I stand here on the edge of a cliff. a physical one. Not the mental ones that you hear described in stories. But maybe this was a mental cliff as well. Maybe this was all just one big story and I will wake in my bed having found myself normal, whole, sane and uninjured.
I spread them. My fresh wings. He moulded them for me. Out of the wax of hot candles and the feathers of birds. He strapped them to my shoulders and placed his mouth next to my ear and whispered to me.
And so here i stand. Wings soft on the breeze, sun warm, ocean spraying water up far into my face. I cannot say what i would have done before this. I simply cannot. I cannot even say what I would do now.
You always hear that wings give freedom. That to fly in the skies is a freedom that no other can imagine, that it is releasing or fear and anger and doubt and shame. But I am forced to wonder. is it really freedom? do we really know the meaning of such a thing? I do not think so any more. When he whispered to me, “Fly”, it felt like a releif, like father was giving me my life, what i always wanted. But now these wings of mine feel like they are drapped in chains.
I may have wings of wax and feathers but I am still only mortal. I am not the gods who can take on the shape of other creatures. I am no bird to have magnet in my beak to find my way home again. What if I go to far? What if I leave my father all alone? I am no bird. I am just mortal. And what if i come to love the sky so much i cannot come down? or i am not such a good flier and cannot land again? if i stay up there everything will change. no more bruises, but no more….
What if I find delight in the sky and then return and find that I am trapped in teh forests of the world, the trees of people leaning over me with not enough room to spread my wings again, and not enough room to get wind to blow and not enough room to escape? Could I really just return to how things were? I do not think so. I am not one who can just obey rules, and follow guidelines and ignore the going ons in the world. I must leave. but how far can i go. Should I test the boundaries. Or should i remain content with just having this small portion of the sky above my fathers workshop.
I spread my wings for the first time. Drapped down by chains that are not there, i spread them and feel the wind fly through them. i see the ocean turning down below. i close my eyes, and make my choice.
spreading wings provides freedom in stories….
but does freedom also mean chains?
Actually written for the Touched by Fire writing challnge. I plan to sumbit it tomorrow properly but I just had to write it tonight.
I had the idea in my head for what is freedom and in the process of writing it somehow the story of icarus got involved. for those of you that dont know it read below.
Icarus was a young boy who dreamed of freedom and so his father daledus crafted for him from the wax of a thousand candles wings that he could use to fly and explore the world without offending Zeus. lord of the sky. Icarus was always warned that he should not fly to far less he got lost and that he should not fly to close to the sun, but he did so. When he reached the sun the wax on his wings melted and he fell into the ocean only to drown.
The characted in my story could be interpreted as icarus but I do not see them so. i have a very clear picture in my head of my version of ‘it’.
Anyway I hope you like it.