The plastic side digs into my ribs. I rest my head against the side of my cage. I am leaning on my side in my Medium dog crate. Pieces of my dirty hair filter through the holes on the walls. A smiling dog stares at me like my life doesn't totally suck. I roll my shoulders and let my wings out a little bit. They should be majestic, but instead they look pathetic. Dirt clings to every feather and a few wings are singed from the White Coats tests.
"Ig…" a voice cuts through my thoughts. I barely move my head, but my neck hurts. It's what you get when you sleep in a dog crate. I blink and stare. Max slides her fingers through her own Medium dog crate. She looks more pathetic than me. She keeps talking, "What's wrong?" Max can always tell when I'm sad. Whenever anyone is sad. Her face is filthy and her hair hangs limp against her face. Her wings poke out of her paper dress. I twisted my body to face her. My legs face the door of my cage, but my chest faces Max's crate. My wings are crushed against the other side, aching to be feel the wind.
"Nothing's wrong" I say. I push my finger through my own cage and our hands touch. I give her a weak smile and she squeezes my hands, well, she squeezes as much as the crate allows her to. We sit there silently our fingers intertwined.
The door slams open, and Max removes her hands. A White Coat walks down our row of dog crates. He has a clipboard in his hand and is humming a song. He seems happy, basically that means a "specimen's" day is going to suck. He draws nearer. I glance nervously at Max, but her eyes are pinched together, trying to close out the nightmare she calls life. I twist again, and pain creeps up my stiff back. Fang is looking at me and his dark eyes bore into me. He has an ugly bruise on his face and it distorts his mouth a bit. He is trying to tell me something, mouthing some words out, but I don't understand. I shake my head and he grits his teeth. He begins to dramatically mouth the words. I decipher his words. Do- Not- Die. He finishes and raises an eyebrow. I don't get it. Since when was I going to die?
"Hello there…" a smooth voice comes from the front of my cage. The White Coat is standing in front of my cage. He's wearing cologne and his hair is combed. It seems so out of place next to the dirty cages and kids. He continues to talk, "Your seven years old, right? Yeah, you're a very special seven-year-old. Do you know that? We're going to make you even better." He's sounds like he's trying to calm me down, but he scares me. This entire place scares me. It is hell, only worse. The White Coat opens my cage and holds his hand out to me. I get out without the monster's help. I never want to touch them. He takes my wrists and slips on a plastic zip-tie on my hands. They rub my skin and leave red marks on top of the red marks from years of zip-ties chafing my skin. He leads me towards the large metal doors. He pushes me through the double doors.
2481, I read the door number in my head as the White Coat pushes me through it. I smell the antiseptic before I see it. My stomach churns as my eyes see needles and restraints and computers with pictures of me. The pictures show my bone structure, muscles, and my body. Only they drew lines on it where the knives will cut. I shudder. The White Coat leads me to a padded doctor's-bed thing. It looks pristine and safe. I shudder. I have to lay on it as the White Coat straps me in with thick leather restraints. The tissue paper underneath me crinkles loudly. Another White Coat walks in. They both pull on plastic gloves and the new White Coat pushes a needle deep into my arm. I hate needles. I see it enter my arm and she squeezes something into my arm. She tells me to breath evenly. I stare in terror as black spots cloud my vision and then I sleep.