author's note: I didn't do any rereading of the Maximum Ride series before writing this, and I have literally no idea where I'm going with the plot. This story is completely spur-of-the-moment. Bear with me.
and fyi: This story WILL CONTAIN MENTIONS OF BOTH DEPRESSION AND SUICIDE. PLE A SE DON'T READ THIS IF THOSE TOPICS MAKE YOU UNCOMFORTABLE OR TRIGGER YOU. I REPEAT: THIS STORY WILL CONTAIN MENTIONS OF BOTH DEPRESSION AND SUICIDE. IF YOU ARE EASILY TRIGGERED, PLEASE VALUE YOUR WELL-BEING OVER YOUR LITERARY CURIOSITY AND DON'T READ THIS.
I. before
She had meant to kill herself.
The young girl had always had an open wound inside of her, gaping and bleeding and festering in a way that no one's scars should. Hatred fed on that blood, blooming into dark petals of nothingness that called to her with their beauty. Your life is meaningless, they whispered to her. She would never be normal, no matter how much she yearned for the sweet blessing of normalcy—the proof extended from her back in feathered messages of her resentment. She would never be loved. She would never belong.
And this cavern of despair did not branch only from the black pool of those who caged her, though some might assume otherwise. There was just something there that was off, a circular soul in a world of geometric angles, a sharp, clear crystal in a deceiving vein of Fool's Gold. Maybe the characteristics of her anomaly derived from the knowledge she held—her mother had sold her, she was never wanted, she was a mistake—or maybe it was just ingrained into her being, a deliberate misspelling in the coding of her existence. She didn't know why, and she never would, nor would anybody else.
But the scientists relished in it.
So cooperative, they crooned as they stuck tubes into her and drew blood from her limp arm. It never fights, they murmured appreciatively as Erasers escorted her into one of the testing rooms. It's not like the others.
This is some of our best work yet.
A success!
It has both avian and lupine blood? Fascinating!
Imagine the limits we could push with it…
Should we try to graft in more animal DNA?
Amazing, the way it's so obedient…
She despised it—in fact, pain and hatred seemed to be the only emotions she could feel these days. She hated how they treated her like some kind of interesting lab experiment in a test tube (even though you are), she hated how they would drag her out, day after day after day, and throw her into some new kind of hellish test designed to drag her to the point of death (but you never resist them), she even hated how some of them condescended her, felt almost sorry for her pathetic purpose (but isn't pity what you want?).
She hated it.
(Do you?)
She couldn't live like this anymore.
(Are you sure?)
She had to end it.
(If you say so…)
She planned. And plotted. And found her solution.
(Goodbye.)
On that day, she acted like she normally would. She put on her bland mask of indifference, forced her body into a dull and lethargic rhythm. She silently endured the running, the prodding and poking, the zapping, all of it, until she got to the room with the syringes and the metal table and the chemicals on the wall. She stepped through the doorway.
And then she lunged, faster than anyone could react, and grabbed a bottle of acid so harshly that it opened with a snap and spilled all over her.
All she would remember later of that day was the intense, burning pain, and the unidentifiable, high-pitched screaming. She would remember the haunting lack of fear that plagued her as peace fell over her, embracing her and drawing her into the darkness. She was safe now. Nothing could hurt her. Nothing could torture her, or taunt her as she sat in the crimson mist of her silence. Nothing was wrong, now. It was all going to be okay.
(Oh sweetheart, you really thought this was going to work, didn't you?)
But she failed.
She awoke a month later with a hoarse scream and a torrent of tears, for she knew that she was still alive. She shrieked until her throat was raw, clawing at her face and her arms and her wings and all of the frightened scientists who were in the room with her. She sobbed for the loss of her one escape, weeping over her failure to end herself.
They took her hysteria the wrong way. It's alright, honey, you're okay… Look in the mirror! We fixed you right up, see?
Metal glinted in the mirror's reflection, catching her frantic eye. She looked.
She stared.
And she screamed.
"What have you done to me?"
(The silence ends now.)
Okay, guys, here's the deal. It's nine-something at night. I'm tired. I wrote this in under an hour and haven't reread it. It's cliche. It's terrible. The rest of the story—if I continue it—will probably also be terrible. But you know what? I'm one of those people who just causes all that shit that you gotta put up with.
I don't even know, you guys. Like, I don't even know when or how she's going to meet the canon characters. Guuuuhhhh.
Well, please review! Maybe you guys can give me some ideas! ;)
Thanks for reading!
