Plot twist, Icarus is as stupid as ever but the sun is sick of standing still...
Spit your words into the air and let them sizzle. I’ll spit mine onto the page where they can’t hurt anyone. Yours drip down from the sky and onto my skin, drawing licks of scars while your eyes are blind to the burns you’re inflicting. I’ll let my flames rest upon the page, a page that doesn’t catch fire but burns deeper, leaves ashes of a feeling upon the desk. And when you walk away, unscathed, remember that my scars will heal as fast as my pen can burn the words onto the immortal page.
You did this for an audience, didn’t you? Well, guess who’ll have the biggest turnout in the end. I have longevity on my side. Those who claim the moral high ground while looking down upon the world only make a weapon of their own hypocrisy. Even this pen will reach its end and there’ll be no wick to hold my anger.
What happens then?
I’ll become a wildfire in this paneled room and I hope you get out before I burn us to the ground.
I fan myself back, I tremble at the warmth. I do this as a courtesy. I know how to control the embers of a temper seething at the edges. My face, contorted with ease, is a mask of the true force dying to make its way out and end the bitter sparklers you hurl into the air.
Is that all you can do? I want to ask. Pathetic. A mere flame, a lighter amidst the blanket of night. One breath on my part will put it out.
I don’t say these things. I nod and shake my head instead, feeling flames tickle the inside of my lips. And with every tantalizing flicker you flash across my face, another half inch is burnt through. You think you’re giving me a warning. You let it edge its way to my very nose, tickling my cheeks. Careful. Careful because I’m not scared of burning on the outside. No. You see, the sun is burning from my insides and she’s more than willing to burst out against the provocations you provide, the provocations that leave paper cuts across my skin, that burn small and round cigarette rings closer and closer to my heart.
Don’t do that.
Don’t open the holes and let her out, she’ll consume us both. And no one wants that. I’m a phoenix, don’t you know? I’m a phoenix and I’ll rise from the flames of my soul. I’ll soar above your ashes. But I’ll have to start again and it’s a rather tiring business and not one worth your pitiful flickers. Don’t do that. I don’t want to see you turn to ashes.
Don’t provoke the sun, Icarus. I can see you take a step back, see your embers flush out in a small puff of smoke. You saw her behind my eyes, didn’t you? You felt the wax upon your wings glint in her light and it scared you.
Good.
Get scared.
Pick at the feathers of your pale imitation and doubt yourself for a moment. Feel the warmth burning holes through my ribs, sense the rush of wind as my shackles are raised. Beckon to fan the flames and let them crash higher over us both.
Icarus, dear. Take a step back. I don’t want to hurt you.
I see you, making embers to the sky now. You’re too scared to look directly at me. You’re looking for the sun you felt. You’re hoping she’s not on land.
I feel the sparks grace my skin and force cool thoughts across my mind. I bargain with the sun and ask her to lie dormant in my chest for a bit longer until I can get to the wick of this pen. Once I do, I’ll let her have her way. The fire will burn itself out and nothing’ll be left but smoke. Wisps of the tragic but timely death of your words. Are you proud? They hung in the air for a couple of seconds. Yes, they did. And then they died, leaving behind nothing but a black bed of soot and a spent soul. The smoke will cling to my hair, my clothes, my temples. But at least I’ll walk away. My footsteps will scatter your ashes, the floorboards will soak up your words. I won’t burn, I don't need to. No, you see, I’ll walk away while you’re the very smoke I breath in. And as I go, you’ll swirl up and then come crashing down, a mess of wax and feathers, the ashes of an argument I warned you wasn’t worth the trouble. You’ve made your bed. You know what do from here.
Let me get to my pen, let me burn this fire out. I’m not asking for me. I’m asking for you.
Come on, Icarus. Take a step back. Your wax is dripping on the hardwood floor.
Icarus, take a step back.
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