Father and brother have served prison time

Unofficial lever is terrorism

'a political phenomenon'

Carolina has fired their football communication coordinator

'I have two words: F*ck you'

'Rapid developments in our investigation'

'Employed leftists cheering Charlie Kirk’s assassination'

'Disgraceful attempted DEI indoctrination'

Yes, you’ve read the headline correctly. When a nurse in Kentucky’s Letcher County scooped a dead-drunk raccoon out of a dumpster, she was desperate to save its life. It had been a normal day on the job for Misty Combs, arriving at the Letcher County Health Department location in Whitesburg, just next door to the […] The post Kentucky Nurse Revives Drunk Raccoon Found in Dumpster with CPR appeared first on Good News Network.

Excerpts mythology Read an Excerpt From Daedalus Is Dead by Seamus Sullivan A story of fatherhood and masculinity, told through the reimagined Greek myth of Daedalus, Icarus, King Minos, Ariadne, and the Minotaur. By Seamus Sullivan | Published on September 11, 2025 Comment 0 Share New Share We’re thrilled to share an excerpt from Daedalus Is Dead, a reimagining of the Icarus myth by Seamus Sullivan, out from Tordotcom Publishing on September 30. Daedalus of Crete is many things: The greatest architect in the world. The constructor of the Labyrinth that imprisoned the Minotaur. And the grieving father of Icarus, who plunged into the sea as father and son flew from the grasp of the tyrannical King Minos.Now, Daedalus seeks to reunite with Icarus in the Underworld, even as he revisits his own memories of Crete, hoping to understand what went so terribly wrong at the end of his son’s life. Daedalus will confront any terror to see Icarus again—whether it’s the cruel punishments of Tartarus, the cunning Queen Persephone, or the insatiable ghost of the Minotaur.But the truth, stalking Daedalus in the labyrinth of his own heart, might be too monstrous for him to bear. “Stay close to me once we’re over the water,” I say, fastening your wings. “Fly where I fly. Too near to the sea and the feathers become waterlogged. Too near to the sun and the wax that holds the feathers together will melt.” You swing your arm and flap the left wing. The sheet covering an unfinished statue billows to life, and dust plays in the corners of the room. “Icarus. Do you hear me?” “What’ll we do?” you ask. “We’ll fly out of here and might even fetch up alive on dry land, if you’ll only listen to me a moment.” “Afterward, I mean. If we get away. What then?” “We’ll need protection. I’ll offer my services to another king.” “Like Minos.” “Nothing like him. I won’t allow it.” You’re staring out at the sea. I reach up to put my hands on your shoulders. How silly I must look to you. A potbellied, gray-bearded little tinkerer, cluttering up our tower lair like a magpie. This place has grown too small for you. Your suddenly-lanky skeleton seems ready to leap out of your skin. Your elbows upend sculpting tools and works in progress every time you turn around. It’s past time we were gone from here. “You don’t have to work for any king if you don’t want to,” I say. “You don’t have to build, or study. You can compose poetry, or count the stars for all it matters. You’ll be a man soon, and can do whatever you want.” You nod but don’t answer. * * * “Icarus,” I cry, climbing still, the ocean a sickening distance below. You’re high above me and shrinking. “Icarus!” I tell my arms to fly faster and they want to. They want to. But. The sun is hot on my face. Our wax will melt. Our feathers will come loose, flurrying toward the water. I curse myself for a coward, trying to keep the dot of you in sight. The sun is too bright, and I lose you in the golden blaze of midday, which makes rings and disks of light play behind my eyelids. When I catch sight of you again, you’re falling, a shower of stray feathers trailing after you. There is no breeze. The sea is glassy and untroubled. You fall in silence, as if the gods are waiting for the sound of impact. I fold back my wings and dive. The wind shrieks in my ears. You’re facing down, but in the smooth surface of the ocean I see you falling up from a cloudless sky, your mouth agape, your hand extended. I open my wings and swoop, reaching. Your image races toward you, your inverted self grasping for me from the water with simple need in his eyes. And then the two of you meet and shatter as you hit the ocean. * * * With a ring Minos gave me, I pay the fishermen to search for you, and on the second night of searching, you snag one of their nets. They tell me a lucky current dragged you into the shallows near the broad green coast where they fish. You didn’t drown. The impact broke your ribs and drove them inward. I tell myself that you died instantly. I tell myself that if I had been brave enough to strip off my wings and dive into the water, I couldn’t have saved you. Recalling what I can from the court physician, I clean your body. I dress the wounds left by the fall and by hungry fish. I anoint you in oil and clothe you in a fine tunic one of the fishermen wore on his wedding day. I bathed and dressed you when you were small. You’d giggle and climb into the bucket, making it overflow, folding yourself up like a hermit crab to fit inside. This is nothing like that. You’re cold and quiet, your limbs are long and strange and broken, and I can pretend that we don’t know each other, that you’re a traveler who met with ill luck and deserves a little kindness. We build a pyre for you in the village square, and when the fire dies we pour wine over the ashes. Buy the Book Daedalus Is Dead Seamus Sullivan Buy Book Daedalus Is Dead Seamus Sullivan Buy this book from: AmazonBarnes and NobleiBooksIndieBoundTarget I cut and sand planks to make a chest to hold your bones, and I bury you in a cairn by the sea cliffs. When Minos stops looking for me, I’ll come back here. I’ll raise a monument to you and a temple to Hephaestus. I prayed to him as I made our wings. I prayed for him to spare us Minos’s sword and the Minotaur’s jaws. And he did. This makeshift ceremony and this rude monument will see you safely through the underworld, across the river, into the arms of the god we don’t name, the god who waits below and receives many guests. Why did you do it, Icarus? You couldn’t have known the lengths I went to, trying to keep you safe. The wings were the least of it. Why wouldn’t you let me keep you safe? When I’m not mourning or building, I sleep, and when I sleep I have the first of the nightmares that will never leave me. In the nightmares, I’m walking along the shore, watching the steady blue surface of the sea that killed you. Or I’m in my workshop, sketching broken white feathers. Then I turn a corner, I pass through an arch, and I find myself between high walls of smooth stone, in a long corridor that leads to more branching corridors, all of them open to the starry sky. The most frightening part isn’t finding myself back in the Labyrinth, or knowing who waits for me there. It’s realizing that the places I was in before, perhaps all the places I’ve ever been—a festival day in the Athens of my youth, a spring afternoon when I held you cackling over my head—those places too were part of the Labyrinth, and always have been. I wake up clawing at the blankets. The worst has happened, I tell myself. There can’t be anything worse waiting for me. Excerpted from Daedalus Is Dead, copyright © 2025 by Seamus Sullivan. The post Read an Excerpt From <i>Daedalus Is Dead</i> by Seamus Sullivan appeared first on Reactor.