Collections of my Old Stories

An Icarus Adaptation

*Author's Note*
-This is an Icarus retelling where the brief was for a barren, snowy, small town and there was a character whose ambitions led to their downfall

"If every story had a happy start and a happy ending then it would become more unrealistic than a fantasy. Besides, the best heroes are born from pain. Like iron they are forced through unimaginable torment, stripped down to the core and then melted. But it is the only way to get them to harden into its strongest and purest form."

He's doing it again.

I step into the frost-ridden garden. The flickering winter sun cuts through the icy morning mist and claws its way into the mud-tainted snow. The ice has already begun melting, causing sludges of water to absorb into my boots. Harsh wind whips around, biting into my skin. My fingers start to go numb and my cheeks start to sting. I look around and lay eyes on my father.

He is glaring at the horizon and leaning on one of the many barren, gnarly trees littered around. I swallow and start to walk up to him. Father is always in a bad mood these days. He says it's the cold that's making him grumpy, but I suspect it's because of mother.

He never got over her.

I know it still makes his heart hurt, makes his eyes tear up and his body start to shake.

I know, because I've seen it.

And I know it makes my heart pang when I see him this way.

I want to tell him that he needs to move on, else he be swallowed by the past, but I can't bring myself to.

Perhaps it's because I would feel guilty or perhaps it's because I'm too much of a coward to do so.

I'm not sure.

But I let him grieve.

I've reached the place he stands and stare at his face. His cheeks are pink and so are his chapped lips. His pale blue eyes stare out into the distance, refusing to acknowledge his son. They are empty and void of light and life. It seems to reflect what is inside of him, a brewing storm of bitterness and sorrow, swirling and growing till it consumes him with its hunger. I nudge him gently.

"Father. What are you doing out here? It's too cold for you"

He is silent for a bit and then abruptly turns to him. "The fridge is empty. You need to fill it!"

"We can't now, Father. The roads are still blocked from the snow. It would be too dangerous."

Father's gaze seemed to harden. "You must. It's too important! Your mother's favourites have run out!"
My stomach drops.

"Mother is dead, Father, you don't have to keep refilling it.

"Bah!" He spat, surging towards me in anger. "Such insolence. You are a useless, lazy child. No son of mine is as pathetic as you. Come back to me when you have learned some respect!"

With that he stomps off, muttering to himself.

I shrink back, hurt. I'm not sure if I can hold the tears that threaten to spill out my eyes.

"H- he doesn't mean it," I tell myself out loud.

Doesn't he? A voice whispers back.

My lip quivers. It doesn't matter. All I know is that I have to get Mother's favourite now.

I close my eyes and think of her.

She is sitting near a crackling fireplace. Sparks dance around her but she is unfazed. Her stringy honey-coloured hair is in her face. Her dark, sparkling eyes glint through the strands, like emeralds in a dusty cave. She laughs, and the sound of pure joy is warmer than the fire. She talks to the child that is bouncing on her lap, her voice rich like wild honey and melodious like the babble of crystal water cutting through rocks unearthed from the riverbed.

That child, is me.

My father walks in and gives them both a bear hug. He drops a packet of caramelised popcorn down near them. The scent is sickly sweet, and it quickly wafts through the room.

That's it. Her favourite.

I stumble towards the house and rummage through the nearest drawer. There it is. Father's car keys. I am met with a sudden burst of emotions, like a massive tidal wave. Excitement first, rushing through my body in tingles and beats. Then panic, causing my mouth to run dry. I was going to drive. Drive even though I didn't have a licence. Drive even though I was only 15 years old.

I try to reason with myself.

"I'm turning 16 soon, and it's only a short distance to the grocery store. Besides, Father needs these. I would be letting him down otherwise."

Satisfied I fumble my fingers around the keys and walk out the door again. Though I still feel terrible, shame panging through my body, I am enthralled by it all. I can feel the adrenaline pumping through me, especially as I start the car. Hesitantly I tap the accelerator. It moves. I turn the steering wheel. I'm driving down the road. My heart is beating faster and faster, becoming so loud it's drowning all else out. I laugh with glee, pressing down on the accelerator. But something is weighing me down. I clench my hands around the steering wheel, taking a deep breath. "You have been given wings, Icarus. Now you must fly."

The car came from nowhere.