I plan to see it through. I’m going to make sure you live.” “It’s not safe, you could be branded a traitor.” “You nearly died, please stop trying to think of everyone else.” He started to tremble, “M-my whole crew, they’re all dead aren’t they.” I nodded, “I’m so sorry.” He ducked his head, shoulders shaking as he cried. I sat silently next to him a hand on his shoulder, sharing in his grief. “What happens now?” He look at me with wide, tear filed eyes. “We find you something to eat and a place to stay.” “And then?” “We live.” “I don’t want to go home.” Ashe whispered. “Then you don’t, that’s not your home anymore. You’ll have a new one.”
They used to say I was their hero, their knight in shining armor. Then he came, a stranger from the north who took my throne, my crown and my appearance. The people see me as a monster now but they have no clue of the real monster among them. They don’t see me trying, breaking, cracking. They say I’m a monster, I am his mirror but truly, spare me, for I am just a man.
