Icarus

S

The sky was unbelievably blue. A cerulean azure, it was cloudless and stretched on forever. The sun was high and hot and white, warming my eyelids whenever I closed them. I peered at the sun and the sky through half-closed eyes, my eyelashes moving faintly against my cheek.

I felt someone sit down next to me, rather than saw them, and rolled my head to the side to look at them. It was a boy from my History class, with an upturned nose and freckles and ears shaped like shells. I’d never really spoken to him, but I knew his name. Jack.

“What are you doing?” my new companion asked, not demanding but merely wondering. His voice didn’t match his face; it was too calm and deep, at odds with his pixie appearance.

“Looking at the sky.”

There was a slight pause, and then he moved to lie down next to me, on his back and looking up at the sun.

“This hurts your eyes,” he observed, and I made a small sound of agreement.

“Why are you doing it then?” I shrugged in response, my shoulders grazing across the prickly grass.

“I don’t know. It’s fun.”

The boy laughed, and it seemed strange that he was lying next to me and laughing at my jokes, when we’d never even spoken before.

“You know,” I said, “you’re supposed to be in History right now.”

“So are you,” he replied.

Touché.

“Why aren’t you?” he added after some consideration, continuing the conversation.

“I didn’t feel like going.”

“Neither,” he said, his voice too light, “I just keep falling asleep when I go, anyway.” It was true about his falling asleep, at least. I’d noticed.

“My name’s Jack, just in case you didn’t know.”

“Elizabeth,” I said in return. “Though I did already know your name.”

“Yeah,” he laughed, “I knew yours too. But I always think it’s best to make sure… Because what if someone doesn’t know your name, and they never learn it, and just go on calling you ‘that person with the hair and the eyes’ forever?”

This time it was my turn to laugh. It was true though, how sometimes you never learn a person’s name. It was still the beginning of a new school year at the moment so you had an excuse for not knowing people’s names. By next semester, though, the allotted name-asking period would have officially passed, and if you hadn’t learnt somebody’s name by the then it was unlikely you ever would.

“The name Jack can also mean ‘knave,’ you know,” I said, “like, someone who is dishonest. Or deceitful.”

He chuckled. “Are you trying to imply something there, Elizabeth?” I regretted my words almost instantly. I always did that when I talked to people I didn’t know very well; said things that made me sound insulting or conceited.

We stared at the sky for a while longer. The sun was burning my thighs; the denim of my jeans heating up until my skin was prickling. Why was this boy sitting next to me, talking to me? It wasn’t as if our respective social status forbade it, but we just moved in different circles. Except for that one class we shared, we had no connection.

“You know how we were learning about Icarus, yesterday in history?” I asked.

“Yeah,” Jack said slowly and smoothly, his voice like honey.

“Don’t you think it’s sad? I mean, he was just trying to fly, just trying to achieve the unachievable. He was trying his hardest. And then it’s like fate just decided ‘too bad, buddy. No one is allowed to be that awesome. You’ve got to be shut down.’”

Jack sniffed. I couldn’t see his face, but he spoke again. “I guess. But at least he reached that goal, even if he did die because of it. Imagine if he just kept trying and trying, and never got anywhere and just kept on failing.”

He took a breath. I almost wanted to risk rolling over and looking at him, but decided against it.

“Maybe,” I said.

It seemed sad to me at that moment that the sun was actually just burning ball of gas. So hot that nothing could touch it and nothing would ever touch it. Unreachable by everyone and everything. Completely alone, with the occasional solar flare reaching out into the empty recesses of space, tendril-like, to try and find some company.

We lay in silence.

I imagined I was Icarus, flying towards the sun, my eyes ablaze and skin glowing and wax from my wings dripping down my back, while they fell into individual feathers, useless without each other.

Suddenly the bell rang. I sat up quickly, surprised. I hadn’t thought that the lesson would be over already. Looking down at Jack beside me, I saw him looking back up.

“It was nice talking to you,” I said, climbing to my feet, brushing thin, clinging pieces of grass from my jumper.

“Likewise,” Jack said, beginning to sit up himself. “Better than going to history, anyway.”

I nodded in agreement then shook my head, my neck sore from staying in one position for too long. “I really do hate history.”

Jack took a breath, but then paused as if unsure. He breathed in again, and spoke hurriedly. “I’m just really bad at history, you know? I failed that last essay, and then Ms What’s-her-face threw a fit, and my parents almost killed me.” He laughed again, but it was nervous.

“Is that the real reason you didn’t go today?” I asked, my voice almost sympathetic.

“Yeah,” he shrugged. “What about you, failing as well?”

“Ah, no…” I trailed off, but he looked at me expectantly.

“Well, with the essay, I ended up doing quite well. I’m just good at history and comprehension and essays and stuff. But then the teacher accused me of plagiarism.”

Jack let out a whistle, long and slow, spiralling downwards. “That could be 50 of your grade gone completely.”

“Trust me, I know,” I said, my voice taking on the panicked edge it had when the teacher had accused me.

There was a lapse while Jack looked at me from the side of his eyes. At some point while we were talking, he had stood up, and he could now look down at me. He was tall, probably an athlete, if I was to buy into the stereotypes.

“Did you do it?” he asked unexpectedly, “Plagiarise, I mean.”

“What, no!” I was shocked – I was a goody-two-shoes, not the kind to cheat.

“No offence,” he said, sounding sorry. “You didn’t really seem like the type. But, yeah, I guess some people do.” He shrugged.

“Is that why you didn’t go to history today?” he asked, repeating my earlier question. I smiled half-heartedly.

“Probably.”

He glanced around as people started to file onto the oval for lunch. “I’ll see you around then?” he asked.

“Sure,” I said, though I doubted we would. It was one of those rare bonding moments, where you talk to a complete stranger, and then never speak again. He had spoken to me out of boredom, and I had replied because it was the polite thing to do. We had nothing in common.

He seemed to sense my thoughts, because he smiled goofily suddenly. “No, really,” he said, some sincerity hidden by the self-deprecating expression he wore. He backed away, waving, and walked off.

His smile lingered in my mind.

For a moment, I wanted to be Icarus. Flying towards the sun, even though I knew it wouldn’t do me any good. Reaching out for what I wanted, not caring if I was burned in the process, because it would be worth it.

I imagined that the sun wanted some company.

S

AN. This really doesn’t make much sense, or have a plot. But mainly I just wanted to write something (or anything), no matter how pointless and weird. Constructive criticism appreciated.