“Where am I?”

“You didn’t heed your father’s warning, Icarus,” said the woman.

“I. . . I don’t know what you mean. Where’s my father? The last thing I remember was- "

Icarus stopped. It was all coming back to him. The last thing he remember was escaping with his father and flying across the sea to freedom.

“Don’t fly too close to the Sun or water,” his father’s voice echoed through his mind.

“I flew too close to the Sun,” Icarus stated. Totally shocked.

“You did. And fell right into the sea. You drowned, too,” the woman chuckled to herself as she looked out to the sea.

“If I drowned then what am I doing here? And who are you, again?” Icarus asked.

A woman turned around. She was the most beautiful person Icarus has ever seen. She looked like a mixture of honey and chocolate. She shined bright, even in the brightness of the day. Icarus felt warm in her presence. Not the usual warm he feels on a summer’s day. The warmth of a hug, or a laugh, or when you win something.

“I’m Aphrodite, Child,” she said. Smiling as if she’s letting him in on a big secret.

“Wow. I’m dead,” Icarus stated.

“You aren’t dead!” stated Aphrodite. “You’re talking to a God. I can do anything.”

As Icarus went to stand, he felt a weight on his back. He reached across his back and felt a giant wing. With the opposite hand, he felt another.

“Wings?” He asked, shocked.

“Yes, Child. And with them, you’ll fly to your father. After doing me a favor,” stated Aphrodite.

“Yes, yes! Anything!” he replied.

“I want you to get me the Sun. Only for a few moments,” she stated, coyly.

“But that’s Apollo’s thing! Doesn’t he have protections against someone stealing it?”

“Not exactly,” she replied. “Protections against a God. . . But not a human. With wings!”

She played with his feathers and kissed his cheek.

“It’ll only be for a few moments. You’ll put the Moon in its place, and I’ll have you put everything right back where it was when I’m done having fun,” Aphrodite said. “We’ll even give your little task a cute name.”

Icarus raised an eyebrow.

Aphrodite smiled. “We’ll call it an ‘Eclipse.’”

“I don’t like this wall color. It seems. . . depressing.”

“Dr. Sullivan, it is, well, an Execution Room,” said Mrs. Hipp.

“I know. But it doesn’t have to feel like one. The prisoners come in. Get strapped down. Die. Who’s left after? Me and the body,” said Dr. Sullivan.

Mrs. Hipp stood there filing her nails, half paying attention to the rambling doctor.

“I went to medical school for 8 years. I shouldn’t have to deal with this. If only . . .” Dr. Sullivan said to himself. Quite sure she wasn’t listening.

“You can’t really go wrong with egg-shell white,” says Mrs. Hipp. “It goes with just about everything. You only really have a few pieces of . . .” she cleared her throat, “furniture in here.”

“I know,” replied Dr. Sullivan. “That white doesn’t do much for me, though. What about-”

“So what kind of doctor are you?” interrupted Mrs. Hipp. “Like, outside of the prison. Aren’t doctors supposed to be saving people instead of, you know, this?”

Dr. Sullivan wrung his hangs. A nervous habit that developed a few years ago.

“This is my only job. Some doctors save lives. Some have to do this. It wasn’t what I had in mind when I applied to medical school but, it pays the bills.”

“But don’t you guys take an oath?” Mrs. Hipp stated as she crossed the room towards the doctor. “To save lives instead of taking them?”

“It’s a fine line we walk, Mrs. Hipp. Trust me,” replied the doctor.

“Oh, I understand. I’ve been in the interior design business for years. Practically seen it all. Until now that is,” Mrs. Hipp laughed.

“I’ll tell you what, though,” she continued. “This will be some of my best work yet,” she finished, while pointing her nail file towards the doctor.

“I like that color,” the doctor stated. “That gray. Think you can just paint the walls that color, throw in a few plants, and hang a picture or two?”

“Sure thing! I’ve actually got some gray color swatches here in my purse.” She rambles around her giant purse for a short time.

Dr. Sullivan has since stopped wringing his hands and started looking out the window. Almost as if he’s trying to occupy his eyes to forget what he’s thinking, or remembering.

“Here it is!” Mrs. Hipp says as she hands him the color swatch.

“I like it. It’s dark and smoky. Not too light, but not too depressing and dark. Put it on one wall. That one,” he says, as he points to the largest wall that acts as a backdrop to the execution when witnesses come to view the event.

“Perfect! We’re all done here,” she says as she grabs the color swatch back from the doctor. “I’ll have my painters come by first thing in the morning.”

Mrs. Hipp heads out the door.

“By the way. What was the name of that gray?” asks Dr. Sullivan.

Mrs. Hipp looks down at the paper, “It says M. Gray.”

The Sun is a star. Like all stars, it will stop burning. It could happen at any moment. Although, it’s not estimated to burn out for another 5 billion years.

The Sun will stop burning. Everything in our Solar system will die.

What stops a person from realizing everything we know on Earth will eventually die without a Sun, and wanting to hurry along the process?

Nothing.