Dear reader, dear person, dear beautiful, wonderful, weirdo. You are a freak. We are all freaks, because not one of us is the same as anyone else who has ever existed. So, what really is your definition of not normal if no one is normal? And lots of people may not be normal to your standards, but odds are, none of them to the extent of me. This is my story.

The gentle rain kissed my fair, pale, skin. Getting lodged in my dark black feathers, my wings urging me to fly, I had to fly soon if I had any hope of escaping. I’m going to have trouble staying alive. It’s hard to make friends when you’re a fourteen year old with wings. My curly blonde hair goes straight as the rain starts to soak it through. My green eyes glimmer as I hear the incessant nagging of the automated lady saying “Subject Missing” “Subject Missing” over, and over, and over again. I had to fly soon if I had any hope of staying alive. I run, straight forward, starting to feel the wind howling fast past my ears. I clench my muscles, jumping ten, twenty, thirty, feet in the air. I curl into a ball, then start to dive straight towards the ground. Just before I go splat, I unfurl all fifteen feet of dark purple glory that is my wings. I feel my muscles working powerfully, rising me steadily up, and up, and up. I make the mistake of looking back. I see little splotches, holding tiny toothpicks. I knew exactly what they were. Scientists holding guns. But it didn’t bug me much. I knew I was out of firing range. My stomach grumbled. I needed food. I’ll deal with that tomorrow. Tonight, I’ll find out who to destroy.

An alley, bingo. I start to lay down, as I hear a “Hi!” I freeze instinctively. Then another “Hello?’ I whip around, half expecting to see a gun-bearing scientist. But all I see is a short, brunette girl. She is my age, maybe a bit older. And she sticks out her hand. She waits for a minute, then puts her hand down as she realizes I’m not going to shake it. “What are you doing here alone?” she asks. “I could ask you the same thing,” I say, doing my best to send daggers with my words. I wore a frown on my face, crossing my arms over my chest. “Fair, fair.” She says, raising her hands exaggeratedly. “I came looking for my phone, I lost it yesterday, and I walked home through this alley.” “Cool, now if you’d excuse me, I’m trying to sleep.” “Jeez.” She says. “You don’t have to be so rude!” She said bitterly. “Bite me.” I say. She blinks her eyes in confusion. “Excuse me?” She asks. “I said, bite me!” I practically screech. She rolls her eyes. “I’m Sam.” She says. “And I know you’re a runaway.” Every muscle in my body tenses. “From that orphanage down in Edmonton.” I let out a breath I didn’t know I’d been holding. “Look, my mum’s the chief of police, she can help you!” Sam says, practically pleading. “Thanks, but no thanks. I’m done with the government.” Her anxious face turns into a sly grin,” why don’t we talk about it over dinner?” She asks mischievously.

I know it is in my best interest to say no, but my stomach won’t hold out much longer. So hesitantly, I said “yes”.
We took a sharp turn at the end of the alley and headed down the sidewalk, till we slowed at a white house with blue lining, looking like it had come straight out of a fairy tale. We walk in to find a middle aged woman, with big blue doe eyes, her brunette hair tied up into a messy bun. She gave us a smile. “Sammie, I didn’t know you were having friends over for dinner,” she said in a calm voice. “Oh well. I made enough for everyone anyway.” We all walk into a kitchen and smell an overwhelming scent. “Mmmmmmm” I moan, half conscious. “What is that smell?!” I ask. She just laughs as if I were joking. “Ice cream of course!” She chuckles. “Do your parents know you’re here?” She asks. “If not, you can borrow my phone and call them.” She offers. “Um, no they know I’m here. Well for main course, Chicken, yum Caesar salad, yum and spaghetti. OMG.
“Tasty!” I say. We clamor to the dinner table, a delicious aroma floating into my nose. I take five pieces of chicken, three scoops of Caesar salad, and one giant heap of spaghetti. She looks confused for a moment, then fixes her face into its usual smiley state. Undoubtedly thinking, “Growing kids, what are you gonna do?” then digs into her own food. She lets out a sharp gasp. “My goodness! I forgot to ask your name!” I pause for a moment, thinking about what I want to be called, other than Subject 21. “My name is Eve. Eve Queen.”

“Well, Eve Queen, it’s nice to officially meet you.” She says, a smile on her face. “Nice to meet you too,” I say, somewhat shyly. “Hey, um, do you mind if I stay here for the night? There’s just a lot going on with my parents right now.” I say, as I try to look as childish and sad as possible. “Of course honey! You can use my phone to call them if you want.” Sam’s mom says, the face of a guilty mom. “Thanks.” I say, feeling like a kindergartener. Oh well, now I have a place to sleep.

Just then, men in their thirties burst in through the windows, Sam screams, and her mom shoves her under the bed. I deliver a mean roundhouse kick to one, but two others pin me down. “Let go of me!” I rasp. “Ah here she is.” I look up, and smirk. “Hey Dad.”