Icarus

Brring, brring...

Who the fuck is calling your phone at 8 in the morning on a Sunday? You throw your covers over your head and press your hands against your ears to try and drown out the dreadful sound. But you're half asleep, your concept of time is about as useless as diet water and about as inaccurate as a public school math teacher. It feels like that ringing goes on for hours and hours and it's driving you up the wall. You furiously chuck the covers away from you and reach for the phone, shakily picking it up and struggling to answer the call.

"H-Hello? Who is this?" You sleepily ask. You're wracking your brain trying to figure out who could be calling you at this hour. You have no friends, your family thinks you're a loser, your workplace has no reason to contact you outside of work hours. Who could possibly care about you enough to actually give you a call?

"Hello, Charlie. Or should I call you Icarus?" Boom. Already. Your real name followed by the name you gave your stupid pony OC, being uttered by a nasely voice you don't recognise. Is this some basement dwelling terminally online disaster trying to fuck with you? A troll that somehow got your personal mobile number? You get filled with shock and immediately snap out of your sleepy state and start asking.

"Who the fuck is talking to me?" You're furious. Not only has your pleasent sleep been inturrupted, but this cunt knows exactly who you are. Are you being stalked? Did someone dox you? Who connected the dots? Who is sad enough to do something like this?

"Ask questions later, Barlowe. Let's talk about how you're stuck in a dead end job with no healthy relationships and all you spend your time doing is watching a cartoon for little girls in your boxers in a dimly lit apartment eating fast food and drinking soda." He gasps for air after spending a considerable amount of time explaining your personal life. Wait, how does this idiot know your last name?

"I don't know what the fuck you're talking about, don't call me again." You bring the phone away from your face before being inturrupted by more of this annoying little shit's voice.

"Bring the phone back to your face, Charlie." You're somehow convinced to press the phone against your cheek again without hesitation and begin listening again. "You've constructed an almost perfect life for Icarus because you know you're stuck dreaming. You're stuck writing stories. Stuck drawing your fantasies."

Your eyes start to water. You feel hurt and embarrassed. It's not like you to be upset. How is this nerd on the phone getting you where it truly hurts?

"You know, things do not have to be this way. Icarus is very cute. Very cute." Your head starts to hurt. Something isn't right. Is it because you got out of bed too fast? Did you take some fucked up substances last night? What time did you even fall asleep? Is any of this even real?

Beep beep beep.

The mysterious caller hung up. Immediately, you feel an intense pain in your hands, causing you to drop your phone on your hardwood floor, instantly shattering the display. You can't make a fist anymore. Your hands are totally numb. You start to panic and attempt to stand up, but to no avail. You collapse to the ground, scrambling on the floor. Your heart beat is rising, your tears are flowing, your brain is freaking out. You begin to feel an incredible pain in your back, your shoulder blades. It damn near feels like someone is in there physically maneuvering your muscles and bones. Soon after, your feet follow the same pain and numbness as your hands, followed by your nose and then your entire face beginning to boil.

You're on the floor, suffering. In intense pain. Screaming. Maybe someone will hear you if you scream enough? Who are you kidding, the people that live near you are just as careless as you. You wouldn't do the same for anyone else.

The only thing running through your brain is Icarus. The pony OC you made a few years ago, the one that guy on the phone mentioned. You originally convinced yourself you designed them as a goof, as a one off, but you started using them as an avatar online. You started identifying with them. You would scour the internet looking for artists that were drawing pony characters for free. There's no way you could afford a commission on your kind of salory. You took up drawing for yourself to put Icarus in more situations. Situations that you were too embarrassed to tell people on the internet about. You took up writing so you could put your imagination to paper. You really gave depth to that horse.

Over the years, this Icarus pony really became a part of your identity. But you had never thought about them as much as you are right now. Icarus's soft grey coat, that fluffy green mane, that oh-so dashing tail, those scratchable ears, and you can't forget that-... well, let's try to keep it PG-13 when you're in the middle of the most intense pain you've ever endured, hey?

Oh yeah, the pain. You got way too caught up thinking about how much better your life would be if you were that stupid pony you designed that you forgot that you feel like you're on the brink of death. You open your eyes and get a look at your hands. They're beginning to deform. Or, maybe your mind is playing tricks on you? As you toss and turn on the floor, you flop over to your back, but you landed on something. Couldn't be something you left on the floor, you're too far away from the phone you dropped and you never leave anything on the floor. You don't have anything to leave on the floor, you're broke. Why can't you escape that odd squishy thing in between your back and the floor? How strange. You try your best to stretch out in an attempt to aid the immense pain and accidentally get a glimse of your feet. Something hard and solid is forming on both of your feet. Odd, it feels like a giant solid toenail.

You can't take it anymore. You give into your fate and you black out. You're too overwealmed by the pain and the deformation to your body. You were almost certain that you were giving into the light and were about to die. Almost certain that this was The End of your life, and that there was no point fighting any longer.

Wonder who that guy on the phone was, anyway...