In life, there are always certain absolutes.  Certain truths that cannot be denied, cannot be broken.  At least, that is what Daedalus told me, as we constructed our wings of wood and wax.  He told me of the methods of flight, the lift and force needed to bear ourselves aloft, out of here.  And I saw the weariness in his eyes, the immense sorrow in his hands, the way he moved spoke to me that he'd already given up, perhaps a long time ago.  And I vowed that I would never move like that, never shuffle with a bemused glance as if the world had just played some kind of prank, one that no one would laugh at.

So we flew.  We rose into the air, as we knew we would, as my father had told us we would.  The mathematics proved it, the physics were sound.  And so we took the sky, rising on the strong warm thermals, escaping the labyrinth and our prison.  Daedalus told me to be wary, that flying was not without its dangers.  Indeed, he caught a strong current and tumbled for a while, finally catching his fall and soaring up out of danger.  He warned me over and over not to fly too high, not to fly too recklessly.  But I saw the way his wings worked, how they were held together by the thinning strands of a person, how the dreams no longer rushed under the pale feathers.  And I remembered my vow.

            If nothing else, I inherited my father's mathematical mind.  It's simple: 2+2=4.  Sun + wax = melting.  Melted wings + altitude = fall.  Velocity + water = death.  But why do I have to grow old and struggle under those laws, those "that's the way things are"?  I will soar to the sun, if nothing else but for the thrill of the glorious struggle, that tight knot of knowledge that 2+2 must equal four, and that in my vain attempt to have everything, I will collapse to the waters that will not welcome me, not this time.  But at least I will have flown.

            They always say that someone died doing what they loved.  What of those that who die unhappily, are their lives worth something?  Or do they fall without meaning, a wasted shell that lived safely and within the bounds of misery for lack of daring?  I don't want to be like those people.  I don't want to be like my father.  And so I will risk it all, give it all, for that one moment of triumph, to touch the sun and say, for an instant, that I was everything, had achieved what could not be achieved.  And then I will fall with broken wings.