Last night I dreamed I stole a pair of mechanical wings from a tank/bunker that was covered with large slugs. They were black with neon purple and pink detailing and when I put them on I flew up higher than the buildings and when I dove down I was not afraid of falling.
The wings stayed with me. They didn’t break or disappear. I flew and I wasn’t afraid even when they started shooting at me.
Usually when I dream about climbing or flying I fall and the falling is painful and I wake up with heart palpitations and panic. But not this time. It was a really awesome dream.
They say I took the most beautiful dream in the world and destroyed it. Burned it up and my useless life right along with it. I got exactly what I deserved, what Pride throws out to everyone who fails. Death and shame.
No one remembers we were trapped there too, blind and starving for the open sky. They said, “Give us your magic or else.”
Bloody feathers on the floor. But our wings didn’t break and we flew away and YEAH after eons of darkness I flew, unbroken, into that radiant sunrise.
Now they tell you my story with a warning: don’t break the rules or you’ll end up like me. Don’t go too far or you’ll end up like me, don’t get too close to what you love the most or you’ll end up just like me.
Now, because of me they tell you to be cautious, be wary, be afraid.
Remember the stories of the heroes Bravery and Hubris brought safely home? Remember those beloved by the gods? Those who tasted victory instead of defeat?
My story is not their story.
They tell you: never reach for more than what you are capable of catching, never strive to become your dreams.
They do not tell you my only dream was freedom.
Photo Credit: Landscape with the Fall of Icarus, Pieter Bruegel the Elder