Icarus

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Other  |  House: Booksie Classic


(Just a little something while I'm working on a bigger story) The point of view switches between reality and daydream each paragraph.



And in that moment, I felt like Icarus

Submitted: April 24, 2018

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Submitted: April 24, 2018

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In that moment, I felt like Icarus.
 
I was falling, with wax wings searing my back and feathers being ripped out of my skin. I was not in control of myself anymore and it felt joyous. Throwing my head back, I let out a cackle as I plummeted towards the ocean. Wind pulling me further and further down, while the crashing water whistled and waved at me. My world was falling apart as I stood in the middle of it, just relieved that I would not live to face the consequences of my actions.
 
But in reality, I was pinned up against the wall with a knife digging into my throat, staring into the furious, but beautiful eyes of a man I once loved, and who once loved me. My ears felt as if they were stuffed with cotton, because he was speaking to me, yet all I heard was a deafening ringing of a single word, over and over. Betrayed. Could he not see that this was all so that he would be happy? But all I could see on his face was pure anger. He spat on me, digging the knife further into my windpipe but not yet slashing my throat.
 
Waves tickled my toes in the second before I hit the water. I stayed in that moment for an eternity. Wax had reached my legs, slowly numbing my thoughts as it burned at my skin. This was heaven. They would write in the history books about me, Icarus, the man who flew too close to the sun. But they wouldn't know that it felt like heaven when you accept your fate. It felt like heaven to have flown, legitimately flown, even if for less that five minutes. It felt like heaven to be free of earthly burdens.
 
"You're a traitor and a fucking cheater, you hear me? Why should I not slit your throat right now?" He hissed at me, while grinding the knife so far into my throat that I was choking and he had broken the skin. I remembered his name, Tyler Finnigan. Paying no attention to his rage and the even more violent spittle directed at me, I looked at him, examining features I hadn't seen before. His black eyes, the alabaster of his skin. The horns protruding from his head and the faint, almost unseeable scars of sigils carved into every visible inch of his skin, woven through the purple, throbbing, visible veins. He was scarily beautiful as a demon.
 
I crashed into the water, wax clinging to my skin, almost trying to burrow itself into my body as a hiding hole. It didn't come off with the salt water, sticking and spreading like vaseline. Water filled my lungs, and stung my eyes as I sunk deeper and deeper, cackling on the way down. I was free.
 
He pulled me up by my hair and slashed the knife across my throat. I couldn't breathe as blood spilled out of my neck. The world began to fade but I was free. 
 
And in that moment, I was Icarus.


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