AN: Yeah I know. New story. I came up with it and I couldn't just leave it. (hits herself) Anyway, read it and review. Seriously, review. I LIKE REVIEWS, DANG IT! Sorry. Lost the happy. But the happy's back! Lol. Anyway, read on!

Wax Wings

By: The EightTerrors

Chapter One

He made wax wings, in hopes to fly over the ocean. And it worked, too. He flew through the air just like a hawk did every day. But the thing about wax is...

It melts.

And once he flew too close to the boiling sun, he didn't have much time to think about what an idiot he was before he crashed to his death.

So goes the story of Icarus. That's one of the only mythology stories I know. We learned it one day in History class when we were studying Ancient Greece. Just before my story really began. In a way, his story and mine are pretty similar. Except the ending was different. I didn't die.

But I should have.

My name is Edward. Edward Glass. Most people call me Ed, even though I prefer Edward. But that's beside the point of why I should have died that fateful October the 13th.

I should have died for the same reason Icarus did. I flew too close to the sun. To God. Only, I didn't actually fly. It's a metaphor. I didn't make wax wings, but I was stopped on the street. Actually, I should say I was pulled off the street.

I was walking home from school that day, straight through town. It was faster than taking the back way around through the Boondocks and all. Now that I look back on it, if I would have went the long way, I cold have avoided this entire story. But I didn't. That's me for you. I'm always trying to find the quickest way out.

It was dreary weather out that day. It was about four in the afternoon but the sky was dark and heavy with rain clouds. I expected it to start pouring any second as I walked among the tall buildings in town. The chilly air whipped my long black hair in every which way. It would be completely dishevled by the time I got home, I knew. I didn't mind, though. It was my mom who cared. She had always cared about how I looked. She was a very protective woman. My dad was the same, but not nearly as overkill as my mom. He thought I should look how I wanted. When it came to school and grades, though, he couldn't care more. You don't know how many times I had to sit through the "if you want to go to college..." lecture.

I was the oldest out of three kids. I had a younger brother in the eighth grade named Walker and a sister in preschool named Tanya. So my parents were still getting used to the whole "kid in high school" thing. Which concerned me, since by that time, I was almost out of high school. But I was able to cope with it. Id' done it for the past eighteen years.

I was wishing I had a car as spits of rain began sprinkling down on my face. I was about as broke as a hobo, so a car wasn't exactly an option. Riding the bus wasn't a prefered option, either. The only ones who rode the bus were freshmen and I didn't want to deal with them for a whole half an hour. Walking was just down-right easier. Not as easy as a car, of course.

My hair blew in my face and I brushed it away, absent mindedly. My black hair wasn't very long, but it came down past my ears. Tanya was convinced I had "girl hair", no thanks to Walker, who egged her on about the whole thing. My mom always wanted me to cut it, keep it short because long hair looked too Goth on me. I didn't mind it. It hade become habitual for me to push aside random loose strands.

It's funny how you can be walking along ,minding your own business, listening to a little Breaking Benjamin on your iPod, and then a heavy force rests upon your shoulder, pulling you aside. That's exactly what happened. A hand swooped down from a back alley and pulled me into the shadows of two tall buildings.

The hand came off my shoulder once I was in the darkness. I looked around but the lighting was very dim in the shadows. All I could see of the person who pulled me there was one feature: the eyes. Two wide, shiny, green orbs glowed in the darkness. What the...? I thought, straining my eyes to see the rest of him...or her...or...it.

The eyes just sat there, looking me over, giving me the creeps with every blink. What was it doing? Deciding what part of me to eat first? Whatever it was intending to do with me, I wanted none of it. I began to turn away, when the voice stopped me dead in my tracks.

"Do you want to live forever, lad?"

I froze in place. It was a man's voice. He had an accent, too. British, most likely. But it wasn't really how he sounded that stopped me more than what he said. I turned back to face him. "What did you say?" I asked him.

The wide eyes stepped forward out of the shadows, revealing the rest of him. He was a dirty, middle-aged man with a tattered brown jacket and worn blue jeans. His combat boots were caked with mud. He wasn't very tall, at least not as tall as me. A mop of curly, greasy, blonde hair sat a top his head. He seemed to be hunching, as well. Who was this guy? I kept wondering. "I said, 'Do you want to live forever?'" he repeated, his crooked teeth glinting a grimy gold on a lopsided smile.

There was no need to think over the question. Who didn't wanto to live forever? I'd leap at the chance to live for eternity. If there was such a possibility, of course. That was all crazy talk. "Of course," I answered. "Who wouldn't?

"You can, lad," the man said, licking his chapped lips in delight. "It's possible."

I laughed. "Sure it is," I said.

"It is," the Brit said. He reached a filth-covered hand into his coat pocket and pulled out a small item. When I took a closer look, I saw it was a small, glass vile, filled with a red liquid. At first, I thought it was blood,b ut it was much too thin to be blood. Maybe an alchholic beverage of some sort. What? I take a shot and I live forever? I joked to myself.

"What is that?" I asked.

The man gave a loud chuckle. "You don't know what this is?" he asked me, bewildered.

I shook my head.

He drew closer to me, (he smelled absolutely awful), holding the glass up to my face so I could see it better. "This is the key to immortality, lad," he whispered. "The Crimson Elixir."

"The Crimson Elixir?" I repeated, trying to get upwind.

"Aye."

It wasn't long before I couldn't contain my laughter any more. "This," I asked between laughs, motioning to the liquid. "This is going to make me live forever?" I was having a hard time catching my breath, I was laughing so hard.

"It's true, boy," the man argued. "I'm living proof. I'm five 'undred years old, I am."

My laughter didn't die down. "Sure you are," I said, beginning to turn away.

"Come now, lad," the man said. "Why not give it a try? Brighten an old 'omeless man's day?"

I turned back to him again, not laughing. I suppose it would be nice of me. I wouldn't actually drink it. It could be poison, after all. "How much you want for it?" I asked, out of curiosity.

The man laughed now. "I don't want nuffin' for it," he said. "I just want you to take it. It's a gift."

I looked at him crazily. If he didn't want money for it, why was he giving it to me? "Why?" I asked.

"I thought I'd share in the wealth," he explained. "Didn't want to be the only one I knew a 'undred years from now."

I sighed. Would I really be so stupid as to take something from this guy who looked like he crawled out of a dumpster?

Obviously, yeah.

"Ok, I'll take it," I agreed.

The man smiled a yellow smile and threw the vile at me. I caught it with both hands and looked over it in my hands as he spoke. "Just drink it," he instructed. "It 'as a real kick at first. But afterward, you 'ardly know the difference."

"Thanks," I said, shoving the glass in my pocket.

"My pleasure," he said. "See you in a 'undred years."

A clap of thunder sounded above me. I looked toward the sky in surprise, but I soon turned back to the man.

He was gone in the blink of an eye.

Crazy old guy, I muttered to myself. Like that little glass held the key to immortality. Yeah right. And pencils had wings. I laughed to myself as I continued walking down the street, fingering the little vile as I did. I wasn't thinking about taking the dude's advice and drinking it. That'd be mental. I'd probably junk it as soon as I got home.

Man, do I wish I did.