Disclaimer: Don't own SNL or any of its skits, James Patterson owns Maximum Ride and all the wonderful bird kids, and I own Sierra and any other OCs. I recommend watching SNL sometime. It's good for the soul.

Hey, how's it going world? Good? Well, isn't that special. Yes, I stole that from the Church Lady on SNL. What can I say? The line was a keeper. Saturday Night Live was Gazzy's favorite show. Say one word about it being TV 14 and how I shouldn't have let him watch that inappropriate crap and I'll punch the life out of you. Harsh? Maybe. But I honestly could care less about what you guys think right about now.

The name's Maximum Ride. I'm an avian/human hybrid. I'm probably the first bird kid you've ever met. And I'll probably be the last. What's this I hear?

"Where'd Iggy go?" say all you who love my blind best friend.

"Where's the part human stink bomb?" ask all those who can't get enough of his smell.

"What happened to Nudge?" question the fashionista fans.

"Did Angel finally leave you to form her own flock?" the smarter fans of my flock and me ask.

"Fang never came back?" scream all you crazy fan girls (or should I say Fangirls).

Here are the answers in order:

Dead.

Dead.

Dead.

Yes, then her "flock" turned on her. Dead.

And, no. He never did. And odds are he's gone like all the rest of them.

This leaves me to fend for myself. It's not too hard. I've had a lot of practice keeping my flock alive for as long as humanly possible, so taking care of me, myself, and I is a piece of cake. Oh, wait; you still have one more question? Shoot.

"What about Dylan?" you wonder aloud.

You want to know what happened to Dylan? He's here. With me. Sometimes. He has sort of given up on life, though, so he might as well not be here at all. Yes, he's still madly in love with me. He just doesn't try so hard any more. Actually, he doesn't try. Period. Dylan knows I'll never love him like that. He has grown on me quite a bit over the years, though. And I do think of him as a brother. Especially because he's the only one I have left…

But my heart belongs to that ass hole that left me about seven years ago. Which totally sucks balls. I know, I know. It's lame to be twenty-two and you have only had one serious boyfriend your whole life. I've tried to move on! I swear! I go to clubs every night and party like there's no tomorrow! Okay, maybe not every night. Whenever I feel like I can handle my extreme case of claustrophobia. But you get my point, right? I really have tried, but not a single guy in the world could make me forget about Fang. That stupid, perfect loser.

Here's some more background information before my story begins. You know. Little change of subject.

I live in an apartment in downtown Like-I'd-Actually-Tell-You-Where-I-Live with Dylan, the brother that looks like he belongs on a Calvin Klein runway and who spends his "allowance" on a big old bottle of tequila every weekend (technically speaking, he's only seven, and therefore not allowed to drink by law. But what do you think the cops would say if I came up to them one day and said, "This is my little brother. He's seven. Tell him he can't drink or arrest him or something!" They would probably laugh at me and then throw me in a mental institution.) I'm currently employed at the nearby local bookstore. Hey, when you have so much free time and you aren't running from people who want you dead or for experimentation (which is probably worse), books can actually be enjoyable. Who knew?

I'm becoming more social. People can stand loneliness only for a short amount of time. It gets… well, yeah, lonely. My best friend, Sierra, works at the bookstore with me and is super pretty/popular/gets any guy she wants. Yes, not the kind of person I saw myself being all buddy buddy with seven years ago, but appearances can be misleading. Her parents died in a double homicide while she was at a friend's house at the age of nine. She bounced between foster families until she was a legal adult and could finally live on her own. From the pictures she's shown me, I can tell she is the spitting image of her mother with her light brown hair and gorgeous green eyes. She's got a killer thousand watt smile and is the perfect height and weight, not too tall or too short, too chubby or skinny. One of the only things that stayed constant in her life was books, hence the job. I have other friends too, like Joshua, Brittany, and Caleb, but honestly, I don't trust any of them except Sierra.

As you can imagine it takes a lot to earn my trust. Sierra has definitely earned it. She has nothing to hide and after being her friend for three years, I've decided to share my secrets with her, too. Okay, maybe not all secrets, but most. She's met Dylan, and she surprisingly doesn't take much interest in him.

"He's a sexy beast, no doubt about that, but there isn't much to him besides his looks. And even those will be gone pretty soon if you don't get him away from that bottle," Sierra told me one day.

She knows about my "siblings" and that all except Dylan have passed. Even about Fang, or should I say "Nick." But not the wings. Never the wings.

I go flying every now and then, if I have time. I drive out to the country. I will not tell you the landscaping though, as my location needs to remain secret. There is nothing better than the feeling when wings meet the rush of the wind. I just wish I had a sober person to share it with.

So that's the basics, I guess.

Now to tell you about this story. My story.

This is the story of the stupid perfect loser whom I can't live with or without and how he decided to come back in my life for no apparent reason whatsoever. This is the story of how he tore out my heart and stomped all over it. Again. This is a story about reliving the past, even the parts I really don't want to relive. This is a story about making my past mix with my future.

And about making the biggest decision ever: life or death?