Icarus

________________ __________ Never regret thy fall, O Icarus of the fearless flight For the greatest tragedy of them all Is never to feel the burning light. -Oscar Wilde __________ ________________ Weightless What a fitting word, Icarus thought as he watched the feathers of his ruined wings float above him. It wasn't something he could describe, because there was nothing like it. There was nothing to compare the feeling to. He reached out a wax glazed arm to wrap his slender fingers around a golden feather. He heard his father cry out his name but he didn't understand why a note of panic laced his tone. Icarus did not fear his fate, so why should his father? The boy tilted his head back and smiled as the wind whipped at his hair finding bliss in his momentary flight. Falling through the sky didn't seem like a bad way to spend your final moments, he thought to himself, letting go of the feather he had caught. He stretched out his arms and a laugh tumbled past his lips. He could no longer hear his father's voice but there was no sign of fear in Icarus's eyes as he closed them. The ocean loomed up to meet him, the waves crashing mercilessly against eachother, fighting over who gets to break his wax scorched body. He tasted the salt on his lips before he reached the churning mass beneath him. The cries of the circling gulls, the music to his demise. The golden, ashamed rays of the sun, the cause of his doom. Icarus didn't fear death, he made no attempt to hold his breath as his body hit the water. And he was swallowed by the hungry abyss of the cold sea. The only witnesses were the sun, and a god sitting in a chariot among the clouds.