Author's Note: I love Maximum Ride. She is amazing. And I support FangxMax. So all you romance haters leave right. Freaking. Now.

I love all you guys who aren't pricks and flamers... and Erasers.

I don't own Max. Just Jazz.

No flaming. First Max story. Like all fanfictions, may be OOC at times.

===DEATH TO ALL ERASERS===

(Jazz's POV)

I remember, vaguely, when I was a young child. I remember dreams of flying high above the clouds, free as a bird and wild as the wind. I fantasized the feel of fresh, clean air rushing into my lungs, the cool temperatures of high altitudes. It was always the same dream.

The reason for such dreams was the fact that I was ill most of my childhood. I had a degenerating muscle disease that was focused on my legs; I couldn't walk for lack of muscle mass. I spent most of my waking hours staring out the window, wishing I could grow wings and soar out of that prison that housed me.

Be careful what you wish for, Jasmine.

I was six when my father, desperate to seek a cure, sent me to the School in California. My mother's heart was broken when she saw me leave on that plane. I later heard that she died in a house fire, and my father selfishly killed himself over her death, orphaning me.

Now I was the School's property.

Under my father's orders, when he was alive, I was to be given the avian DNA, let me grow stronger, and then sent back home untouched by scientific testing. When he died, the School decided that I was now an experiment. They kept me in a cage, feeding me next to nothing, abusing me, and leaving me to my own devices generally. It was almost worse than back in Montana.

When they finally grafted me, I must have been about seven or eight; I had lost count of the days I was in that lonely cage with no one but the whitecoats to talk to, and they only spoke scientific gibberish. The memory of when I first woke up after the grafting was the beginning of the worst three years of my life:

I ached everywhere. My back felt heavy, as if weights were stuck to my shoulder blades. My head throbbed, feeling like a thousand tiny hammers were pounding on every inch of my skull. Although I was still too weak to lift my arm, I felt relatively lighter. Like my very skeleton had been filled with air. Even my hair felt thinner, softer.

There were garbled voices, speaking nonsense at first. I opened my eyes, and everything spun and blurred. Nothing was quite right. The pressure between my skull and brain increased as I tried to make sense of my surroundings. I knew I was on a table; I could feel the cold steel on my bare arms.

Something blocked my back from touching the metal surface, though. I turned my head slightly- and saw a wing. It was attatched to my shoulder.

The wing was covered in golden feathers. Pale yellow downy feathers topped the elbow. Each and every soft, silky feather shined in the artificial light. I looked to the other side, and there was another wings with the same properties.

I had wings.

At first, I thought that this was a sick joke based on my hopes and desires. Was I really officially an angel now? Could I really fly? Would I live my dreams?

These questions were never answered. Before I knew it, three years had passed. I had been through the most unimaginable tortures; going through mazes, running for hours at a time on a treadmill, constant blood draws, Erasers teasing and chasing me around a yard and trying to kill me. The worst was watching other experiments die before my eyes, or being carried off to their deaths. It broke my heart everyday to see another poor mutant be tested until its body finally gave out.

By now, you're probably wondering "Why am I reading this? I know the story from Maximum Ride!" Well, this isn't Max's story. If you want to read about her triumphs, go get her series. This is my story, the story of a girl who learned the hard way that every dream has a price.

I'm Jazz.

And I have some important things to tell you. All you have to do is read.

===DEATH TO ALL ERASERS===

Well? I like.

Sorry it's so short. Prologues aren't really meant to be long, are they? Anyway, this one I'll be writing in all the time, so don't think about telling me that I'm not a good writer because I can usually come up with one chapter, and then I get writer's block.

Jazz is not a Mary Sue. Don't even try to mention.