Short Story: Take Away

Absolution

*

Icarus fell burning so the moral they intend you take away is that downfall follows disobedience.

"Should have listened to his father," they tut and purse their waxy lips.

They didn't see the brilliance of the flames. They don't have wings.

*

You open your eyes and stare up at the ceiling. The sun will be rising up over the water soon, to laugh at those waking from dreams of worlds spun bright and beautiful.

You get up.

Breakfast is waiting for you and it is already going cold but you eat anyway as your mother gazes out the window, muttering morning prayers, Thy kingdom come, Thy kingdom come. “Amen,” you murmur back. It seems right.

*

Something in the sky snaps halfway through the day, tearing the clouds apart
"Everything is going to be okay now, isn't it," she says.

It's not a question.

“Yes,” you say, “Of course.”

She smiles and touches your hand, tracing what once might have been feathers.

There is lipstick caked in the corner of her mouth and her hand is cold.

*

Throughout dinner, the rain thunders against the window like it wants to smash its way inside and the wind won't stop crying.

Above you, birds fight with the rain for the dominion of the sky, equal but both lying to themselves that they can compete with angels, that they can win.

But as you watch, a sea eagle falls through the air and breaks through the surface of the ocean.

It doesn’t come back up.

The rain keeps screaming at the window.

Let me in.

Let me in.

*

Icarus fell burning and it's such a shame, they say, if he had just flown further down from the sun he could have lived.

They regret and mourn the loss of the man who dared guise himself like an
The dark circles under her eyes are tinged blue and purple.

“Oh, baby,” she murmurs, reaching across the table and gripping your hand between clammy fingers. “Don’t worry. He is coming, I promise."

She looks down again and whispers grace. The movement of it sends her head lolling sideways and her mouth gapes open, lips peeling grey and black, and rot glistens sickly down her throat where things shift and writhe, and you push your chair away so hard it tips over behind you.

Just as suddenly it is all gone

Outside, an osprey dips across the sky, twisting around the storm clouds, and it dives down. Go back, the watching birds call, go back, but it swoops low, wings skimming across the surface of the water and that is all it takes to awaken them.

“Deliver us from evil,” your mother breathes, as decomposing hands break through the water. They reach and grasp the osprey's feathers, dragging it down.

“Amen,” she whispers.

The bird screams until it is trapped beneath the water and the ocean stills.

“Amen,” you reply.

*

Icarus fell burning but it was Daedalus who was not