Finding the Wings to Fly

Beginning

Where should I start? Most start with the beginning. But my story doesn't really have a beginning. Oh well, I'll do the best I can. We will start with my parents. My parents weren't exactly good people, but they weren't bad either. I was an accident. My mother was a military hacker/technician and my father was an agent. Apparently they hooked up during this one mission and poof! Out comes the baby! Not knowing what to do, or just because they didn't want to deal with me, I was sent to a military school. As a baby. I was raised in a military school. Yay for me.

This military school was harsh, harsher than normal. Not knowing any other style of life however, I thought it was perfectly normal. The schools goal was to weed out any form of attachment or emotion among the students, creating a "perfect soldier". Cliché, I know. One thing you should know about me is that I was never the heroine in this school. I wasn't the good guy. If the people at my school got punished or bullied, I wasn't the one to step up and stop it. It was their problem, not mine. I also wasn't the perfect obedient student. Never the top of my class. I could have been, if I had the drive or want, but we all knew the risks of being the top student. At least three die each year, cause always "unfortunate accidents." But this was normal for me. This was life. I stayed in the middle, never questioning, never speaking out.

There was one thing that set me apart though. I have a perfect memory. Everything I have ever seen or heard is stored away neatly in my mind. Even the smallest details. You might be thinking "oh, what an awesome gift!" or "wow! I wish I had that!" Trust me, you don't. Have you ever had a scary scene from a movie or fight with your friend you just try to forget? Well, I don't have that. My memory is more of a curse than a gift.

We learned all sorts of things in that school. Survival, combat, calculus, art. Like a spy school. Yeah that's a good way to think of it. I lived in a spy school. Now I bet you're wondering "where does the story start?" Just wait. I haven't finished.

I was around the age of fourteen when I realized this was not normal. And it was all thanks to this pretty little book hidden under a floorboard. It was about an angel that had fallen into earth. This book taught me about things I had heard of, but never really thought of before. Freedom of speech, human rights, and what a childhood was supposed to be like. That made me think, but it wasn't what made me rebel. What made me want to rebel was the books description of flying. The thrill, the beauty, the absolute freedom. The description was so vivid and beautiful. In the end, it wasn't being suppressed or treated like an animal that broke me. It was the impossible dream I had acquired. I wanted to fly someday, with beautiful wings on my back.

I was set and ready to escape. I had my book, cloths, food, and other provisions stored up. I even stole a brand new computer and uploaded all my textbooks on hacking and set up a professional firewall. But in the end, I never actually escaped on my own. The incident took care of that.