Does it look like Maximum Ride belongs to me? That's what I thought.
I'm leaving for camp on Monday! I'm gonna try to get you two chapters tomorrow, but no promises: I have to pack for camp.
(Note: the "_ years later things all start from where we left off)
Chapter Seven
Phoenix
One Year Later
I was just about to make my escape. I had it all planned out. Everything was going perfectly, until this happened. They've locked me in a titanium room and keep throwing experiments at me. Kill them or we do it. They had said. Kill them or we will torture them to death. The failed experiments. The rejects. The ones that were practically useless because of their mutations. The ones that had powers that drove them mad. The ones brave enough to fight back. I killed, they were spared torture, and the school was free of more rejects. This is why they fed me instead of tortured me, but although it kept me alive, it was killing me. The guilt was gnawing at my conscience nonstop and every time I slept, their haunting gazes bore holes into me and their ghostly arms tore me apart. Luckily, this was only allowed every two or three days, because if I fell asleep before the allotted time they'd torture another reject to death in front of my eyes, then go nearly as far with me. I was slowly dying on the inside and out. My body was battered, I was skinnier than ever, and the bruised look under my large eyes seemed to be getting permanent. Then there were the mutants. Some welcomed the knife I was given straight into their hearts, and others beat the crap out of my broken body before death. I was never healed, barely sleeping, and the only way to get food was killing. Why me? Why me?
Two Years Later
The year and a half of killing is over. Now I was comatose every other day, and doing those maniacal tests on the rest. I am starting to lose my emotions. I try desperately to hold on to them, but I can only really feel sadness, pain and emptiness now. I can't even summon rage anymore. My mind is losing the battle for control, and my sanity was long gone a while back. I don't even consider fighting back anymore, I find it quite pointless, now. I'm too weak, too starved, too tired, too far into the boundary of death for it to do anything. I can't even call it my "life" anymore. Death would be nice, though. An escape from this hell. I don't belong in the real one, do I? I did kill those kids, but those were mercy killings, it was the kindest thing to do, wasn't it? They were lucky; right now a knife through the heart would be a gift from god. I really do wish I could die. I was basically a pitiful pile of bones with no emotions. Please, I called out mentally, somebody kill me.
Three Years Later
I stared at the word written in front if my face. Hope. What did that really mean, anyways? I know I lost it a long time ago. I know it was something positive, if it wasn't, I'd probably still have it. I only really feel sadness and emptiness along with the occasional bout of self-pity. They were trying to gauge my reactions to positive, negative, and neutral words. So far I felt nothing and showed nothing in return. Currently I was on my down day. My "schedule" had three days which just kept going in a cycle. DNA injection/operation, down day, where I had purely mental exercises, and a day where basically all they did was torture me in many, many, different and sick ways.
I have well and truly lost both my emotions and my sanity, but didn't care. Why should I? I mean, my future is really just the inevitable death that I truly hope will come soon. I can't believe I'd forgotten the effects of the school. Actually, I could, I had buried the memories as deep as they would go. I didn't care anymore, now it just blended in with everything else in my mind. I'm still waiting on Death, but he seems busy because I'm not going anywhere near anything along the lines of heaven. That really sucks.
