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(Sometimes, a person isn't killed by a knife… but by a word, a look, or the neglect of those they thought were family.)
Months passed slowly… everything lost its flavor.
School became a prison, and his room an open grave.
Even his aunt—who once tried to mend his wounds—began to disappear more often, using "being busy" as an excuse.
But the truth was, she was trying to escape the memory of her dead sister… and from the questions in Icarus's eyes, questions that screamed but were never answered.
One night, his father came home with a woman.
She laughed loudly, then looked at Icarus with a mocking gaze and said,
"That's your son? He looks… depressing."
His father replied as he opened a bottle of liquor,
"Takes after his mother… same weakness, same sorrow."
Icarus didn't respond. He just went out to the backyard and sat under the rain.
His face was wet—no one could tell if it was from tears or raindrops…
Maybe both.
In the morning, his father sat in front of him and said:
"Listen closely… I got married. That woman is going to live with us.
And you? I don't need you.
Figure out your life. Travel, disappear—I don't care.
I'll have kids better than you… a million times better."
It wasn't just the words that shattered his heart…
It was the coldness.
The ease with which his father said those things, as if Icarus was just a mistake.
He stood up from the chair and silently packed his few belongings.
Before leaving, his aunt walked in.
She looked at him, fear in her eyes, and asked,
"Where are you going?"
He replied, trying to stay strong,
"I'm looking for a place… where I won't be betrayed."
She took his hand, pulled him into a hug, and whispered,
"If you ever get tired… come back to me. I'm here, even if the whole world disappears."
He nodded… and walked away.
He didn't look back.
Didn't say goodbye.
Even the photos of his mother—he left them.
Because he no longer knew if they were sweet memories… or knives.
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