Flightless Angels

Never regret thy fall

Everything hurt. When he came to, that was the first thing he noticed. Second, he noticed that his wrists felt heavy and his back was burning. When he sat up, he saw his chiton was singed and ripped all over. He sighed and broke out into a coughing fit. When it subsided, he winced and ripped off his sad excuse for a chiton, suddenly very thankful for his shorts and tank top, and tossed it to the corner of the strange cell he was trapped in.

He craned his neck and decided to look over his back best he could. His eyes widened when he saw his wings. They were covered with smoke and splattered with blood. His wrists had chains around them and his feet had ropes tightly wrapped on them. Quickly he set to work untying the ropes and stretching his wings. He fluttered them and winced and coughed from the smoke wafting through the air. When he was done, he sighed and slumped backwards, suddenly sapped of all his strength, and the cell faded into black.

O, Icarus of fearless flight

He was lonely. He'd been trapped in the cell for who knows how long, having not heard the sound of another voice in forever. He wanted to hear someone, needed, craved it. He could feel himself losing his grip on reality. He couldn't remember what happened to him, couldn't remember anything beyond the cell. He was sick of the ugly gray walls, the cold, hard ground, the suffocating silence. He started talking to himself. It helped. It helped him to hear a voice, even if it was his own. But it made the pain worse. Made the silence hurt more. Made him miss the sound of his voice, of noise, of any sound. Any sound at all.

He was losing it. His eyes had a crazed look to them, and his hair was a wild mess. He had gained a shiver and he had lost his voice. When he lost his voice he thought he might die. There was no sound, no noise, and he couldn't take it. He couldn't stand it, the pain was unbearable. And then one day, it stopped. All of it. Stopped. The pounding in his head, the burning in his back, the throbbing in his wings, and the stinging in his wrists; it all stopped.

He heard a sound.

The door, the door at the opposite end of the cell had opened. Light spilled into the ugly cell and someone cautiously stepped inside. A man. A man with long, curly blond hair and friendly green eyes. The angel held his breath. It was a person. Someone was here. He was saved. He wasn't alone. He wasn't by himself anymore. The man looked around the room and his eyes, his friendly green eyes, darted to the pathetic form of the shivering angel. The man gasped and ran over to the angel, minding the younger’s wings, and took a ring of keys the angel hadn't noticed, and worked away at unlocking the chains binding the boy to the disgusting cell wall.

For the greatest tragedy of them all

The angel liked being with the man. He was kind, helpful, and thoughtful. He made the angel a new chiton, gave him sandals. They had become friends and would happily chat the day away about anything. The man said his name was Julius. When prompted for his own name, the angel shrugged and replied that he didn't know, that he couldn't remember. And Julius let him be. Only asking if the angel could remember anything every month or so.

Julius told the angel what he looked like. He said the angel had fluffy brown hair and beautiful blue eyes, eyes that rivaled the ocean herself. He said the angel had very pale skin, almost white, but it didn't look sickly. He said his wings were white and fluffy, and very soft; that he had never felt something as soft as them before. He said he was a little short and a bit on the scrawny side, but all in all, the angel was beautiful. This made him blush. Julius was the sweetest person he knew. Julius was the only person he knew.

Pretty soon, the angel found himself blushing more and more around Julius. His heart felt like it would leap into his throat and he felt a little sick to the stomach. He would stutter and stumble across his words around the man, and when he asked the blond about it, he had swept the angel up into a hug and laughed. He kissed the angel again and again, laughing, and told him that it was love. Julius had kissed him again and said the feeling was shared. The angel smiled. Love.

The angel had fallen in love with the man.

Is never to feel the burning light

Icarus. His name was Icarus. When the angel came running up to Julius and hugged him, burying his face in the blond’s toga, he was crying. He was crying but he was so, so happy. He knew who he was. He remembered what happened before the time spent in the suffocating cell. He told Julius, he told him his name. Icarus. He was Icarus. The boy who fell. The boy that drowned. The boy that was trapped. The boy who fell in love.

Julius stared. Then he laughed. Then he smiled and began crying too. He spun the angel around, he spun Icarus around, and planted a kiss on the younger’s lips. It was great, it was marvelous, it was a miracle! The couple had spent the rest of the day chatting, and Icarus told Julius as much as he could. Everything. Every single detail, no matter how small. And the blond would smile with the angel at happy moments, cry at sad ones, and laugh at funny ones. His eyes, his friendly green eyes, looked into Icarus’ blue eyes, the eyes that rivaled the ocean, and he would hug the brunette. Julius was happy, ecstatic, elated, for Icarus. Things just simply couldn't get any better.

And when Julius hugged Icarus, he was just glad that he could hear the soothing sound, the sound that calmed him no matter what. The sound that belonged to Icarus and was shared with the blond.

A heartbeat.

A heartbeat that belonged to a flightless angel.

END.