"Worthless piece of-" the figure screamed, its eyes full of hatred, waving its arms around as its victim screams, blood and sweat covering its face. This is the world Icarus deals with day after day after day. When the sun falls out of sight, temporary relief fills his mind, but the lingering feeling of terror and hatred dwelling in his soul, like a spark, on the verge of becoming a flame; a spark that could transform into a fire, burning a forest, stays, waiting for the moment he snaps.
Icarus slowly walked into the school building, his mind set on when the routine of terror would start again, until sunset. He was named after the old myth of Icarus, the boy who flew too close to the sun, fell, and drowned. Icarus never had many friends, his lack of confidence partially to blame. This was another year he would enter a new school, be labeled as "Outcast", and eventually was set once again on the verge of snapping.
Icarus always kept quiet, never shared his struggles. It didn't help. Instead of a weight lifting off his shoulders, more weight was added to his ankles, making it difficult to move closer to his goal of finding happiness. He wouldn't burden any other soul besides his own. He's promised himself that much.
He
was
broken
