CARAMEL ; a collection of stories

三

The night before Achilles is to leave, I lay in bed, restless and sleepless. But being plagued by insomnia would not be so big of a deal if I were not hearing stories in my mind, like the gods were trying to tell me something.

Tonight, it is Icarus' tale.

When Daedalus made his wings from wax and feathers, he lent a pair to his son and said, "Let us escape." Icarus obeyed.

As they flew, Daedalus warned him, "Do not fly too close to the sun, or the wax will melt and your wings will collapse. But do not fly too close to the sea, or rust will set in and you will plummet."

Icarus obeyed.

But he grew bored. He longed for some freedom, some adventure. He caught sight of the sun and its warm rays and threw his father's words of caution to the wind as he soared higher and higher in pursuit of something more.

The sun glared down on him, and the wax slowly melted from his wings. But a frog in a boiling pot of water does not realise it is dying, much less so when it is running on the thrill and excitement of seeking something new.

It was too late by the time Icarus realised he was going to die, if he did at all.

He was dropping from the sky like snowflakes do in a furious blizzard, headed towards the sea with no chance of surviving.

We do not know the full story, only that it ends there.

But I want to believe that as Icarus fell, he caught the sun god's eyes and Apollo looked at him, seeing a young boy with a dangerously exploratory spirit and eyes that hadn't seen the world yet.

I hope against hope that Apollo caught the boy from his fall and brought him to the clouds, where Icarus could appreciate the view from day to day, and dance on the clouds with no fear that he would trip and fall.

And I wish, deep down, that Apollo loved Icarus the boy so much that he lived a life he would never have had if he had not dared to venture from the path he was meant to follow.

Am I Apollo in this tale? A bit protective, unwilling to see the loss of innocence, too quick to love and let people in.

If I am, maybe Achilles is Icarus, driven to strive for goals mere mortals should never expect to achieve, saved by the kindness and grace of someone with powers and authority his loved ones never had.

But then, I am also Daedalus, building Achilles up in acquiring freedom, and regretting it as soon as I see a hint of his wings, and doomed to watch him fall from the sky, powerless to stop it.