Fly, Icarus
Title: Fly, Icarus
Author: Lyra Sena
Fandom: Lost
Character(s): Locke, Walt
Summary: We had our wings.
Thanks: Of course to my wonderful nifra_idril.
Fly, Icarus
“You know, I understand what it’s like to want to stay in one place,” Locke said, carefully scraping dirt from his nail with his knife. “Gets hard, moving around,” he waved the knife casually, “never settling down. Having to get used to different beds. Lumpy beds, hard beds, sometimes just a mat on the floor.”
He glanced over at Walt, cross-legged against the base of a tree, and saw him shrug one shoulder.
“When I was a boy,” he continued, “I used to have this dream. This one dream that I’d have over and over and over. It was about a bed, the perfect bed. It was big, so big it almost filled the room. No blankets, no pillows - just a mattress and a sheet, big as the room, waiting for me to climb on.”
“Man, this isn’t gonna be another boring story, is it?” Walt asked, tugging up a clump of grass. He threw it behind him and sunk his fingers into the ground.
“Maybe,” Locke answered.
“Well I don’t have all day,” Walt said decisively, staring closely at the ground.
“Maybe you don’t,” Locke said, squatting beside him. “Maybe I don’t, maybe none of us do.”
“You’re weird, you know that?” Walt said, lifting his head to look Locke in the eye.
“Yeah,” Locke said, laughing once. “I know.”
Walt sighed and leaned his head back against the tree. “It’s not that I don’t want to leave - it’s just…. I’m getting to know my dad, okay? And maybe I like it here. I mean, we have food, right? And water. And plus, I don’t have to go to school or wear a uniform. So I figure as long as I got Vincent, and my dad, maybe things are okay. Maybe I don’t have to go back home - I mean. Dad’s home.”
The ground underneath them was wet; rain had fallen just an hour previously, and would fall again in another four hours, by Locke’s estimation. He was used to the seat of his pants being permanently wet now, either from sweat or rain or just because everything seemed to be dripping all the time. Heavy drops of rain only gave way to clammy hot bodies in the sun, so one way or the other, it was all the same.
He bent his legs up, hung his hands between them, and continued cleaning his nails.
“We used to have deer in our yard,” he said. “A family of them.”
Walt looked at him skeptically. “Did you shoot them?”
“No, no, nothing like that. They were fake. You know, plastic. Not real.” Locke smiled at that. “My sister, before she died, used to tell me they were reindeer that flew into our yard. A family of reindeer, she said, that got tired of living at the North Pole and decided to come live with us instead.”
“And you believed her?” Walt shook his head, sadly. “Man, you were a dumb kid.”
Locke tilted his head, stared into the sun for a long moment. “Yeah, I was.” He looked back at Walt.
The kid was tired, eyes drooping with the heat, sweat running down along his neck. “You ever think about flying, Walt? Not in a plane, I mean. But flying for real, just you - ” Locke pointed up, and light bounced off the tip of his silver blade, “up there. Just you, and the wind, and maybe some clouds. Just you and the sun.”
“Uhh, no,” Walt said, wiping a hand across his face. “I thought about birds flying, though. I like birds. Do you like birds?”
“Yeah, I like birds,” Locke answered. “Walt, have you ever heard the story of Icarus?”
Walt rolled his eyes. “Do I look like I have?”
“Of course not,” Locke sighed. “Icarus was a boy - just a regular boy, like you. And his dad, Daedalus, was a - ”
“Do they all have funny names?” Walt interrupted.
“Yes. They do.” Locke abruptly flung his knife through the air. It landed with a thud in a tree a hundred yards away. He grinned when he heard the fly buzzing under the blade.
Walt whistled under his breath, and muttered “weirdo’.
“Anyway,” Locke continued, stretching his legs in front of him, “Icarus’ dad built things. Like your dad.”
“Yeah?” Walt asked, half-interested.
“Yes. And one day, Daedalus built his son Icarus a set of wings. A beautiful pair of wings, so that Icarus could fly.”
“Did Ica…Icarus want to fly?”
“Not really. You see, they were trying to escape. They were trying to get away from where they were, and go somewhere far away, where they would be safe.”
“Huh,” Walt said, but he leaned forward, resting his chin on one balled fist. “So they - they made wings so they could fly away?”
“Yep. They made wings so they could fly away. Only - ” Locke leaned in close, voice dropping. “Icarus flew too closely to the sun, and his wings melted, and he dropped into the sea and drowned.”
Walt jerked up suddenly. “He drowned? Man, why you always have to tell these creepy stories? Jeez,” Walt finished, disgusted. “I’m just a kid, you know. You’re not supposed to tell me scary stories - maybe I’ll have a nightmare tonight and then it’ll be your fault.”
“A nightmare? Walt, what do you think this is?” Locke waved his arm in a wide circle. “You think this is a fairy tale? That this is a game, some sort of vacation? Son, this is your nightmare. You are living the nightmare. Open your eyes. Look around you. We’re all like Icarus, Walt. We had our wings. We had them and they melted and now we’re here, stuck on this island.”
Walt sighed and stood up, brushing dirt off his shorts. “You know, you’re cool and all with the knife tricks, but dude - I just…” Walt started walking away, shaking his head.
“I think the fly is dead now,” he finished, and pulled the knife out, tossing it to the ground.
Author: Lyra Sena
Fandom: Lost
Character(s): Locke, Walt
Summary: We had our wings.
Thanks: Of course to my wonderful nifra_idril.
Fly, Icarus
“You know, I understand what it’s like to want to stay in one place,” Locke said, carefully scraping dirt from his nail with his knife. “Gets hard, moving around,” he waved the knife casually, “never settling down. Having to get used to different beds. Lumpy beds, hard beds, sometimes just a mat on the floor.”
He glanced over at Walt, cross-legged against the base of a tree, and saw him shrug one shoulder.
“When I was a boy,” he continued, “I used to have this dream. This one dream that I’d have over and over and over. It was about a bed, the perfect bed. It was big, so big it almost filled the room. No blankets, no pillows - just a mattress and a sheet, big as the room, waiting for me to climb on.”
“Man, this isn’t gonna be another boring story, is it?” Walt asked, tugging up a clump of grass. He threw it behind him and sunk his fingers into the ground.
“Maybe,” Locke answered.
“Well I don’t have all day,” Walt said decisively, staring closely at the ground.
“Maybe you don’t,” Locke said, squatting beside him. “Maybe I don’t, maybe none of us do.”
“You’re weird, you know that?” Walt said, lifting his head to look Locke in the eye.
“Yeah,” Locke said, laughing once. “I know.”
Walt sighed and leaned his head back against the tree. “It’s not that I don’t want to leave - it’s just…. I’m getting to know my dad, okay? And maybe I like it here. I mean, we have food, right? And water. And plus, I don’t have to go to school or wear a uniform. So I figure as long as I got Vincent, and my dad, maybe things are okay. Maybe I don’t have to go back home - I mean. Dad’s home.”
The ground underneath them was wet; rain had fallen just an hour previously, and would fall again in another four hours, by Locke’s estimation. He was used to the seat of his pants being permanently wet now, either from sweat or rain or just because everything seemed to be dripping all the time. Heavy drops of rain only gave way to clammy hot bodies in the sun, so one way or the other, it was all the same.
He bent his legs up, hung his hands between them, and continued cleaning his nails.
“We used to have deer in our yard,” he said. “A family of them.”
Walt looked at him skeptically. “Did you shoot them?”
“No, no, nothing like that. They were fake. You know, plastic. Not real.” Locke smiled at that. “My sister, before she died, used to tell me they were reindeer that flew into our yard. A family of reindeer, she said, that got tired of living at the North Pole and decided to come live with us instead.”
“And you believed her?” Walt shook his head, sadly. “Man, you were a dumb kid.”
Locke tilted his head, stared into the sun for a long moment. “Yeah, I was.” He looked back at Walt.
The kid was tired, eyes drooping with the heat, sweat running down along his neck. “You ever think about flying, Walt? Not in a plane, I mean. But flying for real, just you - ” Locke pointed up, and light bounced off the tip of his silver blade, “up there. Just you, and the wind, and maybe some clouds. Just you and the sun.”
“Uhh, no,” Walt said, wiping a hand across his face. “I thought about birds flying, though. I like birds. Do you like birds?”
“Yeah, I like birds,” Locke answered. “Walt, have you ever heard the story of Icarus?”
Walt rolled his eyes. “Do I look like I have?”
“Of course not,” Locke sighed. “Icarus was a boy - just a regular boy, like you. And his dad, Daedalus, was a - ”
“Do they all have funny names?” Walt interrupted.
“Yes. They do.” Locke abruptly flung his knife through the air. It landed with a thud in a tree a hundred yards away. He grinned when he heard the fly buzzing under the blade.
Walt whistled under his breath, and muttered “weirdo’.
“Anyway,” Locke continued, stretching his legs in front of him, “Icarus’ dad built things. Like your dad.”
“Yeah?” Walt asked, half-interested.
“Yes. And one day, Daedalus built his son Icarus a set of wings. A beautiful pair of wings, so that Icarus could fly.”
“Did Ica…Icarus want to fly?”
“Not really. You see, they were trying to escape. They were trying to get away from where they were, and go somewhere far away, where they would be safe.”
“Huh,” Walt said, but he leaned forward, resting his chin on one balled fist. “So they - they made wings so they could fly away?”
“Yep. They made wings so they could fly away. Only - ” Locke leaned in close, voice dropping. “Icarus flew too closely to the sun, and his wings melted, and he dropped into the sea and drowned.”
Walt jerked up suddenly. “He drowned? Man, why you always have to tell these creepy stories? Jeez,” Walt finished, disgusted. “I’m just a kid, you know. You’re not supposed to tell me scary stories - maybe I’ll have a nightmare tonight and then it’ll be your fault.”
“A nightmare? Walt, what do you think this is?” Locke waved his arm in a wide circle. “You think this is a fairy tale? That this is a game, some sort of vacation? Son, this is your nightmare. You are living the nightmare. Open your eyes. Look around you. We’re all like Icarus, Walt. We had our wings. We had them and they melted and now we’re here, stuck on this island.”
Walt sighed and stood up, brushing dirt off his shorts. “You know, you’re cool and all with the knife tricks, but dude - I just…” Walt started walking away, shaking his head.
“I think the fly is dead now,” he finished, and pulled the knife out, tossing it to the ground.