Trapped
Song: None, but if you want something (I find that it really enhances the experience...), do This is Love by Train...yes, again. :)
A/N: So hey, guys. I just wanted to say hi. How's it going in your life? Any inspiration hit you? What I mean by that is: When you were just going through your life, did you ever think, 'Oh, I wish that Sylvanna would do a chapter about _!) So go ahead, you know you have. Fill in that blank. It's so lonely.
Max
It really did start innocently. It was late January, with the frost tipping the ends of the dead grass blades. Not that I noticed. No snow had fallen. And I was as bored as ever. So there I sat, watching the quite sad state of the Flock. Fang, clouded in smoke from Iggy's latest smoke bomb prototype, stared deeply into space. Nudge was absently clipping pictures from a fashion magazine. Seriously, I don't know where she got that whole 'fashion' thing from our day to day try-not-to-get-killed routine. Who knows where Gazzy, Dylan, and Angel were? Probably having another game of marco polo. They claimed that it was more fun when you couldn't cheat; Aka, when Iggy plays. But currently, the blind pyromaniac was preoccupied with some project or another. One thing for sure: I wasn't. Suddenly, the stately wooden door creaked open to reveal three giggling bird kids. I stared them down until they stopped.
"Why in so early?" I inquired. Usually, not a peek of them was seen until dinnertime, when everyone seemed to surface. Then I smelled the tart smell of bittersweet baking chocolate. And then...sugar. Gazzy bounced in place, eager to trace the
source of the scent.
"Wecameinside becauseitwaslike ablizzardor something" (A/N: Picture all those as ONE WORD.)
My Mom was making cookies. Of course, everyone instantly made a mad dash towards the kitchen, fuzzy socks slipping on the harwood floors. We all rushed into the kitchen. Just as we all appeared, practically dripping saliva (not me, Gazzy. I promise), my Mom lifted a brownish pan of steaming hot cookies...
I almost fainted.
Ever since that first batch of cookies when my wing was wounded, I had yet to find a cookie worthy of my Mom's standards. As were about to erupt into a chorus of 'I call this one!' s, the power flickered off.
Everyone screamed. Okay, not me, and not Fang, but everyone else.
It was kinda weird. We can (and have) face imminent death situations multiple times without even flinching, but we all squeal when the electricity goes off?
Max = 0, Fate = 1.
When agitaton bubbled up inside of me as the outbursts quieted, Fang's hand somehow found its way to my waist. I turned in a hurry, to face Fang's stoic expression. And I felt calmer. But just a little.
From the corner of the room, a light fluttered on. It was a long, tapered candle. Dylan's face was illuminated with the unearthly orange light secreted from the flame. I placed a hand in Fang's, just for...well, I don't know. Just because.
"A candle, Dylan? Serious?" I questioned. Dylan shrugged, causing the flame to dissapate then return quickly.
"I have basic survival training."
Of course he did. Dr. Hooha wouldn't want him to stand by and just let me die. No, he had to install Protector 5.0. It's not like I can breathe underwater, fly, or speed faster than sound.
Oh, wait. I can.
Amoungst my thoughts, someone had found a whole stash of candles, and had placed them strategetically around the room. As we all gravitated towards the center for candles (the living room), I sighed.
This was going to be a long blizzard.