Too Close to the Sun

Father commands me to steer clear of the sun, but

when do I tell him of the damages the labyrinth has

wrought upon my mind? Paranoia appears around every

corner where the minotaur might strike. Memories of victims’

screams replay in my thoughts along with the loneliness

that engulfed me when he left to craft our wings. He constructed

this cruel convolution that contorted my mind, and I am left to

contemplate the kind of father he must be. Soaring through the sky

is my only liberty; I feel at peace with the flocks of birds and

the wind in my hair. But this cannot last, these wings of wax

are weak as my brain. And as the sun’s heat strokes my back, it

reminds me of its power to send me spiraling to the sea. I must make

a decision: face the depths of the ocean or my own mind. If my father

can create a tortuous maze, in truth, he is no better than King Minos.

The rocking waves below look comforting as lightly wrinkled sheets,

and as I ascend toward the horizon, I feel the hot wax drip down

my back, warm like sweet honey.

Mary Claire Sullivan