Title: Ascendant
Author: beautiful memories
Focus: Fang
Word Count: 543
Published: Friday, June 22, 2012
Disclaimer: I do not own anything related to Maximum Ride. All characters are copyrighted to James Patterson.
The Raven
001.
Ascendant
.
.
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If there was one thing Fang knew about life, it was that it moved on—seconds ticked by, minutes and hours breezed through still air. The sun rose, hot and unperturbed as always, and the orange clouds drifted across the sky. The wind was warm in Arizona, and he could feel the sunbaked earth under the flannel of his black, long sleeved t-shirt. Arms folded behind his head, he gazed up at the sun, trying to imagine how Max would've reacted—was she looking for him, possibly, as he told her not to do? And what was that—meeting her after twenty years?
But no.
Max wouldn't be looking for him—he knew her. She was the leader of their little flock, always had been, and had always taken the responsibility upon herself for all their actions. It was the one thing he admired about her—she was so strong, so undeterred from what she always thought was right. Max was definitely stubborn, but not naïve or foolish—she knew exactly what to do and wasn't afraid to sacrifice herself for Angel or Gazzy or Iggy or Nudge. Or even him.
Fang sighed and sat up. He unfolded his black wings, letting them warm in the blazing sun and thought about what he was going to do. He would definitely need to find somewhere to fit in now—there wasn't anyone he could rely on except himself. But whatever the hell that was going on with the world apocalypse, he needed to raise his own gang, and make sure they knew that he would be their leader.
But he had left his laptop with the flock. How foolish.
Fang flicked his long hair aside, irritated at its length—Max always liked it, he thought. But now he needed to remove all thoughts of her, all the romantic notations he had. They just weren't meant to be, no matter how strong his feelings were or how strong hers were. It couldn't work.
Fang fished through the pocket of his black jeans and pulled out the knife he took from the kitchen. Letting his hair fall in front of his face, he closed his eyes, thinking of his flock—Nudge and the way she looked at him as she offered him a chocolate chip cookie; the Gasman and Iggy cackling in a corner as they discussed bombs; Angel, sweet and innocent, as she gripped Total in her hand; and then, finally, Max. Max who trusted her life with him. Max who thought of him as her right wing.
Fang hacked off his hair.
As he watched his dark hair fall to the ground, he closed his eyes and let out a labored breath.
He left her. He left her behind.
He just hoped that she knew what he left her with, the only thing he could offer her and no one else: his heart.
Rolling up the sleeves to his black shirt, he bunched them at the elbows. His head was cleared from his grief, his wings warm and alive and ready to take off. He did what Max had taught him—running a few feet before taking off, ascending towards sky and rising to meet the blood red sun in the distance.
I'm sorry.