Title: Flight

Author: UglySkin

Beta Reader: None. If anyone would like to, please, message me. Raptor Jesus knows I need one…

Rating: Mature. TAKE HEED TO THIS FOREWARNING.

Warnings: Mentions of Torture, Mentions of Rape, and Homosexual Relationships.

Genre: Slash (TAKE HEED), Romance, Humor, Violence, General, Angst.

Summary: One misanthropic teenager, two twins set for battle, a fairy like sister of a bomber, a anorexic punk, a shy normal! girl, another dazzling heroin addict, and a slightly OCD ridden nerd. They all long for freedom, and the only way they can achieve it is with the right tools. Those tools, however, might just be more trouble than they're worth.

Authors Notes: Well, this chapter isn't anything to special, but I usually have a difficult time with the first chapter, and it ends up being horrible, so this one turned out great in comparison.

" Flight "

Chapter One: The Main Modifications of Society

"Sometimes I wonder if its me that hates the world, or the world that hates me." - Anonymous

--

Many could announce me to be cold, ice cold, and probably would, just to the fact they can. And for that, I applaud and relate to those few.

A small grouping of humans thrive off freedom, the equally distributed will to do whatever one pleases, without pre-diagnosis of what they are actually taking part in or discussing. In that frame of mind, they do what they deem right at that instance. No rules. No repercussions. No consequences. Its just instinctual that one would enjoy to be engulfed into such a pleasure induced feeling such as the quilt-free zone. Their wide spread mind functions vary. Some can be quick witted, or dumb, but they all share a common aim they want to grasp. And that thing is: free will. The operation of having choices.

I guess, for others it's the opposite. These people feed off structure, its their support, and without it they would crumble along with the order they uphold and cherish. Many and most of these individuals are not hard-pressed into that decision, because face it, humans are fierce and untamed animals, they rear back at the reigns if pushed in a direction they do not view as plausible and comfortable (or uncomfortable…some like pain and suffering) as another. They choose willingly and eagerly to belong to this group, holding the subtle audacity to actually uphold the thought that the first pod of personalities were wrong in behaving the way they do.

The last pack of individuals are just that; individuals. They swing the way they want, much like the first team, but with more soothing tendencies that happen appear if their way isn't what happens in reality. They choose the easiest route for everyone, what feels best and flows effortlessly. I'm more or less sure they are the most technically knowledgeable of the three collections, being not tied down in the unconscious battle that the first two are constantly partaking in. Although they typically have no genuine opinions or connections (that they wouldn't be unwilling to break for a quick getaway), these are usually deep into some major idea. Ie. Psychology, Religion, or maybe even Porn. Wait scratch that, they most probably are indulged in porn more than anything else, considering it has to serious commitments.

I categorize myself into the first set. I don't understand why anyone would follow unbendable policies so cheerily, unless they of course liked the idea of what they were being guided into. I face the fact that I am also to bold, rationally opinionated, and disciplined to belong anywhere near the third group. I get foul comments about my character being to 'hard' or 'unfeeling'. I believe the idiom I would use for myself would be 'real'. I know what is conspiring around me, and I don't like to create illusions that everything will turn out fine. I know that the world isn't only a unpleasant environment; I comprehend it has many wonderful, magical, and exhilarating themes as well.

But, the realm we function in now, has by far more evil than it does good. Righteous, kind, and all together decent folk are not high in the number ranks.

Trust me. The first group are the warriors that will set us all free, or at the very least, set ourselves free. We are the defenders of those who have no say, we are the defeaters of entrapment and conformity, and though we are not emotional or easily attached, we care more about others than we would like any someone to recognize.

--

"You're fat. I'm not going to sugar coat it, you'd eat that too." The women before me gasped like she hadn't been expected that jab, her plump, pink-tinted cheeks jiggled as her mouth gaped. The bright crimson lipstick she had smeared on her clammy lips made me want to smack it off, but I refrained from doing so. I don't exactly think the headmaster would appreciate it. The last sentence I had blankly stated was going to throw me into enough strenuous levels of punishment. The only action I wanted to do more than hear the flesh of my palm land with a loud smack across her fish-mouth, was the sound of my fists making loud thumping noises against her gaudy purple dress and the packets of cellulite underneath.

"How dare you!" Her husband yelled in outrage. What? Was I the only one who could clearly view this totally obnoxious women (I assumed) before me? Oh, don't get me wrong, I perfectly fathomed I was being a brat myself, but that was my objective at the moment.

As I glanced at the man this 'female' dared call her husband, I knew instantaneously how he had bagged such a beautiful bride such as Mrs. Flexi. He was as skinny as Juvie over in the anorexic ward, but the huge difference between those two was not only the fact that one had a fully operational penis (again, I'm assuming) and one didn't. It was the detail that Mr. Flexi was five times or more wretched than his beloved had ever pondered about being.

"Your face looks like someone attempted to hit it with bricks until It wasn't ugly anymore," I raised an eyebrow as his jaw unhinged, but managed to keep all other facial ticks under complete control. "But apparently they weren't all that successful. Maybe I should try again."

"Mr. Green!" The social out looker, in which Tino had dubbed Miss Inyobusiness, looked about ready to burst. Her face was a bottomless, deep scarlet and her hands were clenched tightly against her "serious business" clip board. The fake smile she used when conversing with adopters she usually adorned was long gone, now holding a angrily twisted line. I could see the fire burning in those normally pleasant hazel eyes…She was about one hundred pounds. I thought of myself in high regard, but I'm not sure if I could take her own. She just looks do disturbingly deadly in her calico sundress and high heels.

Kitchen duty was awaiting me in the near future, I presume. As I studied her for a explosion, she seemed to level herself back to a cheery mellow. If I were that raged and tried to relax myself, lets say it wouldn't work out. Something really has to be pissing me off before I even loose my cool. So I would have had to be on medication for such an easy settlement. As I looked her up and down, I thought about ho much would make sense if Miss Inyobusiness was popping pills. "Mr. and Mrs. Flexi. Please go on down the hall to my office, I'll come on in when I have a word with Embry here." She prodded me with a little to much force.

Her grin was much more dangerous when it shifted over to me, and I semi-gulped ( not from fear, but from my sarcastic makeup) as the metal door clicked shut not a few feet away from my now still body, signaling the couples departure. After a few moments of eerily staring at my un-amused expression, her odd quirky smile fell away to reveal her true colors. She sighed dryly, whilst rubbing her temples in smooth circles. I could see she had washed her sandy blonde hair for the occasion of possibly seeing me off, and her nails weren't as jagged as I had remembered them, coated in a fine bubble gum pink.

"If my license to kill hadn't expired…" She mumbled seemingly to herself. "Embry, I ask you this, why?"

"I'm assuming your misplaced 'why' connects to my verbal thoughts about those weirdoes?" She glared. "I don't like them." I answered without a smidgen of quilt.

"You NEVER like 'them'." She replied in accusing voice, pointing her index finger.

"Well, maybe that's YOUR fault for not seeing me to some normal-"

"Go to your room. Punishment will be executed - " Her sneer had hardened.

"Yeah, yeah. When you're finished." I successfully returned what she had preformed on me. Cutting off my sentences was something that annoyed me.

I was already turning, trudging down the glistening white hallways that belonged to none other the Saint Morn 'Orphanage' - I use the phrase loosely - located at 204 Selvin Street, that I didn't have the time or patience to see if she called out anything in addition. Besides, all she rambled on about was how I was never going to be accepted by adopters if I didn't change my 'tune' (I am not a instrument, do not use sayings that hint at it). I have spent many a day trying to escape this uninteresting hell hole. My devious escape plots land me in the back of a whirring police car, exhausted and hungry and somewhat ashamed. And later, back at Saint Morn, I receive my labor ridden chores and a couple entertained giggles when they drop me back off with a nudge; as if to say 'hey, don't do it again'. The sheriff excludes my presence to be harmful to not a soul anymore, and as you can imagine, it was quite a strike to my ego when I first discovered.

Anyone who had ever wanted to adopt me ended up in tears, shock, or worst case scenario, adorning a couple bruises. Of course, I could go with them, and I run away a hell of a lot easier than I could here, but to me getting out of this building, is like a battle of the wits, even though the structure has no mind or reason. If I can win, nothing will be as difficult from then on, I'm sure of it. Security isn't too tight…we have a metal fence outside, with barb wire lacing the upper regions. Its easy to slip through a few unguarded spots, though. A couple police officers roam our hall ways, some sentries. If we start a fight we will be subdued and given a penalty accordingly.

Saint Morn was a place you were sent when you had no one and nothing. It was a place that you were hurled into when you were disorderly, a underage criminal who the judge had said needed to be straightened out, or sometimes you were merely in need of safety from some outside force. I liked to compare it to boot camp; both Morn's and Sortdels had been a rough and bleak spot in my not so adorable biography. Yes it was like boot camp. But, you never got to write letters to your family, telling them you were having fun when you were miserable. You never got the warm feel when you thought about finally getting on that bus and driving home so you could sleep in a nice warm bed and feel secure. You never even got the satisfaction of knowing things would eventually be turned right or normal again, and you never would become a better person while performing the odyssey.

I blinked languidly as I shuffled along, ripping out of my inner musings. Not a noise, not a pop or a laugh echoed through my ear drums. Dead silence. That's why I loathed this place. I yearn to be somewhere where I can sneeze, and It wouldn't result in my person being blamed for disrupting the ever lasting peace of this site.

I turned the corner, only to be met with a curious pair of blue eyes. A small body was harshly pressed to mine within a few seconds of studying each other as I felt the air rush out of my lungs, and the urge to twitch wash through me.

"Embry! Embry! You didn't leave." I rolled my eyes as Tina glued herself around me, her tiny fists gnarling around my waste in a hug. "I thought this time you were a goner for sure!"

"Nope," I said softly, pushing her off. She stumbled a bit as I walked on, but soon she was by my side. Dumb kid. She was a scar on my 'hate little children and make them feel like shit if they're dumb' list, and basically a leech I couldn't rid of. Always had that sisterly love for me, but like other kinds of affection, I didn't deserve or uphold it. I didn't quite get it as to why a lot of occupants would stare at me with admiration, as if they already trusted me, got me, before I ever spoke a word. I didn't question it, and I didn't particularly care. It was my goal to leave them and never come back, why get intertwined with them and their dreams or even their expectations?

As I glanced over at her, I could caught a glimpse of glossy gold and instantly knew she had gotten a new pair of glasses. Those small things were clues to how her home life was holding up. Her mother and father had gotten a divorce when she was only a infant, and classically, the father went psycho and attempted to murder her whole family when the mother refused to take him back. It turned out he had a drug lords friendship, and a couple were murdered, the other relatives went into hiding.

When she had first been sent here, she had no money. I guessed her responsible parent hadn't had any money to give her when she went on the run, or she didn't want to waste any on her daughter. The only source of income she had was the spare allowance some of the richer kids gave her, so she coasted on the same cloths, supplies, etc, for awhile.

Those glasses looked expensive, and she couldn't buy those on spare change. I felt a small flare of happiness for her before it vanished and was replaced by annoyance.

"So, I guess you pissed off another batch, eh?" I didn't look up from my eyes resting place, which happened to be settled on the unsullied floor tiles. However, I couldn't stifle the microscopic groan that passed from my chapped lips.

"Tino," I regarded with slight disposition. Tino was Tina's older and moronic brother. I say 'moronic' in the concept in the he-can't-tie-his-shoes way, and the has-trouble-getting-gas way. He's a bomb specialist, and a asset to anyone who is willing to pay upfront. Apparently, he took more after dad than Tina did. As for his physical charm, if I was gay and irrational, he would be considered cute. Short and spiky black hair framed his wide face, with wide dark blue eyes that just oozed confidence, and a soft pink hue to his skin made him appear easily bruised. He looked similar to Tina, but the eleven year old was much frailer, and her eyes were a softer, a paler blue.

"So…" He trailed off. "You got any plans for us tonight, Necklace." That nickname might be a stretch for most to tie together. Only a idiot such as Tino is able to form such a comparison as 'necklace'. Tino's logic in simplified form: Embry - Emerald. Emerald - Rock used for jewelry. Jewelry - Necklace.

"Well," I said softly, running a hand through my brunette bangs. "I can come up with something, that is, if you get lost and leave me to my own space."

"Hey - I might be dumb - but I know when someone is telling me to fuck off." A small wrinkle in his brow warned me of his obvious offense, but I was never one to take the simple route and just shut my trap. Well, I would have if I was verbally dealing blows with someone of higher caliber. Tino was just a massive kid with a matching in velocity ego.

"Then take the hint and do just that." My pitch was smooth as butter. Like always. And it irritated Tino further. Like always. And Tina just stood in place, giving off that bug-eyed appearance, taking it all in... Like always. I'm beginning to see a conniving pattern of some sort...

"Embry, 'fuck up." A shrill noise assaulted my eardrums. Juvie. Bone-thin, lesbian, punk. That's Juvialle.

"Juvialle…" I smirked. I was rewarded with a swift punch to the arm.

"I told you not to call me that, jewelry fag." She stared at me under long streaks of black eyeliner, her artificially reddened cheeks uplifted into a fleshy grin. I was mesmerized when her wrist charms clanked in rhythm as she settled back into her cross armed stance. We saw eye to eye (more than literary, but we are the same height). She was lesbian, I was queer. We helped each other out. Like when I called her a no good whore, and she called me a cock munching fag. It was good to hear the truth every now and again. You could call it a semi-love hate relationship.

"Anyone else up for some candy?" Tino folded his pale arms around his large shoulders, reasoning with the unplanned mission, and if we could run like hell fast enough to arrive in our next class on time.

"We've got Mrs. Bond in…" Tina murmured thoughtfully, proceeding to check her silver watch. Youngest of the group and most likely the most accountable and trustworthy, I reflected with minimal apprehension. "Ten minutes. We can make it." She finally supposed.

We all reached a mutual understanding, and without further ado, raced like children to a door marked with a huge number seven. Well, I jogged. I don't run unless I am in a conflict that is life threatening and it is totally necessary for me to get the fuck out of there. I get sticky with obvious sweat, and I hate that, unless I want to get dirty. It hasn't exactly reached a humid temperature around here before, but it isn't comfortable.

"JuJu!" Juvie banged of the door frame like a animal that had snorted a fresh pack of pixie sticks, only before they realized that they were allergenic. Our sweet little sugar provider didn't answer. Juvie massaged her wounded fist, her mouth twisted in a pained frown as she hopped on one foot. Juju, she shared this matter in common with many other occupants, isn't really her true calling. Tino, who is becoming quite the nickname generator, pulled that together after Juju explained that out of all her hidden succulent piles of candy, the juicy juju's were her much loved.

"We are in need of your services…" I offered dully, cupping a hand around my mouth.

"I'm coming," A groggy sound yelled past the wall. "Jeez, I'm coming." A opening was unbolted tiredly, and a very pissed Juju was left standing in front of us for inspection. "So, Necklace, Moron, Nerd, and Bitch, to what do I owe the pleasure?"

"Candy," It was one word, spoken simultaneously, and Juju knew not to mess with us over our glucose urges.

--

"What the fuck, guys." Dylan hissed while his fingers danced around his desk dramatically. As I peeked in the vague direction of his trousers I could spot the faint bounce of his ankles. "You go to Juju's and don't get us any, not even a piece of gum, what's up with that?" His facial expression was priceless. Every small, yet fierce line, was pulled into exact focus as he his dull sky blue eyes inquired us for the due reproach.

"I guess your just not that important to us," Juvie suggested nonchalantly, while Tino shrugged noncommittally. Tina pointed both with a look that said 'I saw what you just did' and then a small grin which signified 'I approve'. When the hyper active blond boy gave me a questioning glance, as if to soothe his growing need to hug someone in reassurance of his worth, I stared back uninterestingly, not feeling all that comfortable doing much else.

Kasey drilled us all with a bored expression. His choppy, sandy brown bangs were drizzled in a light sweat, and I instantaneously understood the unsaid ruling that gym period was going to be gruesome today. Kasey was a clean freak, everything had to be immaculate and orderly, even down to how his pencils lined his impeccably glossy oak desk. So if his perspiration was in visible sight, it must have taken something miraculous to keep him from being his standard spick and span self. He adjusted his red rimmed glasses, and spoke solemnly. "I don't see why you continue to tease such a wiry and unstable homo-sapien such as Dylan," He blinked. "For I believe he might go ape shit if you do not halt."

"Nerd…" Juvie muttered, earning her a air slap from Kasey. Tina and Kasey, if they had been in the same age grouping, should have been a couple. Maybe then, they would both dump me, so I could be blissfully deserted for the rest of my days. But wait, they're still Tino and Juvie.

Grudgingly, Tino handed a few spare (and strangely deformed…if must have been a coincidence) of Butterscotch into Dylan's awaiting palm, and I couldn't help but grin.

"You might want to be quite," A small brunette known as Dalie murmured in a air like voice. She was hastily re-reading last weeks history section for this weeks extra credit quiz, her bright pink folder smoldered with sharpie marker inscriptions and smiles/doodles of many varieties...the markings were possibly the reason she was having to go over the chapter again. It was odd, whenever you knew you should be listening and taking notes, but you were indefinably compelled to make square robots, stick people, and swirls on clean cut loose-leaf. Her jaw clamped and unclamped around what I hoped was bubble gum between her soft spoken words. For a second, I wondered if the tree-sap-treat was the explanation of why she never chattered with any of her peers, or even, the faculty. "Mrs. Bond is coming…I can feel it." Those were most likely her last utterances of the day.

Just as the tender (and I imagined rip-able) words left her small lungs, sloppy footsteps were heard approaching the door to our "World History Haven" (it was a poster Mrs. Bond had demanded be aloud to prosper on the west wall). But the thing I noticed after the usual heavy thumps of Bond's feet, was the new array of steps. They couldn't be classified under 'steps', because the feet that seemed to be producing the sounds were actually sliding more than walking. The hazy shhhhh-squeak of sneakers descending along made me muse over whom it possibly was.

As Bond strutted through the entry frame of the classroom, breasts foremost (they were huge implants), so did someone else. The initial that that struck me about the male that had jutted out from the bland scenery before me was one thing; Attention-Grabbing.

He had ebony locks, unhindered by any other stray colors, so I assumed the sinister shade was natural (or he had a exceptionally skilled hair dresser). His tresses were styled a bit like mine, two long bangs in the front, sloping inwards as it approached the backside, until it was nothing more than fuzz. He had a lean figure, but I couldn't help but notice he was taller than me. For a split second, I was angered that I would in spite of everything be the smallest person in our class, male wise, other than the anorexics, but it luckily passed.

His cloths were also striking, the many insignias that assaulted my vision - mostly black, but with large amounts of lime green, and bright blue - and I deliberated I could tolerate his style if he would only tone down the glaring effect.

But the one thing that stood out most was his face. It looked ideal, perfect. Like a magazine model had just walked right in, taken on the burden of speaking with troubled orphans. I would have been totally sure that had been precisely what had happened if it wasn't for the fact no model (that had a smidgen of self worth) would be caught dead here. His eyes were large, a kind of blue I don't believe I've ever in-countered before. The rims of the significant, icy pools were a light yellow, somehow corresponding with his pale skin. His lips were also perfect, and I mean the very definition of the word. Perfect: without errors, flaws, or faults. My gaze lingered for only a few more seconds before I forcefully pulled my observation away, and pretended to be unaffected by this new manifestation.

As I stared down at my desk, I heeded Bond's words of this new 'student' as it had come to be. After a lesser amount of time than I would have liked taken to introduce 'Joad' to our 'school'room, Bond directed him to a seat somewhere in the back of a row. As I glanced up, that's when I caught it. Those eyes, gawking directly at me, locking and freezing - outright refusing to move from my own. And I solidified, giving way to a eye contest, before he slowly passed me, taking a seat, but I did manage to catch the small insignificant leer of victory as I blinked.

I was aimed without my consent at a new epidemic when Juvie nudged me. Mr. Shamo was the science teacher, and he had pranced up to Bond, grinning from ear to ear about something I was sure I would on no account like to know.

"Hello, Mr. Shamo," Bond said.

"Quick someone call Sea World," Juvie exclaimed from the back of the room, burying her head in her book, scarcely masking her voice. "So he can be released back into his natural habitat!"

And that was it, the strange high I had been flying in for a short occurrence was gone, and what returned was the typical, daily, bland, but humorous Saint Morn standpoint. Nothing had changed, I was still trapped. It would take another few years to find my escape. And then my existence would be meaningless, because I hadn't been able to execute the one true ambition I had set for myself.

But as I turned to grab a note that Juvie was passing to Dalie, it uplifted again. That sentiment of hope and something weird yet wonderful smeared over me as I stared into the deepness of the ocean, with all its color, life, and beauty.

The sea that was Joad's eyes.

They were breathtaking, but at the same time they were deadly, fierce…a challenge. When a sailor looked out to The deep they saw nonparallel beauty, all of their hopes and dreams, their whole existence, but they also knew treading in such dangerous waters were as much a risk as battling a god.

And before common sense overruled me, I was ready and willing to confront that god just to gaze at those puddles of sapphire for another few passing tick-tocks of time.

--

Authors Notes: I'm not that good at descriptions, but I tried my greatest.