Running • Iggy

Running

Running.

I sprinted around an old, moss-covered electric post, heat bursting across my face. My whole body felt like it was on fire, laughter threatening to bubble up from my chest like it had a mind of its own. I shouldn't be having fun in a chase like this, I shouldn't love the feeling of the wind rushing carelessly through my shoulder-length ginger hair. Not now, not when there was a butcher knife-carrying maniac chasing me, screaming profanities. It wasn't like I heard him though, between the harsh pounding of my heart in my ears and the wind growling past me, I couldn't hear a damn thing.

I turned a corner so fast I skidded across the entire width of the pavement, chuckling as the older, heavier man's grunts of surprise reached my muffled ears as he fell over from the intense curve. I was laughing now, carrying the meat and bread I had managed to snatch from the shop. I could hear Max's chiding, bossy voice repeating in my head from just 3 hours before. 'Stay on the down low, you hear me? Just because you're going out alone this month doesn't mean you get to do something reckless.' Welp, a bit too late for that now, Maximum.

See, I was in a bit of a predicament, a pickle as Angel, my 7-year-old sister, would say. I was trusted the oh-so glorious task of collecting the groceries for me and my 6 other siblings for the entire month. Usually, it would be Max or Fang, (possibly Iggy if they wanted sympathy points) going out to get groceries, as they were the most trustworthy ones. They usually came back with enough groceries to last us 2 days, as we had basically no money, they had resorted to begging for food a long time ago. But me? Well, I managed to slowly convince my way into her letting me, the youngest 15 year old in the flock, the so-called 'untrustworthy scum' by Maximum Ride herself (well, not her exact words), get the shopping.

And oh boy.

I did not waste that opportunity.

Now I was hauling a large, tatty backpack full of different stolen (and begged for) goods around on my back as I ran, another two large shopping bags in each hand. I was sprinting for the woods at the end of the city, laughing like a madman. Running always felt so good to me, I guess you could blame the way I grew up. There was something so freeing about it. I jumped over the metal railing that blocked the city from the forest, laughing at the older man's screams. "SUCK IT, OLD ASS!" I screamed as I ran, ginger hair whipping my face.

Sure, I was reckless when I was alone and also in the mood, able to do whatever I wanted without being held back by a trembling Angel, or a confused-looking Gazzy, but that didn't mean I was reckless at home. I slowed my sprinting about 30 minutes later, relaxing finally. No way that old idiot would've followed me for that long for a bit of meat and bread. I stretched, slowly resting my back against a thin tree trunk, the tree settling between my wings. Oh yeah. I forgot to introduce myself.

Hello, my name is T01230tsn, and I'm a freak Avian-American citizen who is constantly being hunted by crazed scientists.

Okay okay, sorry, enough with the sarcasm.

My family calls me a few things, but my chosen name is Citrus. I'm 15 years old, and the middle child in my flock, and well, I'm 97% human, 2% bird, and 1% tiger. I know it sounds crazy, but it's my life, you'll get used to it eventually. I basically look like a dirty mess, I'm around 5'2 and I'm overly underweight in my opinion. But when I do manage to get washed up, which is rarely as our water supply is limited, I have ginger hair, sort of like the orange on a tiger's back. My skin is patched with what I usually call a skin condition to any curious human, but they're really darker stripes from my tiger genes showing up on my skin. My eyes? They're the most tiger thing about me. A piercing, vibrant emerald green, with cat-like pupils. Gold runs around my pupils, and flecks of it seem to also occupy different areas of my bright green eyes like freckles. On my back, wings that can stretch up to 15 feet wide, with the coloring of a fawn, complete with white specks freckling the top parts of my wings, standing out against the fawn brown, and the slow fade in color from brown to white from the top to the tips.