Disclaimer: I, HallowedHallsOfWriting, give up any and all claim to ownership I might have had or will have to the series of Maximum Ride to one James Patterson, who I, a young girl, am most certainly not. Therefore, if I am sued for whatever-they-sue-you-for-when-you-don't-have-a-disclaimer, I am hereby innocent of all charges pertaining to this document.
- h e r t e a r s c a n n o t f a l l a n d s h e i s n o t h i n g b u t a b r o k e n c h i n a d o l l w h o h a s n o h o p e o f e v e r b e i n g f i x e d a g a i n -
Clipped Wings
HallowedHallsOfWriting
She's watching now, just watching, like she always does. There is no life left in her eyes; it has been extinguished long ago, along with the life of those closest to her. She's no longer the girl she once was, no longer mother of three, sister of two (no, a traitorous part of her brain whispers, he's not just a brother anymore. She pushes that part firmly away, locking it in with the other thoughts of him). She's older, thinner, different. Wiser, perhaps; she begs to differ. If she was so wise, she wouldn't be here. She would be at home with her 'family', eating warm, buttery, fattening (but she doesn't care, so long as she's near him) popcorn, sitting next to the fire, curled up in the heat of his arms as she watches the younger ones dance around and laugh with joy. But she isn't; the memories of the cold feel of their skin, the absent pulse of their blood, reminds her that they are not here, they are lost forever. She sits quietly, like a good little toy, as they fill her body with foreign chemicals; push her to the limits of her endurance. She goes through all this with the blank look on her face (his trademark look, she remembers bitterly, reminded of all the times he would look at her like a statue, just to get a rise out of her), becomes their perfect little doll, never speaking, never squirming, never running, never emotional, just their little wax doll now (you deserve it, a cruel voice whispers to her, its icy accusation stinging her. Shut up, she tells it. Just go away!). The voice in her head is no longer the supportive father figure, just another one of her demons, and daily it mocks her, laughing as she begs it to leave. But the voice never leaves, always remaining there, taunting her, shrieking painfully loud as it reminds her of her short comings and failures. It takes on a distinctive sound of five voices mocking her. Failure, the sweet, high voice laughs. Incompetent, the second, oh so similar to the first but deeper, continues. Weakling, the third, a mixture of honey and cocoa (deep inside she knows it that foods don't make sound but that is the only description she can give the mellow voice) jeers. Worthless freak, the fourth rumbles, like the coming of thunder. Pathetic creature, the fifth sneers derisively, the deep baritone, normally so warm and caring, now sharp as ice (and that one hurts the worse because it's his voice).
The others in this house of hell, the ones running this, never look bothered at this change. And if some wonder what had happened to the seven year old who would look at them scornfully, as if they weren't worth her time, and fight them as they dragged her down forcefully to the labs, they never voice their ruminations. It has become just an accepted fact; she is a broken child, and they do not wish to destroy her anymore. Surprisingly (to her at least), they do not hate or hurt her as much as they did in the past; if anything, they avoid testing on her unless absolutely necessary (which is, admittedly, often; the director does love to see her treasured pet punished for the time and money wasted on her hunting). She has discovered many things which aid her, especially how to fend off newcomers. It is quite simple; a soulless, haunted look will send them skittering backwards. Interns or simply coffee runners (boys mostly; apparently, something about a helpless girl at their mercy boosts their ego, and they are not afraid to use it), do try to do disgusting things; feel her up, force her obediance, and things like that (and she absolutely hates it; that is the only area she is untainted, and this makes her feel so dirty and disgusting and like the freak they say she is). They are (thankfully; but she will never say this out loud) apprehended by the senior members. She doesn't have to worry about them doing those types of things; the newest do it, those who haven't been informed of her story and who she is (and secretly a little part of her is smug and proud that her name alone carries so much weight in this area, making her out to be a legend, a martyr with a tragic ending).
They never try it again.
All of the other creatures in this lab (she allows herself a small, unseen smirk at the irony – creatures from hell created in a hell-hole) know her name, know her story, who she is, and what she's done. And she is a hero to them; though they know that she is back here anyways, they know that there is a chance of escaping, a chance of living in the real world, and they worship her for being the brave one and taking the chance (though she has paid dearly for it; no one knows this better than she). In their eyes, she is a slighted goddess, a fallen angel, one who does not deserve a fate like this. They don't know the true her, though, and all her (yes, hers; these people are the same ones who have been her testers since birth) scientists are desperate to keep it that way. She is grateful for that; she does not wish to crush their views of their idol. She is their idol, and yet she is not; they see her as a rock, strong and unshakable. She would agree, if only to point out she was a glass rock. She does not see herself as strong nor brave. She sees herself as failure, one who could not protect those who needed her when they needed it the most.
And so, her life goes on in a monotonous circle
During the nights, her apathy is broken. The pain comes back. She awakes with tears streaking down her face, her breathing ragged, her eyes red and face blotchy (or so she thinks; she does not even recall what her face looks like, not anymore. She is too frightened of the monster she will see if she looks at her reflection). And, in the pitch darkness, when she believes no one is watching, she lets her carefully constructed mask crumble, lets herself cry, lets herself shatter into a million pieces. And when dawn comes, before the lights are flicked on and people enter her room (she has a room now, and while it isn't grand, only a small cubicle with a mattress, pillow, and cover on the opposite side of a sealed steel door, it's her room and she is grateful to have something to call her own), she picks up the pieces, glues herself back together, and acts as if nothing is wrong.
Though she has learned to forget about the others, work herself to the point of simply sleeping with no awareness of her nightmares, one remains branded into her mind, torturing her day and night, never letting her forget her inadequacy.
A single hand, bloody and torn reaches out to her, and pained eyes bore into her from a barely raised head, accusing.
Why did you let us die, Max?
She always wakes up from that one screaming.
- a n d u n l i k e h e r t e a r s t h a t d o n o t c o m e s h e i s a l w a y s s c r e a m i n g s o l o u d l y i t s h a t t e r s t h a t d r e a d e d n i g h t l y s i l e n c e -
Well, I suprised even myself when writing this. Basically, so you know, this is part of my slowly-being-created Wings arc. Like On Angel's Wings, this follows Max's journey after being seperated from her flock and believing them dead. The creation of this story Arc was inspired by two of the reviewers from OAW, who expressed their dismay at the death of the Flock. It was Angel who I first decided would survive their capture in the background of the stories (the part where it branches off from the canon), then Max, then Fang, then Nudge and Iggy, and finally Gazzy. Ironically, they all think the others are dead, due to the clones they saw killed. As it is, this story is going to be no more than five chapters unless I really get into it. *shrugs*
Any questions or comments should be submitted through reviews. Much appreciated.
~Hallow