Blake
We were lucky. Very lucky. Very, very, very, very, VERY, lucky. The girl that spotted us, she was a runaway. Longed for freedom and independence; everything that us winged ones specialized in. At least we wouldn't have to worry about a snitch. I looked down at her face and remembered what she said not minutes ago.
"Everybody thinks I'm just some dopey little nine year old. But I'm not. I can do things other nine year olds can't. When my parents died a few years ago everybody back home started to shelter me, like I shouldn't know about the bad stuff in the world. Like I can't handle it. But I can. I can live in the woods and survive. If you guys hadn't found me that's what I would have done. And I would have made it. I would have proven them all wrong."
Nine years old. But she thought like she was so much older, like her life had been rough and gained years of life, of experience in such a short time. Just like us winged ones. Stripped of innocence because we're different. In her case no parents. In ours, wings.
The past few weeks had seemed like years. How old was I anyways? It took me a little while to remember. Thirteen. Four years older than Jackie. Only. Thirteen seemed so young, practically a child. I looked over at Michel. Fifteen. That's how old he was. Barely older than thirteen.
Time seemed irrelevant. Like something rich people had to plan their lives around the tiniest little inconveniences such as sleeping and eating. Almost like it was a bother.
I sighed.
Jackie
I was glad I had found Blake and Michel. Sure, that meant that I was half trusting my life to a bunch of freaks, but really, it was better this way. They seemed nice. Plus, I've always wanted to know what it felt like to fly. Flying: the ultimate form of freedom. Restricted by not even gravity.
