This is a Maximum Ride story, but the story takes place before the kids escape from the school. As a matter of fact, the flock never escapes from the school. They grow up there, and are experimented on, and used as means of entertainment. This is just a quick story that I'm writing to get myself out into the fanfiction world. I hope you enjoy.
"Fang…" I said out loud, breaking the complete and terrifying silence that surrounded out invisible bodies. "you're hurting me." I said, trying to shake my wrist from his grasp, which was so uncomfortably tight that I felt my hallowed bones were concaving. He looked up at me, his purple eyes hardly visible in the dark.
"Sorry." He said lowly, trying to relax.
"It will all be alright." I said, not sure if I could even convince myself. "Nothing will hurt us. We're indo." I smirked, and he looked at me with a puzzled expression on his face.
"Indo..." I repeated, feeling slightly embarrassed, "like indestructible."
"Oh." He replied, his breathing noticeably irregular. There was a cheer from the auditorium outside, and the metal walls that surrounded us only in spirit, hiding behind the veil of black, whirred loudly, and began moaning. A crack of light appeared in front of us. I squinted, trying to focus in on the crowd, but the sunlight was to strong. I turned my head quickly, and my light brown hair covered my pale face and chocolate brown eyes. Fang stared straight forward, his grip tightening around my wrist again. This time I ignored the pain, since the fear of the crowd before me was much more frightening.
My name is Max; self allocated. The boy next to me, my only friend in this giant world, his name is Fang. I don't know why, it just is. When I think of his name, I see a big bulldog with sad eyes and a droopy mouth. When I think of Fang…well, much more than a bulldog comes to mind. His big purple eyes and dark hair. His mouth that hardly ever curls up into a smile, but when it does, it sure is a sight to see.
Those big muscles that are barely held in by his black tee.
His tall, thick legs that fill out his ripped blue jeans just perfectly.
His…oh well, 'scuse me. Let's just leave it as: He's positively beautiful.
At fifteen, neither of us have yet seen anymore of the world beside out metal barred cages, a enormous white building that is named The School, but to us, is home, and the outside stadium filled with brown, crusty grass and thousands of people calculating out flight pattern and awing at the miracle that we are.
Yeah, I said flight pattern. What makes us special enough to write a story about is the fact we have wings. Yep, big ol' birds wings and hallow bones that we can use to zip and zoom around an acre of land before being called back in to out piece of meat that is our "dinner". Well, maybe a few more than one piece of meat.
You didn't know that a bird eats twice its body weight in food every day? Well, try mixing that trait with an American teen. Talk about obesity.
The doors open a bit more, and sunlight completely floods us. Like usual, my stomach flips a bit looking at Fang, and seeing him completely illuminated in the sunlight that has broken through the dark.
You'd think I'd get over that stupid little girl thing. But I can't, and it's damn annoying. His jaw tenses, and he swallows a big gulp. I nudge him a bit on the shoulder, and he shakes his head.
"Common Flyboy, you can do it." I said jokingly, stepping out of our box. The crowd waited. Their noise only at a low rumble. I walk out a bit farther, into the middle of the field, and with each step, the crowd gets a bit more silent. By the time I'm halfway through the field, only a whisper from the crowd is hardly audible. I stand there for a few moments, and I hear Fang approaching me from behind. After a few more moments of silent, I take my black hoodie off, and I stand in front of 50,000 people in tattered jeans and a white tank. The newcomers to this show stare at me with a puzzled look on their face, and I smirk, trying to hide my overwhelming feeling to cry and fly away. Well, try and fly away before getting electrocuted and spiral toward the ground 10,000 feet in the air to a death that ends with me in a puddle of feathers and kid parts.
As the crowd comes to a complete hushed state, enough to hear the man in the fourth row clear his throat after recovering from a lung-cancer induced coughing fit, I release my wings from behind my back with a snap, and the pale tan, freckled feathers that make up my 13 foot wingspan ruffle and instantly begin warming in the sun make the crowd cheer and gasp out of pure joy. Yeah, soak it up people, one day I'll come back for all of you.
Another roar breaks out, which means Fangs just let out his 14 foot wingspan of opaque jet black feathers, and the screams from the girls around mean he's going about this one shirtless. Having a considerably heightened sense of hearing, I can clearly discern which girls are blabbing most excessively about Fang and his "super hot body." I'll to accidentally drop my shoe as I fly innocently over their heads…or maybe a rock.
And we jump up, our wings catching a nice current, and a heavy wing beat.
We were off. This is our lives.
…This is our life?