Hi!
This is for my darlings who wanted to read my fics on wattpad. Here you go the first chapter of Icarus. Enjoy and don't forget to vote and comment. If there's a significant demand I'll update the rest as well.
Have fun!

When we don’t know who to hate, we hate ourselves
- Chuck Palahniuk, invisible Monsters

Victory is when you go beyond the capacity of feeling the bitterness of defeat, victory itself is not a feeling; it is the emptiness that you adore when you are filled to the rim with dejection, the coldness that you welcome after being burned by defeat. It is not water for a thirsty throat; it is simply not being thirsty anymore. Victory itself is nothing, but demands everything in return. For me victory is peace, an ability to go beyond; an ability to fly free, at last. That victory I am still searching for.
In the world to which I belong, victory has a different meaning. It is glory, wealth, power and sometimes love. Here victory is attached to gaining, attaining and overpowering. Here victory is not freedom, but another chain of desire, here victory is not peace. Here my search is always incomplete.
The inky blue of the night sky deepen in to black for a moment, dimming the stars that adorn the silky backdrop, trillions of tiny man-made stars burst in to the air sparkling the heavens with light, glitter and warmth. Festive music filter in as the doors open in to the large semi-circular balcony and guests chatting, laughing with easy going attitudes fill in; their eyes set upon the fireworks, lit by excitement and the golden sparks. They take in a collective gasp as another cracker burst and a shower of golden stars fall down, stealing their attention with the utter beauty of the sight. 
Being among them, hidden behind a mask of cheerfulness is my favorite way of life. From my side of the prism they seem, juvenile, even a burst of a cracker is enough to make them laugh, forget their persisting worries. For a fragment of a second I picture myself a joker surrounded by a cluster of kids, who laugh at the antics I pull with their mindless empty notes, never bothering what the joker’s expression is behind the colorful mask. I wonder if they are worthy of my company and then sigh. It is not them that are faulty; it is I who do not deserve the rainbow land I dwell under the pretence of being a prince of spring, when my inner self is confirmedly confined in walls of thick ice of an everlasting winter.
As the thoughts take toll on my mind another cracker go off with a bang and my ears strained with years of practice pick up the low voice conversation among the crowd over the sound that boomed the air.
‘At being sarcastic he is the best,’ someone says, as another firework goes off.
‘Why?’ Another asks, still not taking his eyes off the glittering sky.
‘Didn’t you know? Mr. Singh said if you manage to win this time stars would rain on earth.’ The first answers. ‘Thus the victory celebration…’ his words are drawn in to a pool of laughter from the crowd around him.
‘Where is Mr. Singh by the way?’ A voice asks, as the laughter dies in to a swarm of weak chuckles.
‘In a corner drinking away his defeat,’ replies another voice, tainted with laughter. ‘That’s his second spatiality; he manages to rub his victory on the opponent’s face as well.’
‘He’s a bloody genius,’ another voice pipes in.
‘And wicked too, keep pulling rabbits out of his hat!’
‘Totally deserving victory!’
There was a mummer of agreement at that. I smirk slightly at the third unmentioned quality of myself. Being unnoticed… They were freely discussing my character in a celebration I myself held, eating and drinking away in my glory still not spotting I was here among them, until I decide to enlighten them about my presence.
At the moment I choose not to. It is too much to bother with the useless inquires and exchanges of pleasantries. Instead what I preferred was some hard toned argument or some less sentimental greetings anything that was less friendly in its approach. It is another thing I have learned about this land, friends are not honest here; they are either those you are afraid of or those who are afraid of you. Each of their moves calculated in their own benefit, in hopes of pleasing the other or gaining something. Enemies are much more honest, for they are neither afraid of you nor cares what you think of them.
Mr. Singh is in the top of my list tonight.
As he was rumored to be, the old man was drinking his way in to slumber in a corner. His eyelids already half drawn over his reddish eyes and his shoulders hunched, his hand still gripping the glass like it was the last of elixir on earth. I roll my eyes as I pull the chair beside him and sit down. Adding to my ill luck the man notices; he always does, even with his eyes half open, and scowls at me, the lines of his forehead stretched in displeasure.
‘Good job SK; you totally flattered my ego!’ He says then watching me from the rim of his glass; I might look a lot uglier when he does that. Ah, anything to make a guest happy!
‘Not my talent Mr. Singh, you just picked up the losing side,’ I say in a polite voice, knowing the old octopus likes his excuses juicy.
He watches me for a moment; I could practically see the wheels turning in his bold head, under thin layer of graying hair plastered over it.
‘Want to make peace?’ He snorts.  I imitate him, unable to help myself and he nods at my predictable behavior. ‘I thought so,’ he says. ‘After our exchange in the court this morning!’
I grin at that, openly. I can see the reflection I make in his bloodshot eyes, that grin looks smug far more than I felt while arranging my features and absolutely justifies the groan of anger it extracted from the old man.
‘What Mr. Singh, that was professional sarcasm,’ I chuckle at the memory. Personally I enjoy reeling this one up, simply to watch that contorted expression in his beefy face.
‘You wanna debate on that?’ He sounds furious. Okay maybe Vic and I had stepped a little over the line this time. But you cannot deny the utter fun.
I throw my arms in the air, my eyes twinkling in the reflection.
‘I rest my case,’ I say. ‘I can hardly scrap another win.’
‘Good,’ mumbles Mr. Singh as he gulps the rest of the amber liquid. My eyes travel the length of the room, spotting the faces I know and admire, some catch my eye and smile, and some openly laugh at my poor attempts to make peace with my archenemies and finally my eyes rest on Vic, my partner and best friend. He is in conversion with one of our clients and catches my eye only to make a “drop dead” expression. He seems to enjoy his current conversation as much as I do (note the sarcasm); I turn back to Mr. Singh only to catch him staring at me.
‘You don’t enjoy victory do you?’ His question catches me out of blue. I watch the way his beady eyes observe me and recall how this man notices everything. ‘Not all glamour is alluring ah?’
‘Glamour isn’t new to me, to forget everything and start chasing,’ I tell him. ‘You and I both know I have roots in deep gold.’
He gives a slight nod, acknowledging a past both of us, do not wish to discuss, pours a good measure of liquid back in to his glass and swirls it richly before turning back to me and inch closer before dropping his voice.
‘I have a case for you.’
He surprised me. That is a compliment, for not many manage to awestruck me easily. I could predict where any discussion was leading and what any man’s motive was. That insight was clearly a thing I was proud of, my enemy was challenging my ability to read him. Interesting!
‘What makes you think I’d help you, given our history?’ I ask him, rather haughtily than I intended to.
‘I was counting on your history, not mine,’ the old man gives me a fine smile. ‘The prosecutor is Mr. Durga Prasad Maheshwari.’
He says the words and watches the effect in my face. I know what he see, the glitter of my eye, the rigidness of my jaw and the sudden heat that floods over my otherwise pale face. Being predictable, especially to enemies is something I hate more than Mr. Durga Prasad Maheshwari. But seems like it is a vice I cannot overcome.
‘Do we have a deal SK?’ He chimes in realizing the arrow had already found the target.
‘Nope,’ I shake my head, enjoying the disappointment that laced his features. ‘I’m not a fool who blindly walks off chasms Mr. Singh; I want details as to what I’m getting in to.’
‘Here I thought you’d do anything to bring the man down,’ Mr. Singh let his words hang uncompleted.
‘Hatred is a fine servant,’ I say diplomatically. ‘I am still the master of my hatred.’
He tilts his head, with almost an admiring glint in his eyes.
‘The case is almost in his hand, they have some rather strong evidence, a solid witness and a heat of the moment confession.’
‘What is the offence?’
‘Murder.’
I blink at him. The old man leans in to his chair and glaze upon me, waiting for me to question him further.
‘The girl was arrested from the crime scene, her finger prints matches with those on the murder weapon and her own sister is the witness.’
‘Why? I mean according to the police, what is the motive?’
‘Tangled love life, dated two, and engaged to one, killed off the other to get married.’
‘And she confessed?’
Hmm.’
Unintentionally I pinch the bridge of my nose.
‘How old is this sister?’
‘Almost of similar age,’ I sigh, no misunderstandings then. ‘She got married to the proposed groom the same night.’
‘Wait what?’
‘Yep,’ Mr. Singh nodded and then grinned. ‘Sounds filmy huh? The bride arrested for killing her boyfriend and the groom marries her sister.’
‘Where does the confession comes in?’
‘Meaning?’
‘Before or after the marriage?’
‘After. Still filmy, action romance and drama; total nonsense.’
‘No,’ I stop him, as my thoughts draw in the conclusion. ‘That makes perfect sense.’
‘Does it?’ I inhale deeply watching his interested face. I do not feel like entertaining him further. I stand up, pushing back the chair.
‘You have a deal,’ I say as I shake his hand briefly and move across the hall, in hope of catching Vic, before he disappear with some girl, to discuss the oncoming journey. I would be going home after five years, no matter how much I pretended otherwise, the feeling was warm.
*