Okay, chapter three here for all you lovely readers. You're amazing (: Again, hope the shortness doesn't bother you, and reviews are love!!! Any kind are welcomed.
Drugs. That was what was pumping through her, and keeping her sedated. Slowly, so slowly, she opened bleary eyes to the sterile white world she seemingly grew up in.
Or so they tell her.
She has nothing better to go by, no choice other than to believe them, even though she thinks it's rather odd to grow up with no memories of your family.
"Maximum." Despite the pain, she snaps her head around to the sound. Jeb.
"Dad!" She strains against her bonds, they hold her against the cold metal table and cut into her wings. For a minute the look in his eyes looks like he's crippled, a crushing sadness crashing over his tall frame. But in just a moment it's gone, and he's the stern but loving father figure she knows him as.
Or so they tell her.
"Max, what were you thinking? What happened to you? It was a simulation, a test. There were people from all over the country here to see you, and you do that. I'm very disappointed in you." Her eyes burn regretfully for a moment, before the look is replaced with a fierce determination, and he knows this won't happen again.
Not until she gets her real memory back, anyway. But that will never happen, not if he can help it. He had what he wanted, a prime specimen, ripe for the picking. And in a way, he had his daughter back, his little Max. And there was no way he was letting her go again without a fight. But that was besides the point anyway, and he quickly refocused on her again.
"Good." His approving nod made a grin stretch across her face.
"You must be more careful next time." She rolled her eyes.
"Yes, Dad." And he briefly wondered if his heart was breaking. Because the Max he'd come to know would rather break her own leg than say that. And oh, how he'd longed to hear it, too. He let her out of her bindings and she was down the hall in a flash.
Her shoulder blade length hair streamed behind her as she sped down corridors and passed doorways. There was no sound. Nothing but placid white, and to her it was like she was running through a frozen world. Snow white and bright and amazing in its simplicity, she was entranced by it every time. Then the smell of antiseptic hits her nose, and she knows she's reached the place where the real bad things happen. The tests, and even though the walls are sound proofed, if she tries really hard, she can hear faint screams.
So small you're left to figure out if you've actually heard them. But oh, yes, you have. They're bloodcurdling, not something the imagination could make up on its own. She never stays here long. There're no windows, few visible doors, only walls. Empty white washed walls, and horrible screams that just tickle your eardrums. Why would she? She scurries away after her slight pause. She's off to find her flock, and she knows the halls so easily. For some reason that just does not sit right with her. But she brushes it off, and continues on. She's gulping and spinning, circles upon circles, and corridors, and she has no control. Like the crazy rides at amusement parks, she's on a rampage that only ends in carnage of herself. Maybe it's because she's for once lost in the bright halls.
Or maybe it's because she's lost, but on top of that all alone. But she stops, and she listens. Like her life depends on it, she crouches, and presses her ear against the wall. And this time, she hears. She hears the curses of her name, and her family's, and her friend's. And she's afraid for them. A glimmer of a memory surfaces, mostly a feeling, and a single tear slides down her face, as she sees in her minds eye a girl. With choppy hair, and bitingly cold brown eyes, and a dark clothed boy, a tall blonde one, a small African American girl, and small blonde boy and girl. One little black dog.
Six children, and one dog.
The first girl was strapped to a table, and she was spitting insults and curses, and scratching at everything she could with her horrendously short nails. She bites those who come close enough. Until she screams, louder than anything. Louder than those in the White Hall. And then it's over. And she's still alone, with a single thought rebounding again and again in her head, louder with each passing turn of it's orbit. It is deafening finally, and she can no longer ignore it. It pulses in time with her heart, and she can't figure out where on earth it came from. It scares her more than she'd ever tell;
A city, great and bright and beautiful, looming above with an aristocratic elegance, and it was empty. Beside and inside its magnificent façade, echoed like a shadow, was fear. And you could see it in the stillness, and you could hear it in the silence, and you could feel it, in the stark emptiness of a marvelous seashell. Empty, so empty, but pretty on the outside. It was more like a glass city. So sparkly, and it caught dreams like light and reflected them right back at you in bright rainbow colors, so they almost seemed like they were yours to keep. But a glass city is dangerous, a tremulous promise, that has almost every intention of breaking. As soon as you look at it, it can shatter on impact, the force of your gaze too much for its fragile demeanor. Or, It can hold out just a little bit longer so you know its coming and have to wait, and I can't figure out which one is worse. To fall without knowing, or knowing you're going to fall.