Hey guys! This is one of my first stories so hopefully you'll enjoy!;) Reviews and private messages are really appreciated so if youbwant some extra cool points go ahead! Enjoy!
Disclaimer: I do not own Maximum Ride, but I do own a pretty darn cool Fedora...
Skylar:
Our eyes lock and stare, his the deepest blue that could drown you in seconds, mine pale lavender like spring irises. Only mine are filled with bursting hope, and regret, and sadness, but his; his are blank. The same blank eyes that tore my world apart two years ago in that coffin.
But let me back up, say, a week?
"Don't forget the Nutella!" I shouted passionately at the closed door behind which Uncle Matt was leaving. We've always had a special screaming agreement in our house: He can burst out into any old Van Halen song his old man heart desires, and I don't have to leave the room to remind him feed my chocolate addiction.
I grab my computer and open it up. When the screen finally buzzes to life revealing my screen saver photo taken back when my parents were..around. Naturally I was devastated when I came home to find Uncle Matt's teary woe of how my parents had been missing up until a that morning when two corpses had been discovered. Of course I was only eight. Now, eight years later I stand as 16 year old Skylar Hawthorne: 5'6 with straight golden-blonde locks. Like any normal teenager in Montana, I grew up with few neighbors, went to a prison cell of education, and had recently received my drivers license. I attend Forest Creek High along with my two best friends Chealsea Ryder (a preppy brunette whose soul ambition was to become student council president) and Tyler Wenton, a reclusive lacrosse player who was desperately in need a haircut.
I begin to type my essay, which takes about half an hour thanks to my lack of references. When I'm ready to print, I hit the tiny button, which proceeded to remind me that we were out of ink.
"What is life?!" I groan out loud as I roll out of bed and stride into my uncles office down the hall. It was a cozy room, filled with books and stacks of paper from his work. When I was younger I had always been afraid to go in here. At that time any sketchy relative's office seemed like a dragon's den, but now it was just a place where the staples and ink were. I brush through his work papers, ignoring all the complicated words. I always knew there was something messed up about Uncle Matt's job but gave up asking years ago. Once when I was twelve I followed him to the office. And I saw things-things I'm still haunted by. I grab the ink and finish printing and scramble back to my room.
Max:
"Buzz...Buzzz Buzz... "
It won't stop. It hasn't for three days. I look up and stare fiercely at my opponent: "If you don't stop in the next five seconds, I'm going to rip your sockets out and drop kick your first born child!" I shouted in rage, lunging.
"Max for the last time: calm down, it's just a monitor!" Fang grunts in the cage next to me. I glare at the stupid machine that has been monitoring our hearts for the last what seems like forever.
We've been trapped, caged, abused, and had just about everything else happen to us for the past week I was getting sick of it.
"I'm hungry." Mumbled Iggy, whose five -star dog crate complete with tazing wires and a water dish sat adjacent to mine. Angel and Nudge we're curled up next to him sleeping despite my loud rants, Gazzy was picking at the sole of one of his red sneakers, and Dylan was humming along to the tune of the very machine that trapped us. Every time I look up, there he is, staring at me. I feel Fang's fingertips brush mine through the crate bars and sparks of electricity rocket through my arm.
"Hey," he says quietly, peering at me through his dark bangs.
"Hey," I say back. I wait a few seconds then finally speak. "This is stupid!" I exclaim.
"I know," he whispers as Angel shifts in her crate. "But-"
Just then, a loud crash sounded as a herd of white coats came bustling in. They seemed to communicate only in nods and grunts as they push through the crowds of medical carts. Big Nose (yes, I name my touturers, can you blame me?) slides open Iggy's crate and proceeds to drag him out by his leg.
"At least buy me dinner first," Iggy moans, too exhausted to fight. The white coat with a hideous comb-over instructs him to sit on the table. My heart drops to my stomach. I know what comes next. I shut my eyes as the screaming starts. They're doing it. Again. I don't even have to look to picture the long, cold needles. My hand automatically grabs the scar on my neck from my own touture.
After what seems like hours, it stops and Iggy is practically rolled back into his cell. We're all silent. There's nothing to say except that we HAVE to get out of here.
Skylar:
"...and I'll be back in an hour and a half." Uncle Matt finishes. I'm sitting alone in the visitors office like I do almost every Friday afternoon. I pull out my headphones and turn on Pandora radio. I scan the room and see that nothing's changed as usual. Three pale green chairs, a small coffee table with the normal display of out dated People magazine. Above the door are a plethora of motivational posters featuring various felines who apparently "follow their dreams" or "hang in there". I sigh and get up to walk around. Like I said before, Uncle Matt's office is a sketchy place, but it's not like I can't have fun. Usually I go find the snack lounge to mess with the machines. I stroll in a go over my check list: 1. Look like you know what you're doing. 2. Don't get caught. I stride in confidently and begin to mix the cocoa mix with the orange soda and put it in the microwave.
"-and I was like, put that down or so help me!" I hear from down the hall. I accidentally spill my chocolate soda as I sprint down the hall and duck into a dark room. I can hear the clatter engendered by my surprise painting on the break room floor. I sit in silence for a few more minutes until I'm sure they've moved on. Standing up, I flip the light switch and now here I am, back in present day:
Our eyes lock and stare, his the deepest blue that could drown you in seconds, mine pale lavender like spring irises. Only mine are filled with bursting hope, and regret, and sadness, but his; his are blank. The same blank eyes that tore my world apart two years ago in that coffin. Parker...
"Um..." He scrambles for words. I'm stuck breathless. He looks exactly the same as two years ago: almost six and a half feet tall with sandy blonde hair, and those eyes; the ones that haunted me for months.
"Hey Blondie," a dark haired boy I just realized was alive pipes up from a nearby dog crate. "You here to kill us or what?"
"I was getting to that," Parker asks, obviously annoyed.
"Shut up, Dylan," Emo boy mutters. Wait-Dylan? What? Before I can ask a dirty blonde girl about my age who looks severely annoyed speaks.
"Yeah, so if you either could either finish us off-preferably by something cool like electrocutions-"
"Or pyrotechnics!" A young boy with wide eyes interrupts.
"Yeah," she finishes, "or whatever's faster. But just in case your not a corporate murder, which I'm guessing is contrary to your fashionable jeans and sweater, perhaps you could open some gates then go back to your pop culture life minus six freaky teenagers." I'm completely dumbfounded when I look up and see who these people really are: wings. They all have beautiful, magnificent, gorgeous wings. And Parker- wait- Dylan's are golden like wheat fields. I'm about to bolt when Dylan says the one word that could get me to do anything, go anywhere, or be anyone:
"Please." And that was it.
Hopefully you guys like it, if not review so I know im not wasting my time(jk)! Next chapter comming soon!
