Week 5 Story: A Tale of Two Suns
My father fashions us wings of wax, reed, and feathers. One brilliant invention, to escape the “payment” of another. “Icarus listen to me,” he warns, “becoming complacent and allowing yourself to sink too close to the sea will make your wings too heavy to fly. Flying too high will melt the wax. You must fly between these two extremes my son. Follow my lead and do not stray, or you will surely perish.”
I nod, but I find I cannot focus on the warning in his words, nor can I comprehend the danger he speaks of. My mind is too occupied with the idea of freedom from this tower. My father departs, flying out the window, and I follow. It is incredible. The wind rushes through my fingers as well as my wings, and I can smell the salt of the sea better than I ever could in that tower. I am a bird let out of its cage for the first time and I feel invincible.
I look to the sun, admiring the beauty of shining Helios and his chariot. I yearn to be closer to him, to feel his warm embrace, he who brings life and bounty. I fly to him, drawn like a moth to the Torch Bearer. The heat across my back mirrors the heat spreading across my face as fair Helios gazes upon me in a manner most inviting. I am sure I can reach him, I have to, to caress the face of the divine with the tenderness of Achilles to Patroclus. I can feel the wax rolling down my skin, as feathers loosen and fall into the sea, but it matters little – I am almost there. But alas, cruel fate will not allow me to fly any longer, and I begin to plummet further from beloved Helios. I let out a cry as I do, bracing myself to be dragged under the waves. But it is warmth I feel beneath me, not the cold, uncaring sea. I am in the sun chariot, with beaming Helios beside me.
“That was quite reckless of you, dear Icarus,” my savior, Helios, says, “there is no need to sacrifice yourself on my account. A bull is more than sufficient to get my attention.”
My mouth is dry. How does one speak to the gods? “I-I’m sorry, Torch Bearer,” I say.
“Do not let your ambitions exceed your abilities, proud Icarus. You have given clever Daedalus a dreadful fright.”
I nod, disheartened. Helios must notice my distress, for he adds, “I shall take you to the shores to reunite with your father. Be patient, and you shall see me again at night when my work is done.”
I nod, but I find I cannot focus on the warning in his words, nor can I comprehend the danger he speaks of. My mind is too occupied with the idea of freedom from this tower. My father departs, flying out the window, and I follow. It is incredible. The wind rushes through my fingers as well as my wings, and I can smell the salt of the sea better than I ever could in that tower. I am a bird let out of its cage for the first time and I feel invincible.
I look to the sun, admiring the beauty of shining Helios and his chariot. I yearn to be closer to him, to feel his warm embrace, he who brings life and bounty. I fly to him, drawn like a moth to the Torch Bearer. The heat across my back mirrors the heat spreading across my face as fair Helios gazes upon me in a manner most inviting. I am sure I can reach him, I have to, to caress the face of the divine with the tenderness of Achilles to Patroclus. I can feel the wax rolling down my skin, as feathers loosen and fall into the sea, but it matters little – I am almost there. But alas, cruel fate will not allow me to fly any longer, and I begin to plummet further from beloved Helios. I let out a cry as I do, bracing myself to be dragged under the waves. But it is warmth I feel beneath me, not the cold, uncaring sea. I am in the sun chariot, with beaming Helios beside me.
“That was quite reckless of you, dear Icarus,” my savior, Helios, says, “there is no need to sacrifice yourself on my account. A bull is more than sufficient to get my attention.”
My mouth is dry. How does one speak to the gods? “I-I’m sorry, Torch Bearer,” I say.
“Do not let your ambitions exceed your abilities, proud Icarus. You have given clever Daedalus a dreadful fright.”
I nod, disheartened. Helios must notice my distress, for he adds, “I shall take you to the shores to reunite with your father. Be patient, and you shall see me again at night when my work is done.”
Author's Note:
In the original story, Icarus falls into the sea and drowns after his wings melt. I changed the story to be from Icarus's perspective and changed the ending to a happier one. I made him choose to fly closer to the sun out of a desire to be closer to Helios after reading that Helios and Apollo are considered handsome, youthful gods. I had Icarus compare his desire for Helios to Achilles and Patroclus, as they have a notorious relationship that many in the class are familiar with. The title is a pun that is better when spoken. Icarus is the son of Daedalus and Helios is the embodiment of the sun; son and sun sound alike. I chose to write in first person since it is the perspective I am the least comfortable writing in, and I wanted to practice it.
-A.
Bibliography:
"Daedalus and Icarus" from Ovid's Metamorphoses translated by Tony Kline. Story Source.
Image Information:
Sun God Helios: Wikimedia Commons.
Great story Arthur and I think you did a good job of writing in the first person. This classic tale has always captured my imagination and your twists made the tale even more entertaining. The winged human aspect of the story reminded me of the movie Legion! Ovid's Metamorphoses is really a cornerstone of Greek myth and I'm glad we are both able to dive into it this semester!
ReplyDeleteYou wrote in your Author's Note that first person perspective is the one you are least comfortable writing in, but I definitely couldn't tell that from this story, so good job! I really liked the happy ending for Icarus--I always appreciate a good ending to a story! I thought you gave a good reason for why Helios would save Icarus as well. Finally, great pun in your title!
ReplyDelete