272 words. I do not own Maximum Ride.
Sirens and flashing lights overwhelm my senses like water in my lungs. The cages surrounding mine are blood splattered and vacant; the corpses of my fellow prisoners litter the floor, and the haggard breathing of the few still alive is drowned out by the chaos of the alarms. There is no hope, and there is nothing left to live for. The light at the end of the tunnel has been diminished, and what was once a pitiful existence is now a far-off dream in a horrific reality.
I cower in the corner of my cage. Oh yes, I had tried to escape with the rest, but I was the only one who dared return to my deathbed when I heard the whitecoats coming. The others just didn't understand. Though many of us may have wings, not all of us are meant to fly. That is something the flock has yet to comprehend. They will never know of the massacre that has resulted in their attempt to share freedom.
Though my fins and beak may quiver, I sit here in solitude. I die regretless because I was born with the knowledge of this unchangeable fate. No matter where or who you are on this imperfect planet, the world is still a cage, life is just an experiment, and you are just another one of God's ever-replaceable lab rats.
The whitecoat crouches in front of me, an arm reaching through the bars of the place I called my home. The purpose of the weapon in his hand is obvious, and I close my eyes in search of peace, rest, and the reassurance of escape.