I was never born to walk.
I hardly remember anything about my past. There are a few flashes, but the rest has long since faded away. But none of that matters now.
Every day, I fight for survival. I use names which are not my own, eat food that was not made for me, and walk only because there is no other choice.
Wings sprout from my back, aching to be used, to leave this cruel world behind.
No one is to know any of this, but I will continue anyway.
My name is Icarus, and I am forgotten.