this just popped into my head so I don't htink it's very good but I want to know what you guys think. I'm not going to post again if you guys don't want more, so I'm counting on you to review.

Disclaimer: I do not own Maximum Ride, mostly because I'm not named James Patterson, and I'm not living in luxury down in Florida. Instead, I'm busy typing because I'm bored and have nothing else to do. So go figure.

Silver moon sparkling

And in its light I fear

The life I hold so close

Can be so easily ripped away

Wishing my attackers stop

While running from the dark

I'm finding pain in light

The breeze flowing softly

Lulling my tired form

The sleep I've been denied

Comes often to collect its dues

The twigs snap under my hurried steps

Hungry calls come from the two-faced moon

I can't run anymore

The wind welcomes the presence of my wings

And soon I'm off my sore and blistered feet

My feathers welcoming

The clean green flowing dew within the air

I look behind once for the sight of my own assailants

Their screaming hungry howl that only I can fear

Before looking up and getting lost within

The frightening light of the silvery sparkling moon

I stopped typing. Did I just write that? Why did I just write that? I look across the room at my reflection in the mirror. I looked the same as always, my light brown hair falling in front of my face and my blue and lightly amber eyes giving my own self a black yet angry, hungry stare. Why do I always do that, I wondered. The others all seem to notice that I always back away, arms crossed and apparently glaring. I don't mean to. I try to ft in. It just happens.

If only there was something you could definitely point at and say, there, that's wrong with her. If only. I'm the only person who looks like me that I know personally. You might say that I look like a person from one of those make up commercials, always tan, always pretty good looking, guys always stare, etc. But everyone I know is either, Mexican, white, or black. No in-betweens. Except me.

So many people have seen my family with me and asked, " Are you adopted? Are you Russian? Are you Australian? Italian? Native American?" No. My parents gave birth to me, even if that itself were some kind of curse they sent upon my to make life harder.

The alarm clock rings its loud, annoying chime and I get up to turn off my computer, because it's time to get ready for school. I have to get up for the stupid bus by 6:34 am because that's when it comes to my street and I don't have any other ride there. Ride. The word sticks in my head as it taunts me.

The little people inside my head, you know, not the schizophrenic kind, but the kind that reflect the different parts of your personality, they were chattering away about this word. Why? They all seemed to stop and look at me, or at least that's the way I see them, as if I'm the dumbest girl on the planet.

The furious one must have been talking to them again. I walked slowly to its cell in the middle of the space. Why do you do this to me?

To protect you.

Can't you see that by not telling me that you are hurting me?

These things are best left to self-discovery; like I've told you every other time you or anyone else has asked that asinine question.

I left it at that, returning my thoughts to my place on my bed, tying my shoes. That stupid part of me is always making trouble. I wanted to make it leave, but the shrink I see won't help. She says that every part of you is made for a reason. But I can't even begin to seem to understand how this part was created. And she has no idea just how annoying and peevish it gets.

I made my way through my routine and finally to the bus stop. My neighbor Kayla greeted me warmly, but for some reason I shied away. I'll never know why.

THREAT.

I felt my body tense as a car's headlights beamed in our direction. Then I consciously made myself let the feeling pass. It won't work other wise.

A few minutes later, a large yellow overly late bus made its way to the stop half a block from my house. I could sense somehow something had changed. Why wouldn't it? It's the first day of sophomore year!

The school is teeming with lively activity. It's refreshing, having nothing but parent drama for three months. I feel like I've been missing out on my favorite soap opera or something! I honestly love the feelings of joy and elation I've been missing for so long.

My best friend Amanda walks up. She is shorter than me by about 5 inches, just barely reaching the underside of my chin, and she is a slightly pudgy Mexican. But I wouldn't say that to her face. " Hey Manda!"

That's what she's always called me. We both have the same name, so it's a bit of a joke between us, and we've never found nicknames for each other or anything. We've known each other for about 6 years, and some people think we're joined at the hip. " Hey Amanda."

" Are you tired?"

" Not in the least, but my skin is flaring up again. I can't seem to control the itching this time."

" It must be because it's the first day. That's what it's been every other time, so no skipping!"

We walk along to our first class, World History with Mr. Gonzalez. He had us sit wherever we wanted, and then made a seating chart. Now, normally, I would've like this, but Matt decided to sit on the side that wasn't taken up by Amanda. And I would've liked the class, too, because history has always been fun, but this guy has all the facts wrong. The book is even wrong! And it won't say what Michelangelo's last name is! I want to scream at the book for ruining my favorite subject for the entire year. " Stupid book," I want to yell. " It's Bonarati!" A/N: I might have gotten the spelling wrong on that, but phonetically that is his last name. But I can't. Damn.

Most of the rest of the day went by without hassle, up until gym. I was in an all guy class, for starters, and there was the entirely too large problem that I'm a lot stronger than I want to be and these guys don't look like they can stand up to an accidental swipe of my nails or even my stepping on their toe. I can just imagine the bruises they're going to go home with. Some, I know, will get whipped for being beat up by a girl; we're in Texas for Pete's sake!

My dad always tells me, It's the men that are supposed to be rowdy, girl. I answer, but if I wasn't me, where would you be? You'd be in jail, Mom would be in a psych ward, and Dinah would be in an orphanage. You couldn't last without me. And that includes my rowdy behavior. He nods his head resignedly, signaling a little "go me" parade in my head.

I follow along in my little daydream through to English, another one of my favorites. We were lead like sheep to the large library near the Commons. There we were instructed to sit down and watch another presentation about the year's book nominees that we had to read and discuss. I tuned them out after that, wanting more to be surprised by what we were going to read than to be expecting my reaction to it up until the book was finally in my hands. And I was.

The librarian had called out my name, and I shot my head up, giving her a frantic but questioning glance " What?" she asked, noticing the agitated part of my stare. " Do you have a problem with Maximum Ride?"