Falling Free

It was no wonder to him, why the human race was so transfixed by the idea of flight. Purely terrestrial creatures, mired down by the force of gravity, they would be forever envious of the birds that soared so effortlessly above their heads. It was no wonder, why the Wright brothers had so doggedly pursued their dream of flying through the skies, crashing and falling back to Earth hundreds of times before they successfully felt the wind fill their wings and bear them up to the distant heavens.

Adam could still remember the pure joy he had experienced, elation like no other, as he wheeled through the air. Waxen wings glimmering in the moonlight, the sky had been his. He had weaved through the stars, laughing and watching as tears of happiness, teased from his eyes by the intense wind, were snatched by gravity and fell into the sea below him. The cautionary words of his brilliant father were forgotten and seized by the breeze that whistled through his ears. Don’t fly too close to the sun or the sea, Adam,his father had said. The sun will melt the wax, and the sea will dissolve it. Fly below the moon but above the waves, and you will soar forever, my son.

Don’t fly too close to the sun or the sea, or you will fall.

Father always knew best. It was with a wistfully ironic smile that Adam now reflected on his actions, made impulsive by his youth. When people dreamed of flight, they never dreamt of the fall. Such a possibility was unfathomable; once wisps of clouds shed moisture onto their faces, once they felt the breath of wind tousle their hair and the rush of adrenaline flood their veins, they could never fall. The ocean below would remain a far-off possibility on the horizon, neither thought of nor realized until it was too late.

Don’t fly too close to the sun or the sea.

No one thought of the fall until they were cart wheeling through the air, the feathers of their wings disintegrating before their eyes. The fear would set in much too late as their bones splintered and there muscles bruised the same indigo of the sea upon impact. A cold sweat disguised by the numbing brine of the ocean would break out along their skin as their eyes widened and their lungs expanded in search of nonexistent air. Cruel in its sluggishness, freezing darkness would lurk on the edges of consciousness, swooping in at the last moment.

And in that darkness that would block out the watery light filtering in from above, a quiet calm would pervade. It would permeate every muscle and every thought until the movements of life would gently trickle to a stop.

No better than flotsam, they would float along at the will of the currents and the wind, be pulled along at a snail’s pace by the patient moon.

No one ever thought of the fall until their bones were being shattered against uncaring cliff-faces by unsympathetic surf.

Beneath his feet, Adam could feel the cliff shake with the continual onslaught of the waves. From where he stood atop this ancient monolith of stone, the whisper of the Sirens could barely be heard. Their voices were the voices of thousands unlucky enough to have perished at sea, the murmuring of the waves caressing the craggy shoreline below him. They spoke to him with the voices of drunken sailors teased into tumbling overboard by tales of treasure the likes of which their vulgar imaginations could never comprehend. The hopeful voices of children, of entire families, swept away along with their expensive yachts on a vacation gone terribly awry.

Softly, they promised him everything he had ever wanted.

Riches.

Greatness.

Power.

Softly, they promised him nothing at all.

It was an artist’s dream, standing on the edge of the world. Swirls of navy bled into the black ink sky, storm clouds silhouetted in lilac and silver against the immortal face of the moon. A cloak of stars draped over the sea, the line of the horizon nothing more than a memory long forgotten and smudged by time.

The Sirens were singing to him. Come with us, Adam. Come dance with us, Adam. They leapt from the eddying waves below him just before they crashed into the shore and their bodies were made from perfect sea foam. The high crests of the rolling waves were tainted by the eerie green lights of Atlantis, the vagabond city that never wished to be found.

The Sirens sang to him of a perfect world, a utopia in which he could live forever. A wolfish grin on his face, Adam could not help but laugh. He threw his head to the heavens and laughed, the terrible humor tearing at his throat and scalding his lips before it fell heavily into the sudden and echoing silence. Immortality was not something he wished for, was a curse that he would not wish upon his worst enemy.

Come play with us, Adam.

He gazed up at the sky, straight into the disappointed eyes of the stars. They twinkled before him merrily, a stark contrast to the powerful darkness that surrounded them, threatened to overcome them. He asked the stars what to do, which path to take, and they spoke to him in a tone comfortable in its familiarity. His shoulders sagged gratefully under the weight of the world, a burden he had not volunteered for, but a burden that he had taken on silently all the same. Jump, Adam. Step forward and slip, hit your head on the way down so you don’t feel the shame, so you don’t hear the gloating of the Gods.

Jump.

Begging with him, pleading with him to cease this procrastination when he knew what must be done. The Oracle had spoken thousands of years ago, smoke spewing from her mummified lips. The prophecy had been written into the very base of Mount Olympus itself, had been waiting for him since the day of his birth, the day of his death.

In order to live, he must fall.

In order to fall, he must live.

Sudden electricity made the brunette hair on the back of his neck stand. Lightening arced down into the roiling waves, the screeches of the Sirens momentarily drowned out by the bass fury of the stormy ocean. Clouds crashed together in rhythm to his pounding heartbeat. The skies were torn asunder, raindrops falling thick and fast onto his chilled skin from the ragged and bleeding edges of the heavens.

A mere plaything of the Gods, a court jester whose welcome had worn thin, it was now his time to take his leave, to play his part in the production and continuation of the world. Wind beat at his shoulders, snarled wildly around him, snapping at his clothes. The sounds of divine anger and annoyance at its height, it drowned out everything.

Except for the voices of the Sirens, still singing to him from below. Their voices vibrated through his bones and shook his soul. Cantons of unrequited love, they promised him everything.

Riches.

Greatness.

Power

Adam stepped forward, sharp pebbles scraping against the rough soles of his bare feet.

He turned his face to the stars for the last time, and they murmured to him of love and comfort, of silence and rest. Quietly, they begged him to fall, to jump, to ease his own pain. “I’m sorry,” apologized Adam, the shimmering stars reflected in icy blue irises as they filled with tears.

It’s okay, Adam.

We understand.

We forgive you.

Jump, Adam, and everything will be right. Jump, Adam, and everything will be silent.

Unsteady breaths filled his lungs as he felt the edge of the cliff crumble into nothingness from his weight.

It’s okay, Adam. The voice of his father, Daedalus, whose careful instructions and words of warning he had ignored, so many millennia ago. The voices of his lovers, of his wives, his children, his closest friends.

In the twilight darkness, a calming peace permeated his being. His breathing eased as his heart quieted, as his soul realized the hopelessness of the situation set before it, the situation that he had lived, had died, to fulfill many times before.

In order to live, he must fall.

In order to fall, he must live.

When he leapt from the cliff, it was a leap of the deepest faith: Faith in himself, faith in the people whom he had loved and whom he would continue to love. And so Icarus fell, and, in that split-second of weightless freedom in which his heart soared, he learned to fly.