Week 2: Storytelling--Feathers on the Waves

I tire of these shores. Of the pounding surf on the harsh jagged rocks, the relentless crashing of the surf.  I built the king a wondrous labyrinth, and in return he trapped me here, far away from my native lands.  But I will not let him take from me my future, my home!

If there is no way to escape by land or by sea, than our last recourse must be the sky.  For King Minos does not rule the heavens, even though in his arrogance he believes that he owns everything.  My son and I must escape through the skies, flying as the birds over land and sea, soaring through ivory clouds.

I will make us wings!  Wings comprised of feathers fallen from birds on this wretched island, of the long reeds that are used to play such sweet music, and of beeswax and thread which fasten together my invention along a gentle curve.  With them, we will defy the natural order and fly from foreign shores.

But, alas! I worry for Icarus, my dear son.  He is impulsive, reckless, and knows not danger.  I do not wish for him a life of imprisonment, and I wish that he may live once again on the beautiful shores of our homeland.  Yet I am afraid he will not heed my warnings, that he will dip low over the waters and be weighted down by the moisture of the damp sea air.  Or that he may soar too high, and that the wax binding together his wings may melt in the heat of the sun.

But I will not allow us to live here, imprisoned unjustly on this gods-forsaken isle!

And so, as we prepare to leap off into the sky, I issue to my darling son a final warning.  He nods at me eagerly, green eyes sparking with mischief.  I wish to smile back at him, but my heart is sinking, and I cannot stop the tears that streak silently down my face.  My hands tremble and shudders wrack my body as I affix his wings, and I cannot help but place a gentle kiss upon his forehead as a silent prayer to the gods.

I am prolonging our departure; it is time for us to take to the skies!  I beat my wings strongly, feeling the resistance of the air as I lift off from the accursed isle.  Anxiously I look down upon Icarus, who in his rush fails once before rising from the ground.  He looks at me with wonder, mouth dropping open, amazed at this skill, this new game.  More shudders travel down my spine, increasing my unease.  But we are flying, airborne, between the sun and the sea and on the pathway home!

No!  By Hercules, no!  Icarus, I turn away for a moment to find our path and already you have abandoned your father, your guide!  Come back to me!  Do not let your desire for the heavens overcome your sense, your reason!  Return, before devouring Helios destroys your wings, our only hope for escape and survival!  Icarus!!!

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

He is gone.  My son, my darling, beautiful, lively son is simply gone.  Swallowed by the seas after having been ravished by the sun.  His last word was my name, cried out in a moment of true terror, and I could only look on in dreadful realization--I was going to lose him.

Agony rips through me, tearing my very soul in two.  I did this.  I did this.  My quest for escape, my desire for home, the inventions of my mind led to this inevitable end.  I killed him.  I killed my son.

Icarus!  Your feathers survived the fall, now decorating the waves below like streamers left dejected on a street after the festival has passed through.  A last testament to your downfall, a decoration on what may well be your unforgiving tomb.

Icarus!  Where are you?  Which way should I turn, to find you?!  Your scorched body lies below, tormented and tossed by unrelenting waves.  But even as I swoop down to retrieve you, I know it is too late.

So rest, my darling son, on this peaceful isle, far from the land of our imprisonment.  Rest, and remember only the glory of flight, and not the terror of the fall.  Rest, and remember our wondrous homeland, its fertile soils and gentle slopes.

Rest, Icarus, and forgive me, a father who only wished the best for his child.

Author's Note.  Hey, all!  So I decided to tell the story of Daedalus and Icarus, one of my favorites from Greco-Roman mythology.  I told it from the perspective of Daedalus, simply because whenever you read other versions of this tale, you just know what is going to happen, and you know he knows it, too.  Yet he still attempts escape, even realizing he may well lose his impulsive son.  Imagine the heartbreak of knowing you invention may--and then does--kill your son.  That you have to watch on in agony and horror as he falls from the skies, first burned by the skies and then tormented by the seas.  How heartbreaking must that moment have been? . . . Anyways, I hope that you enjoyed my retelling!  Ciao!

Image Information.  The Glory of Icarus, photo manipulation; ReyeD33.  DeviantArt.
The Fall of Icarus, photo manipulation; ramastom.  DeviantArt.

Bibliography.  "Daedalus and Icarus" from Ovid's Metamorphoses, translated by Tony Kline (2000).  Web Source: Poetry in Translation.