I was falling.

I should have listened to my father. It was the mantra he tried to ingrain in me: listen to him always. The sun was so beautiful though. So warm. A shade of amber that reminded me of citrus: sweet yet sour, refreshing but overpowering, invigorating while still calming. It called to me so loud that I no longer heard my father.

I should have heeded his warning.

Now I was falling.

The world rushed towards me. The sea roared below me, calling out for me to enter its waiting maw. I was speeding to my demise. Yet it was so slow. The wind whipped me; matted my hair. It tugged at my wings; ripping feathers away from me. At the same time, it cradled me in my descent. The sun I had yearned to reach kissed my cheeks; burning them as it did so.

My father's voice died in my ears, as I'm sure I did before his eyes. My heart soared into my throat as if to show me how it was done. My chest shook with fear. My arms clawed at my disappearing wings; trying to find purchase within the sky. My arms stung with effort, but were numb to my mind's commands for them.

Then, as if struck within me from the gods themselves – by Zeus' decree; Athena's wisdom; Hera's mercy; Aphrodite's compassion; Hades' call; I know not which – a calmness filled me with such a start my spine stiffened before relaxing into the arms of the rushing wind around me.

My arms no longer struggled; they lazily waved above me as they rode the current of the fall. My body folded on itself as if I were nestled within my mother's womb once more. I thanked the sun for the brief romance we had, and I forgave it the spurn I suffered. My dry eyes closed with a soothing meditation. My lungs filled and emptied with the casual focus of an old man walking his fields one last time before he paid Charon to ferry him across the River Styx. My heart slid back to its home within my chest, and built a warm hearth there.

The water would soon welcome me. Poseidon will claim me as his own for my hubris. It had been some time since I tasted the salt of the sea. I began craving the brine across my tongue; the welcoming warm chill of the waves.

I noticed how nothing felt heavy on me any longer. I never noticed how much weight was in my arms or legs, or even my feet. Now that I no longer had to lift them, the memory of each minute struggle crashed over me; the effort needed just to move my hand. That would no longer be a problem. I would forever be light.

I was ready. I had enough time to realize what would come next. I had no coins on me, so I prayed that Poseidon would find some from a sunken treasure and would be so kind as to gift me enough for the ferry. That was my only remaining fear. The rest of the world crumbled around me.

I didn't even notice the scrape across my hip. Another across my shoulder. Then more behind my knees. My descent slowed with each scratch. My body tipped and rocked as if it were a fishing boat crossing during a storm. Wooden fingers reached out to try to catch me; cradle me. I dove through them, but another set was waiting its turn to stop me. The perfect azure of the sky disappeared above me; faded and locked away by a weaving of emerald leaves. As the last of my past faded from view I reached up to try to grab it. Instead, all I could see beyond the endless green was the soft white of one of my feathers drifting down after me. Its soft fibers causing it to swing in large arches; floating just out of my grasp.

I no longer knew who I was. I wasn't the arrogant, impulsive, dimwitted child my father lashed out at over so many years. I was no longer a false child of Nike soaring behind her on the wind. I could not be the sun's companion; riding alongside Apollo in his chariot. All I knew of myself was that I was undone and locked away from the world to which I once belonged.

The fibers of the net were soft and soothing. I was done with my plummet. I was done being who I once was. I was done with the life I once was so proud to possess. I was done being a son. I was done with the blue of the sky and the world of man.

Was I even Icarus any longer? Did that name hold any further meaning? I doubted it did, but I held onto it regardless. It was my souvenir. The rest of me I allowed to fade away.

The last image I caught before my eyes closed once more was that of a dark, grim looking old man with a strange light protruding from the helmet atop his head. I wondered if he were Charon and I somehow managed to fall on the other side of the Styx; no longer needing his boat. I could not open my mouth to ask him before everything grew dim and black.

**A/N: For a birthday present to myself this year, I bought the DVD of the Cirque de Soleil's Varekai. Such a beautiful show that has inspired me greatly. So much so that I decided I want to do a fan novelization of the story Cirque de Soleil presents in this show. When I accomplish this goal, the above short will be but one chapter: Icarus' introduction, descent, and entrance into Varekai.

Legal stuff: Icarus is part of Greek Mythology and is not an original character. Feel free to look up his tale of woe and hubris. The world and creatures of Varekai are the creation of Cirque de Soleil, and remains their intellectual property. I claim no rights to the characters or setting presented.**