Isis and Icarus

The kingly sky was cut in half, one part kind, comforting, spotted with peacefully munching sheep, the other like the cave of Polyphemus, awfully grey, hiding his favourite woolies from the crew of Odysseus.

Only one creature crossed the sacred barrier between the opposites, a black shadow. Like a needle with thread, it was sewing the two sworn enemies together, making them inseparable, inexistant without one another. The cloud-waves which were created by the featherless crow were crumbling into each other, painting the royal blue into a magnificent teal. Suddenly, the most wonderful power of all, the Sun shone through the curtain which was separating its lively rays from the surface of its youngling. The sky was radiant, captivating to the eye.

She could no longer separate imagination from reality. Did the winged gecko really fly through the setting godly power, or did her gifted gaze search for a means to let her soul roam free? She had always wanted to experience the true feeling of freedom, to taste the colours of the wind, to hear what the clouds had to say, to grab the softness of summer, to warm the ice of winter.

“Come on, my darling, my dear Isis.” sounded the voice of her mother. How irresponsible of her to name her daughter after the only tool with which she could escape the monotonous life of a housekeeper. “Are you searching for Life again? Do not worry, my dear child, you will find someone like your father one day, and you will be happy.”

Isis could not imagine more threatening words than those which broke free from her mother’s mouth. She did not consider her father to be an ideal husband. He was not a caring parent. He would often come home, dusty from a hard day’s work, and boomed: “Icarus!” The name he had given his child expressed a desire and a warning. Isis was aware of both, she could sense them in the way he treated her, how he yelled at her like she was a servant, unwanted, annoying, and weak. Isis used to blame her mother for marrying such a monster, however, once growing into the age of curiosity, she learned that her mother was an orphan and thought that being raised by an unloving father would be better than without one.

Isis heard his father’s steps on the cold stone. She climbed the ladder up to her room, suppressing thousands of tears crowding in the back of her eyes. She loathed the man who gave her life. Sometimes she wished he would take it back, to let her soul fly back to the Creator at once.

She could feel that her father was not fully conscious. This made her hatred grow, unstoppably. Then, her feelings changed into pity towards her mother.

A bang shook the house, making Isis shiver. She could see in front of her eyes a fragile body hit the floor with enough force to cause insufferable pain. Isis had had enough. Without any windows in her room, her only escape was through the small opening between the tiles.

Once, this tiny sunlight had meant the continuation of an unremarkable survival, however, now, this was the welcoming get-away from that monotonous life. Finally, Isis would be as free as her soul, the one roaming around in the skies of blue and grey, balancing the good and evil.

The stones of the walls were slippery with moss, but the trained arms of a determined girl could not be stopped. However, the loss of one of her shoes made her invincibility slip. Only one moment was enough to make Isis hear the same fatal bang.

Staring up at the friendly spots on the great blue pasture, as if peeking through the curtains at the end of the show, she could distinguish a familiar face, one radiating such motherly warmth. She could feel that shadow waving at her before closing her eyes.

“Hello there!” she heard a voice gently waking her up. She sensed that friendly flame burning on her cheeks. “Do not be scared, we mean no harm. Let me help.”

She could not see the one aiding her in seating up, only to feel the energy growing in her core.

In front of her there was a grandeur of a green horizon with a clear, teal pool of water not far from the bed of flowers she woke up in. The “we” of what the soundly voice was talking about were playing with curly-haired sheep, ponies, long-eared bunnies and fluffy cattle.

“Here, one can do whatever one desires, the limit is your imagination. Now, what is your name, dear?”

“I am… Icarus,” she mumbled with full comprehension of the meaning of the name.

Fülöp Csenge   XI. H