Good Morning, Icarus

Characters:

Icarus – Late teens, early twenties. Male. Any race.

Apollo – Mid-twenties. Male. Any race. Bright.

Daedalus – Offstage, flying by. Can be pre-recorded if necessary.

SCENE ONE

(A lighthouse. The large structure towers over everything. Apollo is at the very top, sitting. It is sunrise. He is just about to go to work, riding the sun across the sky. He sips a drink, legs kicking as they dangle over the edge. He is bright.)

DAEDALUS

(Offstage, from far away.)

ICARUS!

(A brutal scream. Apollo watches something fall. A loud splash. Apollo sets his drink down and descends to the bottom, to the shore. He kicks his shoes off and stands, waiting. A mangled boy, with bent wings and bruises, crawls onto the shore and collapses. Apollo picks him up and moves him out of the water, sets him down gently, and then sits beside the boy. The boy is barely conscious. This is Icarus.)

ICARUS

D-dad— . . . ?

APOLLO

He didn’t stop.

(Icarus shields his eyes.)

ICARUS

You’re so bright.

APOLLO

You like bright things, don’t you? You always try and chase them down.

ICARUS

Where am I?

APOLLO

An island.

ICARUS

Oh. Great. I just . . . I just left one.

APOLLO

Well, now you’re at a different one.

ICARUS

The wings, they didn’t work.

APOLLO

On the contrary, they worked a little too well.

(Icarus tries to lift a wounded hand to the wings on his back.)

They aren’t going to work now.

ICARUS

We worked so hard on them . . .

APOLLO

And now they’re ruined. Melted.

ICARUS

I—I feel so tired. I can barely lift my arms.

APOLLO

Rest.

ICARUS

I need to keep going . . .

(Apollo lays a gentle hand on Icarus’s head.)

APOLLO

Rest. You’ll sleep through the whole day and wake when the sun sets.

ICARUS

If you say so . . . Goodnight . . .

APOLLO

It’s good morning, actually.

(Icarus falls asleep. The sun gently begins to creep up. Apollo looks out toward it.)

Damn. Can’t get behind schedule.

(He looks over to Icarus, asleep.)

Be right back.

(Apollo pulls the keys from his pocket and exits. We hear the revving of an engine and then see an explosion of light as the sun rises. Icarus sleeps through this. The sun travels up the sky as we hear the motorcycle engine purr. Then the sun begins to travel back down. It is night. The engine cuts off. Apollo enters. Icarus begins to wake up.)

ICARUS

Hello? Is anyone there?

(Apollo hangs back and watches. Icarus stands, unsteady. Icarus sees Apollo and shields his eyes.)

Ah! Hello!

APOLLO

How do you feel?

ICARUS

Uh, tired. Where am I?

APOLLO

What do you remember?

ICARUS

I remember everything. I’m not stupid.

APOLLO

You took one hell of a fall. Just making sure that you didn’t hit your head too hard on the water.

ICARUS

Who are you? And why are you so . . .

APOLLO

Illuminating?

ICARUS

Shiny.

APOLLO

Your eyes will adjust.

ICARUS

You haven’t answered any of my questions.

APOLLO

Ask them again.

ICARUS

Where am I? Who are you?

APOLLO

You’re on an island—

ICARUS

Yeah, I know that much. Which island?

APOLLO

My island.

ICARUS

I’m sure to you that narrows things down, but it doesn’t really mean anything to me.

APOLLO

It will.

ICARUS

So, you’re some rich guy with an island?

APOLLO

I wouldn’t say I’m rich.

ICARUS

You certainly look it.

APOLLO

And what would you know? Haven’t you been trapped your whole life?

ICARUS

. . . I—

APOLLO

Don’t bother trying to hide who you are. I’ve driven past you every day.

ICARUS

Who are you?

APOLLO

Look at me.

(Icarus looks past the brightness.)

I am the sun. I am what carries it across the sky each day. I’m the reason people sweat in the summer, and what everyone looks forward to in the winter. I’m the reason you fell, Icarus.

(A pause.)

ICARUS

Why am I here?

APOLLO

You washed up.

ICARUS

That’s how I got here, but—why? There has to be a reason.

APOLLO

I don’t know everything.

ICARUS

You know who I am.

APOLLO

And you know me.

(Icarus watches. Apollo moves closer.)

ICARUS

Apollo.

APOLLO

No one ever tells you this, but I think you and your father were very brave. Jumping into the sky like you did. Hoping wax wings would carry you to safety.

ICARUS

My father—

APOLLO

Is long gone. Why did you chase after me?

(A pause.)

ICARUS

I—I wanted to—

APOLLO

Wanted to what, Icarus? What did you want to do with the sun?

ICARUS

I wanted to feel it.

APOLLO

You’ve felt it almost every day of your life.

ICARUS

It’s different when you’re so close to it. So close that you can feel the warmth on the palms of your hand.

(Apollo holds up a hand. Icarus reaches out and places his hand on Apollo’s.)

APOLLO

Does it feel warm?

ICARUS

Yes.

APOLLO

How warm?

ICARUS

As warm as a thousand forest fires.

(A pause.)

I still don’t know why I’m here.

APOLLO

People aren’t meant to find this island.

ICARUS

Then why is there a lighthouse?

APOLLO

That’s for me. Sometimes for my sister. But usually for me.

ICARUS

If I’m not supposed to be here, why are you letting me stay?

APOLLO

I haven’t said anything about you staying . . . But I am interested.

ICARUS

Why?

APOLLO

Because you’re alive. Because everyone thinks that after you fly too high and crash back down, you’re dead on impact. But yet, here you are.

ICARUS

. . . Maybe I am dead.

APOLLO

No. You would feel cold. I’ve felt death. It doesn’t feel like you.

(A pause.)

Nothing feels like you.

ICARUS

That’s a good thing, isn’t it?

APOLLO

For me, it is.

ICARUS

. . . Is there a way to leave? The island, I mean?

(Apollo breaks physical contact and steps away. A long pause.)

Apollo?

APOLLO

I don’t know of any way off the island.

ICARUS

But you come and go.

APOLLO

I’m the sun. I have to.

ICARUS

Then take me with you.

APOLLO

If you tried to ride with me . . . there wouldn’t even be ashes left, Icarus. It would burn you up so completely, I don’t even know if your soul would survive.

ICARUS

Let me try.

APOLLO

I'm the only one who can. It’s what I was born to do.

ICARUS

I don’t think I was born for anything.

APOLLO

That’s not true. You mean something. To a lot of people.

ICARUS

People I’ll never meet.

APOLLO

No one forgets about you.

ICARUS

. . . They all remember an idiot boy who fell to his death.

APOLLO

Apparent death. You are not dead.

ICARUS

Might as well be. No one will know I lived.

APOLLO

I do.

(A pause.)

ICARUS

. . . I’ve got myself to blame, in the end. I wanted to go farther. As high as I could and even past that.

APOLLO

You were warned—

ICARUS

—And I didn’t listen.

APOLLO

You have me now.

ICARUS

No. I don’t.

APOLLO

I’m here for you.

ICARUS

Only at night, apparently. I know each day you have to ride across the sky. What will I be doing? Sitting here waiting for you to get back? Just so you can talk or complain or cry to someone? Just so you can touch me and not feel so alone? Is that all I have?

APOLLO

Isn’t it better than what you had? Trapped with your father who cared more about his inventions than you—

ICARUS

Don’t.

APOLLO

Pushing you out into the sky and then flying on without you when you reached too far—

ICARUS

—I’m sorry—

APOLLO

You’d be happy here. You’d have a routine. You can do whatever you want during the day—eat, sleep, drink, swim . . . And then at night, I’ll ride up. Park. Meet you wherever you are.

ICARUS

What about sleep?

APOLLO

Who needs it?

ICARUS

It sounds so domestic.

APOLLO

You’ve really never known what that’s like, have you?

ICARUS

You know the answer, you don’t have to ask the question.

APOLLO

. . . Come here.

(Icarus does not move.)

Please?

ICARUS

Why?

APOLLO

I . . .

ICARUS

You what?

APOLLO

What would you do if I said I wanted to hold you?

ICARUS

Don’t you have followers or worshipers? Someone else to care for?

APOLLO

I’ve been by myself for a long time.

ICARUS

By choice?

APOLLO

Things come and go in a snap. A constant whirlwind. I don’t know how many of us Gods and Goddesses and God-Adjacents are even left. But the sun comes up and goes down each day. That will never change.

ICARUS

Time passes. Slowly and quickly. Sometimes it feels like I’ve never met another person at all.

APOLLO

Maybe you exist outside of time now that you fell.

ICARUS

Do you think so? I mean, There’s no such thing as the present, after all. When you think about it, it’s already happened. It’s in the past. If I picked up a rock and dropped it off a cliff, how long does that action stay in the present? I think it’s already in the past the moment I let go of it. Even me talking right now, is that the present? Or the past?

APOLLO

I don’t know. I think you hit the water too hard and now your head is all messed up.

ICARUS

Maybe. Do you remember any of them? Your followers or . . . people you care about. If you ever did care about people.

APOLLO

I—Whenever I try to think of them now, all I see is you.

ICARUS

Me?

APOLLO

It’s like you’ve written over them.

ICARUS

I’m nothing special. I couldn’t even fly.

APOLLO

You’re special to me.

ICARUS

Only because I chased after you.

APOLLO

You don’t have to lower yourself.

ICARUS

Gravity did that on its own, didn’t it?

APOLLO

I want to kiss you.

ICARUS

Then kiss me.

(Apollo crosses over to Icarus. They look into each other’s eyes. Apollo slowly kisses Icarus. Icarus’s broken wings fall off. Apollo takes a step back. Icarus brings a hand up to his lips.)

ICARUS

I think—I think you burned me.

APOLLO

Everything about me burns.

ICARUS

Everything? Even your . . .

(Icarus smirks.)

APOLLO

Don’t.

ICARUS

What? I can’t tease you?

APOLLO

Why would you want to?

ICARUS

Because it’s fun. If I’m here, I might as well enjoy it.

APOLLO

Are you . . . enjoying it?

ICARUS

. . . It’s very different. And yet—familiar. Being trapped on an island. I want to leave. I’m tired of being trapped. But you . . . I don’t know. You’re—I just keep wanting to talk to you. You’ve got this . . . pull. You pull everything toward you.

APOLLO

Do you think you could leave? If you wanted to?

ICARUS

Sounds like you’re trying to goad me into a challenge.

APOLLO

Just curious, is all. We all know your father was the one behind those wings.

(Icarus says nothing.)

It’s true isn’t it? He’s the great inventor, you’re just . . . the dead son.

ICARUS

Stop.

APOLLO

That stings, doesn’t it? Worse than falling? Worse than hitting the water?

ICARUS

I don’t remember the fall.

APOLLO

Really?

ICARUS

I mean—I remember falling—fast—the air running through my hair, my hands trying to grasp onto something, anything . . . For a moment it felt like I wasn’t falling at all, like someone had tied me up and just placed me in the sky. Then things were spinning, and the dark blue water was coming closer. I could see the waves, the rise and fall of them on open water. I closed my eyes. And then I—I was here. Did you save me?

APOLLO

No. You clawed and scratched your way out of the water and onto the sand yourself.

ICARUS

Did you do anything at all?

APOLLO

No.

ICARUS

You just watched?

APOLLO

Pretty much.

ICARUS

Why?

APOLLO

You learned something, didn’t you?

ICARUS

Learned something? I didn’t learn anything. I felt free for the first time in my entire life and now that’s all gone. I’ll never see my father again or learn anything, or meet a girl and fall in love and have children and fill a home and build a legacy—

APOLLO

You don’t have to worry about that last one. You’ve got a pretty solid presence in people’s minds.

ICARUS

For what?

APOLLO

Dying. Tragically, I might add. There are worse things to be remembered for.

ICARUS

I didn’t die, though. I’m here.

(Apollo says nothing.)

I am still alive, right? I—I feel alive.

APOLLO

I’m glad you do.

ICARUS

Kissing you made me feel alive.

APOLLO

Because you’ve never kissed anyone else.

ICARUS

So?

APOLLO

That was your first kiss. The first one is always fireworks and explosions.

ICARUS

It wasn’t your first kiss.

APOLLO

Of course not.

ICARUS

So there weren’t any fireworks for you? No explosions?

APOLLO

Just a pair of lips on mine.

ICARUS

. . . I am going to leave. I’m going to get off this island too. And find my father and—and change things. What people think happened.

APOLLO

You really don’t know how to do anything but reach higher and higher, do you? (A pause. Icarus isn’t sure what to say.)

ICARUS

. . . What’s inside the lighthouse?

APOLLO

A kitchen. Living room. Bedroom.

ICARUS

You live here?

APOLLO

Sometimes.

ICARUS

Did I get lucky and catch you while you were here, or was this all planned?

APOLLO

I don’t know. I was here. You washed up.

ICARUS

Do you have food?

APOLLO

None that you can eat. Are you hungry?

ICARUS

A little.

APOLLO

There’s plumbing, so you’ve got water. I’ve got a few fishing poles, some crab traps, a net . . . If you’re hungry, you might want to start seeing if your fishing skills are any good.

ICARUS

Do you have a bed?

APOLLO

I suggest you fish first. And the bed is mine. But there’s a couch. The door’s unlocked. No one else even knows this place exists, really.

(Icarus begins to go to the lighthouse, then stops.)

ICARUS

Why did you kiss me?

APOLLO

. . . Go catch your dinner.

ICARUS

Apollo—

APOLLO

Go, Icarus.
(Icarus heads inside the lighthouse. Apollo goes over to the broken wings on the ground and picks them up. He looks at them for a moment, then sets them next to the door. Apollo heads inside.)

SCENE TWO

(Apollo sits just outside the door to the lighthouse, gently strumming a lyre, or a guitar, or another stringed instrument, just not a ukulele. Icarus enters from the coastal area, fishing pole in one hand, and a few fish strung up on the other. It has been some time since the first scene.)

APOLLO

How is today’s catch?

ICARUS

Good. Should last a couple days.

APOLLO

You’ve gotten good at it.

ICARUS

No thanks to you.

APOLLO

Isn’t it nice to learn something on your own? No inventor father pushing his own ideas . . . No God or Goddess helping you out?

ICARUS

Aren’t you supposed to help out us mortals?

APOLLO

Eh. You’re all so needy.

ICARUS

Sure. Not like we’re just looking for a little help. Some guidance. Because life is so easy to get through.

APOLLO

Is the couch still comfortable?

ICARUS

I’ve gotten used to it.

APOLLO

You know, you could always come sleep with me.

ICARUS

I’m good, thanks.

(Apollo’s instrument playing stops.)

APOLLO

Icarus—

ICARUS

I need to put these in the freezer.

APOLLO

You still think about us kissing, don’t you?

ICARUS

Of course I do.

APOLLO

You want to do it again.

(Icarus does not answer.)

It’s okay. You don’t have to stop yourself.

ICARUS

Oh my god. It’s not that.

APOLLO

Then what is it?

ICARUS

I—I don’t want to—to depend on anyone else. You pushed me to catch my own food. To learn how to cook it, how to fix a net, or a trap, how to bait a hook, all of that I taught myself. I used to let my dad do everything. Make those wings, make the plan. Doing things for myself, it’s . . . it’s freeing.

APOLLO

You can’t kiss yourself though, can you?

ICARUS

There’s more to the world than just kissing.

APOLLO

I’m the one who should be telling you that.

ICARUS

How does it feel to be on the other side?

APOLLO

Like you’re getting enjoyment out of this.

ICARUS

Maybe.

APOLLO

Go freeze your stupid fish before I set them all on fire.

(Icarus heads inside. Apollo starts to strum again but is distracted. He goes and knocks on the door to the lighthouse.)

APOLLO

Hey, Ic . . .

ICARUS

(From somewhere within the lighthouse.)

Don’t call me Ic.

APOLLO

Icarus.

ICARUS

I’m putting the fish away.

APOLLO

I think about you, all day, when I’m soaring through the sky.

ICARUS

Good for you.

APOLLO

I think it makes me burn brighter.

(There is no answer.)

You barely talk anymore. You just fish and cook and swim . . .

ICARUS

Maybe there’s just nothing to say.

APOLLO

I’ve never met another being who didn’t have at least one thing to say.

(Icarus opens the door.)

Hey.

ICARUS

What do you want me to say?

APOLLO

Whatever you feel like.

ICARUS

No. You’re trying to get me to say something specific. Something you want to hear.

APOLLO

You shouldn’t try and guess what I want.

ICARUS

You want me to run up to you and kiss you and hold you and crawl into your bed at night. You want me to suddenly act like we’ve been together this whole time and you didn’t push me out.

APOLLO

That’s not what I want.

ICARUS

Really? I think you do. You want emptiness. You want hollow lips with nothing behind them.

APOLLO

Do I?

ICARUS

Of course you do. I’ve been here how long now? I might as well be completely by myself. I eat alone. I sleep alone. I’ve become nocturnal so that I’m awake when you’re here, and yet you still don’t spend time with me.

APOLLO

What would we do? Checkers?

ICARUS

What if I want to get to know you before getting in bed with you?

APOLLO

I’m a god. I am unknowable.

ICARUS

Why?

APOLLO

Because that’s how I have to be.

ICARUS

Even for a person that no one knows is here? Or is even alive?

(Apollo does not answer.)

You Gods never made sense to me. Trapped with my father, not one of you ever came to help, yet we’re supposed to worship you and praise you and give you offerings.

APOLLO

A lot of people need help in the world. If we try to help every single one of you, we’d go crazy.

ICARUS

Then what do we have you for then?

(A pause.)

And you all are already crazy. Honestly.

APOLLO

We control the sun, the moon, the sea, the sky. Death itself. Sleep. Summer, Winter, Spring, Fall. Wine. War. Love.

ICARUS

That’s all well and good, but what the hell does it matter if you don’t use any of that to help people?

APOLLO

We’re not meant to help people; we’re just meant to . . . to keep them going.

ICARUS

If I were a God, I’d be doing all I could to help people.

APOLLO

What would you be a God of, Icarus?

ICARUS

. . . Flight, maybe. Or—Survival? What do you think?

APOLLO

Ambition, obviously. You’re pretty much the patron saint of it already.

ICARUS

Could I be all three?

APOLLO

Once again, you aim too high.

ICARUS

Maybe. But I’d rather aim high than not even try.

APOLLO

What would you do if I told you I loved you, Icarus?

(A pause.)

ICARUS

I’d . . . I’d assume you were lying.

APOLLO

And if I weren’t?

ICARUS

How would I know?

APOLLO

You’d know.

(A pause.)

Would you still be plotting to leave?

ICARUS

It wouldn’t matter.

APOLLO

What? Me loving you?

ICARUS

If I were plotting to leave or not.

APOLLO

So, you’d stay?

ICARUS

I didn’t say that.

APOLLO

You implied it.

ICARUS

Unintentionally. It wouldn’t matter if I were plotting to leave or not, because . . . I think I’d try and leave anyway. Because . . . I—I want to. Even if I loved you back, I’d still try and leave.

APOLLO

. . . Then kiss me.

ICARUS

What?

APOLLO

If you’re just going to leave anyway, there’s no harm done. We can—be together. And when you leave, I’ll try to—to not be hurt.

ICARUS

You’re a god. I don’t think me leaving is going to hurt you.

APOLLO

Who’s to say. It hasn’t happened yet.

ICARUS

Would it be hollow? Just kissing? Sleeping together?

APOLLO

No.

ICARUS

You’d put everything you’d have into it.

APOLLO

It sounds like you want me to be hurt.

ICARUS

I want to know that I mattered to someone. I wasn’t just someone who fell into the ocean. Is that so bad? To want to matter to someone? Because it feels like I’ve never mattered at all. I don’t even know if I mattered to my father. For all I know he landed safely and just forgot about me. Told a few people he had a son once. That’s all I am. I’m just—a story people tell to stop others from reaching too far.

APOLLO

Nothing matters. I’m a god, and—even I won’t matter, eventually. People will worship different things. Ideas. Trying to make yourself matter is a fool’s game.

ICARUS

I don’t care about the whole world. I just want one person.

APOLLO

And that person will die. And then did you really even matter at all? Were you even really remembered?

ICARUS

I’m not trying to be remembered.

APOLLO

You’re a strange one.

ICARUS

I’ve thought about you. Getting together with you. Loving you. Even though I’d leave.

APOLLO

And?

ICARUS

I’d try. We can love each other. As deep as we can.

APOLLO

And then? If it doesn’t work? It’s back to fishing? Being alone?

ICARUS

(Lying.)

I don’t know what would happen next.

APOLLO

. . . What if we chose to keep going? We decided to keep loving each other?

ICARUS

. . . Then that’s what we’d do.

(Apollo embraces Icarus.)

APOLLO

One night. How about that? One night and then we’ll see what happens.

ICARUS

One night.

(Apollo scoops Icarus up and begins to go inside the lighthouse. The door closes behind them. From inside, through the windows and cracks, a light slowly begins to get brighter and brighter, until the sun itself is inside. The flapping of wings. Apollo emerges at the top of the lighthouse. The light inside begins to fade. Icarus comes to the top as well. They sit, leaning against one another.)

APOLLO

You can just see the edge of everything, if you look hard enough.

ICARUS

What’s past it?

APOLLO

Nothing.

ICARUS

Nothing at all?

APOLLO

You keep going . . . you hit the stars. Constellations. People and things hung up like war trophies on a wall in the sky. Keep going past that . . . it’s just . . . empty.

ICARUS

Empty.

APOLLO

Hollow.

ICARUS

There’s got to be something out there.

APOLLO

If there is, we haven’t found it.

ICARUS

Maybe it doesn’t want to be found.

APOLLO

I think I love you.

(Icarus says nothing.)

From the second you washed up. I knew I’d—I’d be in love with you.

ICARUS

Bring it up with Aphrodite.

APOLLO

I’m serious.

ICARUS

I am too.

APOLLO

I don’t know what I’ll do if you leave, Icarus.

ICARUS

. . . You’d keep going through the sky. Like you always do. Like you’ve always been doing.

APOLLO

I want to come home to you every day.

ICARUS

You already do. I don’t know how to say this, Apollo, but . . . I . . . you matter, to me. A lot. In ways I don’t really know how to think about. I don’t know if that’s love. Or if it’s just . . . something else.

APOLLO

But you’re still going to leave one day.

ICARUS

I can’t tell if it’s been one night anymore.

APOLLO

Really?

ICARUS

Really. I can’t tell you how long I’ve been here if I tried.

APOLLO

Does it matter? How long you’ve been here?

ICARUS

. . . No.

APOLLO

You said you wanted to matter. To mean something to someone.

ICARUS

Are you telling me I matter to you?

APOLLO

I don’t think I have to.

(A long pause. Icarus takes a deep breath.)

ICARUS

Maybe I’ve been trying to mean something to myself. Instead of everyone else. Everyone else who uses me as an example.

APOLLO

So what are we? Me and you, together?

ICARUS

Everything. Nothing.

(Icarus points.)

We’re what’s out there. Something that doesn’t want to be seen. But that is there, undeniable. Past everything else.

APOLLO

Oh.

ICARUS

Now you can look past the stars and constellations and think of me.

APOLLO

Flying free.

(Icarus laughs.)

Soaring between stars.

ICARUS

I haven’t left yet.

APOLLO

No. You haven’t.

(Icarus kisses Apollo. Apollo kisses him back. Icarus instinctively reaches into Apollo’s pockets and takes his keys. They part.)

ICARUS

You’re so warm. You’re always so warm.

APOLLO

Do you think it’s cold out there? Between the stars.

ICARUS

I don’t know.

APOLLO

My sister says the moon is cold. But she likes it that way.

ICARUS

Apollo.

APOLLO

Yes?

ICARUS

I . . .

(A pause.)

I—

APOLLO

You don’t have to say it.

ICARUS

I want to.

APOLLO

But you don’t have to.

(Icarus understands.)

ICARUS

. . . I think I’m going to head to bed. It’s about time for you to start the day, isn’t it?

APOLLO

Yeah. Just about.

ICARUS

Good morning, Apollo.

APOLLO

Good morning, Icarus.

(Icarus stands and begins to go back inside the lighthouse. He pauses and looks at Apollo, who is staring out. Icarus opens the front door to the lighthouse, looks at the wings, then back to Apollo, and exits. We hear the motorcycle start up. Apollo stands.)

APOLLO

ICARUS! ICARUS! WAIT!

(The sun begins to rise, but not like before. It is fast, erratic. It climbs higher and higher. Apollo watches. Then, with a bright flash, it goes out. We hear the engine die. Apollo’s keys fall down and land in front of the lighthouse. Apollo stares at the sky for a moment, then descends down the stairs, out the front door, and retrieves them. He puts them back in his pocket. He goes over to the wings and picks them up. Looks up at the night sky that is suddenly there again. He looks to the gaps between the stars. He holds the wings close to his chest and slowly sits down, still looking up at the sky.)

(Blackout. The sun. A small dot beside it. Soaring in the dark.)