Reviews? I'm really not satisfied with this at all, but it's due tomorrow.
I should really stop procrastinating.
"Oh, God, Dylan-don't," I found myself pleading. "It's just-enough. Enough already."
Dylan stopped. Just like that. "Okay, Max."
He looked at me, then at Fang, then at the doctor.
Then he plunged the needle into his own arm.
It was raining outside. How perfect.
It had been two weeks since the incident. It shouldn't have taken that long. It's not like we can get a funeral service, or anything. But discreetly moving a teenager's lifeless body from Nevada to Utah is much harder than it sounds. For one, as always, we have to fly high to avoid being seen. Secondly, carrying a lifeless body is hard work. Lugging around 170 pounds can get tiring after a while.
But, finally, the solemn journey ended. I dug a 'grave' about a mile from the house. Fang more or less dumped the body in, scooped some dirt on, then stood with his back towards it. I found myself sort of choked up. I've only been to one funeral before, when my half-brother expired. However, I was saved the need to speak when thunder rumbled above. My flock shot nervous looks to the sky. Bird kids and thunderstorms do not mix. "You guys get back to the house. I'll be there in a few," I told them. They nodded.
I sat down in a dry patch under a tree. A sort of numbness spread all over my body. All sorts of thought ran through my head. Every feeling, every thought, every emotion I had ever felt about the dead bird kid lying in the makeshift grave came back to me. Suspicion, fear, anger, revulsion, hate, annoyance, pity, happiness... they were battling it out in my head. I remembered being introduced to him in the refugee camp. Then shoving him off the roof to teach him to fly. Then leaving him to deal with the rest of the flock. Then, finally, him ending it all.
Poor Dylan. It must have really sucked to have been him. To not experience childhood. To not know life outside a lab. If there was one thing we, the flock, cherished, it was our freedom, and God help whoever tries to take that from us. Dylan never had anyone to break him out of those cages. The scientists pretended he was human while in his presence, but they all thought he was just another experiment. Which he was. He was a freak. They said mutants were the race of the future, and he was the first success. But he wasn't. He was a failure. If you need proof, just look at the grave in front of me. He died because the whitecoats forgot one thing: he was (or, at least 98% of him was) human. Humans aren't constants, they're variables. They change. They are sentient beings, and whoever forgets that doesn't deserve the success that Dylan almost brought them.
I sighed. The flock would be worried if I didn't head back soon.
"Goodbye, Dylan," I whispered.
One big thing you didn't properly address though:
The flock has never had to deal with a dead body before, especially not a dead bird kid. Put yourself in Max's shoes; that nice neighbor from down the street just died while you were talking to them, and now you're carrying them over your shoulder to the morgue. How do you feel? This needs to be taken into consideration. Even if they didn't like this guy much, a corpse is a corpse
of course of course!this will still cut them pretty deeply. Angel, Nudge and Gazzy should be in tears, Max should feel like she's going to hurl, Iggy would be too afraid to touch Dylan's body, and Fang would be ashen, probably also shocked to some extent because he's thinking "this could have been me"
Even to Max's leader-based mind, there's no way that the only thing that would come out of her is how hard it was to lug the corpse back to the house.
Flying in the rain= :P. Max & co would take a van.