When his father told him to jump from the tower’s opening, his legs were shaky and his throat was dry but once he did an excited shout leaped out of him. He kept flapping the wings but it wasn’t steady enough and he could feel himself dropping lower. With all his strength, he moved his arms with intensity until he was keeping up a steady rhythm.

“Not too close to the sea and not too high to the sun,” his father advised as he adjusted the wings on him.

“I know, I know,” Icarus replied, antsy, gazing at the window as his father gave him a peck on the forehead.

“Be safe, my son. We will find our freedom from my creation,” his father said while pulling away from Icarus.

That was just a few minutes ago and Icarus could still see his father’s labyrinth when he looks to the side. For a second, he wonders what it would feel like to glide above the stone walls. Would he hear the minotaur’s footsteps and glide with ease as he evaded him? Or would it feel like a thrill as he heard the minotaur slam his head in the walls of the labyrinth that it would bring a cackle of joy out of Icarus’s mouth.

“Keep steady, my son,” Icarus could hear his father’s advice in his head and he turns away from the sight of the Labyrinth and looks forward.

As he flies, steady like a chisel in a trained hand working on a statue of the gods he finds some company. To his side, a flock of birds take notice of him and they accept him as if he’s their own. How lucky are the birds who fly in the sky? For they get to do this every day! The excitement inside of Icarus bursts out into another gleeful shout and it scares away the birds who fly away with him with quickness. Disappointed, he frowns and his eyes lift.

The sun. A constant. A wonder that so many dwell on…what if? No! Icarus shakes his head, keeping his steady rhythm.

“Not too close to the sea and not too high to the sun,” Icarus repeats to himself, letting his head lower.

The sea sparkles under the sun’s gaze and Icarus wants so desperately to swoop down towards it. His throat feels dry, the filth on his body is a hard shell on his skin, and…no! He could not let the sea tempt him.

When he was in the tower, his father had given him the last drop of water. Icarus reminisces on the taste. It was hot, unsatisfying, leaving behind a desperation for more. There was no more water in that tower. Inside the tower, it was hot and even now sweat still covered his body as he flew. Icarus flies into a memory from a couple of days ago.

By this time, he felt like an expert of these wings. His father tasked him to touch the ceiling and stay there for a few minutes. It was an easy task, one Icarus had managed to achieve after a few times of use but still Icarus eagerly agreed. As he flew upward, he felt sweet relief from the heat as the wind from his arms cooled him down a bit. He spinned in the air, the coolness embracing him even more. His heart thumped in his chest, dancing like a man that’s received a god’s blessing. His heart is singing to him, a tune that says this is where we belong.

The heat, his hotness were all forgotten as he flew upward and then touched the tower’s ceiling. The ceiling was hot against his fingers, causing him to pull his hand back and let out a yelp. Still, he didn’t have a desire to descend because as much as his hand hurt from the burn his love for flying in the air burned brighter.

It grows. The dryness in his mouth is itching to tear his voice out. The temptation spinning in him to drop in the water becomes a frail rope he finds himself reaching for. No, he chastises himself, using his father’s voice in his head. He pushes himself away from his thoughts of water, looking straight ahead.

The sky is clear. A lighter blue than the sea. If he closes his eyes could he pretend that he’s swimming amongst the cooling cleansing waves? Could he pretend his tiring thirst isn’t weighing him down?

A cool breeze hits his face. It gives him a much needed temporary relief.

As the wind hits his face, his mind goes back to when he first tried on the wings and listened to his father’s instructions. At first, he didn’t get off the ground, his feet stayed on it like a lost coin that has yet to catch someone’s eye. Eventually, he levitated off the floor but seconds later a harsh fall greeted him. His father took the wings off of him, studying them in a way that told Icarus that his father was deciphering the wing’s secrets. Despite his fall, all Icarus could think about at the time was how thrilling it was to levitate in the air even if only for a few seconds. And here he is now in the sky dutifully listening to his father’s advice with boredom as his only companion.

But what if he went a little bit higher? His heart beats at the idea, longing for it. With all his strength, he moves his arms with more intensity until he is moving upward. A smile crosses his face and he wonders how it’ll be if he moves just a bit more upward…

In the tower, when Icarus first gained height and stayed in the air his father had clapped in excitement.

“We’re free!” His father exclaimed. “Oh, my son, we’re free!”

Icarus didn’t respond, instead, he let out an exclamation of joy as he stayed ascended. His sandals dropped, making a rather dire sound as they hit the floor. As high as he was, Icarus could tell concern had reached his father’s brow.

Seconds later, he heard his father shout. “Alright, you should come down now, Icarus!”

But he didn’t want to come down. He moved higher and higher, wondering if the gods had made a fatal mistake giving him arms without wings. Icarus was meant to soar! To fly! He flew further upward and then spun around, diving lower but coming back up again. Even in the tower, a small enclosure compared to his current setting, Icarus found a freedom that the ground never granted him.

Icarus is pushed out of his memories as his desire to stray away from his father’s advice becomes stronger. Just a little higher, he thinks and moves even higher than before. He flips himself over and stares straight at the sun. It’s majestic and calling to him like a siren’s song to a captain of a lost ship. It blinds his eyes with its brightness, causing him to squeeze them shut but Icarus does not feel deterred by this but longing…

Icarus flips himself over again but this time spins himself until his back is facing the sun. Closer, he thinks. I need to get closer….

Icarus's mind goes back to the day his father first presented his newest creation to him. The wings were made of feathers of whatever birds passed by their prison. It took so long to gather enough and as the days turned into weeks then months Icarus wondered if this tower was to be their grave. Seeing these wings for the first time gave Icarus a taste of freedom…of life. In an instant, he clawed for them like they were fruits on a bush or a tree. His father pulled it away from his grasp.

“Not tonight, I would prefer we test these out in the daylight.”

“But father…” Icarus responded in a whiny tone. “We are growing weaker each day. Please, just let me put it on now!”

“No,” his father said in a firm tone as he set the wings aside. “You will wait until tomorrow.”

That whole night, Icarus couldn’t sleep. He stared up at the tower ceiling, imagining himself flying.

Flying in the air is so much better than anything his imagination could conjure. It’s so much better than flying in the limited setting of the tower. And yet…here he is imprisoning himself to his father’s advice.

Higher. Icarus decides to push himself even higher, daring to get closer to the sun. The dryness of his mouth is forgotten. The longing of the sea is washed away from him. This is against his father’s advice but his father would never understand how the sun beckons Icarus. His father was always overprotective and what harm could there be by getting close to something so beautiful?

Yes, in fact, if he could get closer, maybe the sun would radiate even more… yes, he thinks, the sun shines even more radiant upon his gaze. It’s as if they belong together…two beams that can’t help but shine.

With only longing in his heart, Icarus flies higher straight towards the sun.