Icarus

I am free! The feeling is incredible, like nothing I have experienced before. I have nothing to compare it to, except what a bird must feel: the height, the wide blue sky all around, the dark ocean below. The freedom. At this moment, I would gladly give anything to fly like a bird forever. I never want to land.

I fly in great looping circles and experiment by tipping my arms left and right. I fly lower and lower, skimming my hand in the water. My father shouts to me, warning me of the dangers: the mist will dampen the feathers in my wings, and they will go limp. I laugh from sheer ­delight, but obey and return to him.

The sun is hot on my back and the breeze holds me aloft in a cocoon of warmth. I am content for the first time since Minos imprisoned us in the labyrinth. The heat above entices me, and I climb a little higher. My father does not notice, so I fly even higher. The sun grows warmer. It is wonderful. Down on earth, it is so cold. But up here, I am warmer than I have ever been. I float on the breeze, resting my arms.

I hear my father shouting my name, and I look down. He has a look of terror on his face, but I do not know why.

Suddenly, I find myself slipping lower, away from the heat. I flap my wings, hoping to rise again, but I can not. The sun has melted the wax that hold my wings together. I continue to fall; there is nothing I can do.

I rush past my father in a freefall, and he shouts my name. I reach out to him and he grips my fingers, but I slip from his grasp. I am frightened. The ocean swells up beneath me, larger and larger. It looms closer.

In a second I am swallowed up. The last thing I see is my father looking down in terrible sadness, calling my name. But the ocean snatches his voice away from me, and I see no more.