Note: this is boyxboy. If you don't like that, then don't read it.Not all of the mini stories will be like that but these are interpretations and fanfiction about Greek myths.Also, this one deviates more from the myths as it implies reincarnation that didn't happen. Thanks.
Icarus
Mythology, he mused, was such an interesting concept. The cracked tales through the ages, fractured and lost and found and repaired over and over and over for fresh eyes and new minds.
He remembered sometimes, when myths blended to stories, blending to fact to reality, he remembered. There were twisting turrets and the feeling of being trapped and alone- loneliness blackening his hands and his mind with no light to keep it at bay. There was no freedom and he remembered craving the need to launch himself and fly. Then, of course, there was warmth, scorching heat, passionate kisses burning his skin as soft lips trailed his flesh. He would writhe under such lascivious attention, arch for that touch, burn alive from the pain of it and succumb to the pleasure of burning alive. Still, there was ambition cutting his eyes fierce and raw and he lay, defiant, under even the divine. Golden chariots, recalcitrant gazes meeting one of gold ichor stained fire. There was freedom in this sort of intimacy, devotion of a mortal to an immortal who felt too mortal in the vivacious throes of this imperfectly divine being.
In his dreams there was a man, the blazing sun, a lover's hands. And who was he to think he could love a being such as this? But that was his downfall wasn't it? The tale that could have made the untouchable touchable, a god human. Perhaps hubris was a kinder take than what the story truly was.
And so the wax melted, searing his back, the skin that had bronzed under a god's domain until it was dark only for the sun's rays. He fell, fell and fell and fell and saw those blazing gold eyes watching him arc through the air, tormented in their agony. He knew why the deity had done it, let him fall into the crashing waves and slicing rocks. How could a god love a mortal so impetuously, and yet so gently, and realize they couldn't bear to see their love in pain at their touch? What do they do then?
Apollo had let the boy slip through his fingers and grieved for an eternity with the setting sun. And Icarus fell and he had laughed, forgiving and defiant and beautiful. There had been no hubris. There had been a tragedy, a boy who loved the sun and the sun who loved the boy. Longing touches with the knowledge that the fire would burn even the toughest skin in the end. Dripping wax, salt sprays, death.
The teacher was talking again, droning and droning about Minos the cruel king and Daedalus the inventor with his son trapped within a tower, wings and the sky and the plunge. The youth would plummet to the ground from arrogance, was the end.
He raised his hand, frowned, eyes narrowed and still challenging even now,
"What about the sun?"
"What?"
"Well Icarus loved the sun, didn't he? He died reaching for love that was impossible for him to have, being so easily reduced to ash. Why does that have to be hubris? Is that not love?"
"Icarus did not heed his father's warnings. He thought he was invulnerable with the taste of being in the air"
"No" he replied, thoughtful, "he just underestimated the love the sun held for him"
Icarus thought Apollo would catch him.
Apollo was afraid his touch would scorch too much.
Icarus dreamed of freedom, but in the end he was born to burn.