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this is how it feels to take a fall
The feeling of something hard and cold burning into his back faded. Instead, there was just numbness, a black hole where his shoulders and wrists used to exist. It made a certain sort of sense-- being shackled for so long would have consequences for his now physical body.
If he hadn't made the choices he did, maybe he wouldn't have ended up here, caged and impotent. A specimen and a spectacle.
Some called them angels. Others called them demons. The names humans came up with were as long as their history: fae, primordials, gods, elementals, ghosts. None of them were correct, though some were more wrong than others.
It didn't matter what they were named, in all honesty -- mainly because no one would ever be around to summon them. The humans and the animals were on different planes of existence. Interactions were limited. The mirror didn't always work both ways.
They weren't a he or a she or any other terms that the ones on Earth used, but as they returned to their spot on the edge and looked down once more, those words were ones they wanted to claim.
Too curious. Too involved. Too silly.
Those were the dignified whispers behind their back as they spent yet another day viewing the humans.
The humans made so many faces. So many decisions with no rationality. Inventions and art and violence — How could the rest of their kind not be intrigued?
Unadvanced. Unintelligent. Unappealing.
Those were the answers they always got when they posed these questions. No one else seemed to care beyond their own duties.
Only one mentor took the time to stop and look at them.
They are too caught up in their feelings to realize their potential. It is best to leave them to their devices, lest they bring their damages to us.
Feelings?
They pondered. They paced. They watched tears run over a cheek, and a laugh grow out of lips. They thought of their kind, and the placid faces that never moved or changed. They thought of eternity, how they had passed their time and how their time would pass.
Then, they lept off the edge.
you feel it in your chest
Landing didn't hurt. Standing on dirt didn't feel any different from standing on stars.
No, the pain hit when their wings burst into flames. They screamed, feeling their certainty, their foundation, turn to ash. The air bursts from their throat faster than the flame had, and it claws on its way out. They wrapped their arms around themselves and stumbled, trying to find a way to stop the agony.
People, humans, had gathered. It was what they had hoped to find when they fell, but they couldn't stop and stare.
They kept screaming as the humans joined in. As the humans threw stuff on them. As the humans tackled them. Even after the fire dissipated, taking all their feathers with it, they couldn't stop screaming — experiencing sensations on their skin, their tongue, in their nose for the first time.
The screaming only stopped when they hit their head on the cage door after it was locked.
"How you doing?"
The voice drifted over them. They tried to answer, but the human left without a conversation. It was only after that when they remembered humans relied on vocalizations, not the telepathy their kind used.
Another person, a different person, came with water. The jug wouldn't fit between the bars, but the straw did.
"How you feeling?"
They had practiced, but still all they could get out was "Bad."
"Huh? Oh yeah, that'd be the pain, probably. They won't let anyone doctor you because like. What even are you? But here, drink some water, you sound like you swallowed a lot of that smoke — which like, smoke shouldn't be that color but whatever, it was cool. Oh, except for where you were screaming — what language was it even? Sorry, you can't answer that can you, yeah no don't stop drinking! But drink slowly. Hey, sorry! I should probably introduce myself right? I'm —"
Despite the loss of their wings, the pain in their body, and the straw poking their eye, the smallest smile budded on their mouth.
There were six of them who checked in on them. Four of them were friends, and they were the ones who bothered to actually try to be kind. From where they were (near the docks, in a warehouse) to who they were (just some hard workers with no prospects of wealth or a good future trying to make it to the next paycheck) to what they should call him (Icarus is what it was decided on, they repeated the myth in different but fascinating ways), the group of four taught them all they could.
It was the other two Icarus was wary of. Mean souls and hard eyes, they came and stared at him. Their questions made no sense — things about spies and cities and religion — and Icarus gave them the placid expressions they had seen so often directed at them.
It stung, realizing they were on the other end of the dynamic. It brought a whole new pain to them that they shoved away, choosing instead to ask more questions to their friends.
This time, when the fire started, it wasn't from them.
The screaming wasn't from them.
Not at first, but when their friends scrambled with the cage, refusing to leave until they could get it unlocked…well anyone would scream.
The screaming stopped before the fire did.
Icarus sat in the aftermath for a long time. When they finally stood, it only took two hard shoves for the burnt bars to give way to freedom.
Fish in the sea, you know how I feel
The years stack up. So, to, do the experiences.
In the snow, she pauses to watch the children rolling the stuff around the yard. One of them catches her eyes and smile. Another one catches her hand and pulls her. They put her to work. She fetches a stick and lifts them to shape the head. One of them has no gloves so she puts her own on them. The snow melts too quickly until she remembers her powers. Before sunset there are four imperfect snowpeople throughout the street, and the kids bring her a cup of cocoa. It's flavorful and the whip cream goes up her nose.
On the beach at night, he sits in the flickering shadows as people dance wildly. It's loud — a speaker on one end, and on the other a guitar. It's discordant, the conversations and movements and emotions washing over him. He watches, drinks it in — there are lifetimes contained in these few hours under the stars. In the background, the waves lap at the shore. Time moves on but he isn't ready to.
Rain always affects them. This time, it found them in the middle of the day while they were walking down the road. The streets empty quickly, people trying to avoid sickness or inconveniences. There's a woman who stays in the downpour. They watch as she stills and tilts her head up. The rain floods over her face, and then she giggles. She dances, and she cries, and she stomps the water enough that it splashes up to her knees. Then she stops, squares her shoulders, and continues on her way. They watch her go, and tilt their face up. It's….not the worst feeling in this world. They linger like that for what may be hours. Eventually, they walk again. They don't avoid the puddles, neither do they seek them out.
Sun in the sky, you know how I feel
Their wings grow back. The feathers change — they were star light and now they are star dust. They learn how and why people laugh, how they cry, and are able to understand why people do both at once.
So of course that's when they are found. Or at least, visited.
Icarus had never been selected to visit the Earth. These ones had. They run into each other when the sun is high and the human spirit is low.
There are no mentors Icarus recognizes. None that recognize him.
You're a story. One of them tells him, tone neutral as always.
"Oh?" Icarus smiles as they sit on the rooftop, watching the human drama playing out below. "A cautionary tale, perhaps? Or a warning to those who linger by the edges?"
No…It's more like. This one chooses words carefully. What we do is not the only thing to be done.
Something makes Icarus wonder if this one lingers by the edges too. If Icarus wasn't alone, just the first.
The humans below play out their stories, and Icarus ponders if perhaps, they are not the only ones being watched.
The experiences begin to cycle the same as nature.
Icarus is she and he and they.
There is joy — births and elements and connections.
There is fear — connections and elements and violence.
There is pain — violence and elements and births.
Icarus laughs and doesn't get the lines. Icarus cries and the tears seem endless. Icarus sneers and smirks and eats disgusting things and wrinkles his nose when there's something unappealing. She snarls and yelps and grunts and chuckles and yells.
And when he takes a break and gets a cup of tea, the server will greet him and ask them how they are feeling, and there's only one answer to give.