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The Greek myth of Icarus... But like a modern or futuristic setting. Go nuts.

For my part Iknow nothing with any certainty, but the sight of the stars makes medream. -Vincent van Gogh

Mostof the books he’s read sayspace is silent, and after years spent drifting through a slog ofvacuum and stars, Icarus is inclined to agree. Butatsome point, it must have leaked in through the airlocks because foras long as he can remember, heand his father have orbited each other, proximity pulling themtogether while some other, unnamed charge threatens to pull themapart. And the space that liesbetween them is a yawning expanse of nothing, reflective of the black stretching outfrom their portholes. He’ssurprised he ever learned to speak, given the circumstances.

Hisfather locks himself in his laboratory for days at a time, barelytouching the protein packs Icarus shoves under his door three times asolar. (Itisn’t until he’s balancing on the precipice of adulthood thatIcarus discovers he was crafting the means of theirescape.)Until such time,there is a boy growing into sullen adolescence in silence, withnothing but the bookstheir king and captor so graciously gifted to them before he launchedthem into space and took away the key.

Mostof them are stories of heroes slain by monsters, a taunt from the manwho put them here. Lookwhat happens to people like you who cross people like me. But,at the same time their blood is spilled fromthe sword, their souls are scattered across the stars. Somehow, theyare immortalized forever in the points of light studded across theblack he knows so well.

And,apparently, (impossibly) they sing.

Hedoesn’t quite understand everything thesebooks are saying. Unlike hisfather, the more esoteric ideas ofscience and mathematics slip through his fingers infavor of the bedtime storieshe’s had to tell himself.In these, tale is told time andtime again of the music. Fromwhat he can comprehend from fragmented pages that threaten to crumblebeneath his fingertips, twined in the angles between every star andplanet are harmonies that should be cacophonous given the sheervastness of the cosmos, but come together into rapture instead.

Musicshouldn’t exist within in the vacuum of space; but then again,neither should little boys, and they both are. He wonders if thestars sing of the things they have seen slinging their lightsmillions of lightyears away orballads of the heroes thatswell their ranks, or thingshe can’t imagine after a life imprisoned the SSLabyrinth.

Oneday, with metal wingspowering him into the world he has only ever watched from afar, Icarus will hear the musicof the stars. It will be silenceand foronce in his goddamn life, that silence will be beautiful. Then,he will become a part of it.