Burnt feathers
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/////// The yearning for the warmth of the sun, the burning of wax melted against skin, and a curse from the Gods in mockery at a young man's misguided choice to disobey the rules of flying from his prison home. 'Do not fly too close to the ocean, Do not fly too close to the sun'. What was Daedalus to do but watch in tragedy as his beloved son chose temptation over common sense, allowing his wings to bring him closer to the sun's warming embrace only to find that even the warmest of affections can become one's pain. A bittersweet meeting of Ikaros to the golden star held high in the clear blue sky by Helios who rides his flaming chariot that would end in the scarring of naïve flesh.
For years the young Ikaros would stand by the window of their home and rest his head as he bathed in the sun's warming rays. How comforting, how sweet it was to keep him company where no other could see him. Oh, how he thanked the God of the sun each day for his tender touch. It only made sense that he would be tempted to be closer to the comforting element, or so he thought, and so he hoped to make his dreams reality as his father labored each day to create wings for the both of them to escape the island of Cretes. He would use the feathers granted to him to reach the sky, to thank the sun itself in person for the comfort it brought.
Though when the day came and he took flight alongside his father he would never have imagined the pain that his dream would bring to not just himself but his father as well; The wax that melted and feathers burning into flames carved their way into nasty scars against what had once been flawless pale skin against the young Ikaros' back, and all he found himself able to do was cry out in the pain, his father unable to catch his son as he watched the young man begin his descent towards the sea.
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/////// Ikaros fell for what seemed like ages, the fear and feeling of betrayal from a deity he once sought comfort in swelling his chest until suddenly he was being consumed by the unpredictable waves of the sea until he felt nothing at all. At least for a short time, that is. The sea did not choose to keep the young Ikaros in its watery tomb and rather eventually spit the young man back out on land, a land foreign to the young man as he awoke on its sandy beaches. Alone, scarred, and unable to hold back the sobs as the realization of his actions began to weight down upon him. He had been set free by his father's invention of the wings and yet he has stranded himself from the very same man by his own naïve dream to touch the sun in the heavens.
Yet even stranger, throughout the years he spent in search of his father; asking near and far of the man, his hopes to find him once more only slowly crumbling as every lead he got was met with disappointment. He began to realize, why, he was aging no longer. Ikaros began to realize he looked no older than the age he was the day he fell from the skies and earned the scars that cover the majority of his back. 'Why?', he would ask over and over- and as ages passed a mere whisper of questioning to the Gods became a cry, knowing well that he would out live the father he so desperately searched for, he would forever be truly alone in the ever changing world of mankind with the man's passing. Why, blessing or curse, would he be given this extended life?
As days turned to weeks, weeks turned to months- Years eventual turned to ages, passing by the ever remaining young Ikaros in taunting memory of his actions. He travels aimlessly; still in need of food, water, clothes he finds himself earning what he can in the art of crafting or mending small items. Making and selling candles, carving small figurines from wood, mending tears in clothes. Of course this makes him very little, especially as the need for such small tasks outgrows as the years do, as man advances, as tasks which once took days to achieve now took mere hours to even simple minutes. Yet he gets by, still wandering the Earth in his ever lasting loneliness.
