Confessions Of A Teenage Hybrid.

Chapter 1 – First Entry.

02/23/2003

Dear Diary.

Huh. A diary. It's kinda weird being able to spill your deepest secrets. But that's what a diary's for, right?

I've never had a diary before, so I'm not sure what I'm supposed to be writing, or how I'm supposed to write it. So bare with me.

Well, I'm Max. Eleven years of age. Long blonde hair. Bright blue eyes. 13ft wings. Wait – I guess you wouldn't normally put in a diary that you have wings.

But I'm not normal. So I guess I'm aloud to.

I guess I should start from the very beginning. I grew up at a place called the School, located somewhere in Death Valley. I lived in a metal cage, where I would stay until the people that worked at the School would fetch me. These people were called whitecoats. Basically deranged scientists who probably didn't date enough in high school.

When I was out of my cage, they would run tests on me. See how long I could run without water, how long I could hold my breath under water, how many Erasers (I'll explain later) I could take out before I eventually went down in flurry of claws and fur.

But they weren't just normal tests, where you could just jump off the treadmill when you were worn out or surface from the water after holding your breath for as long as you could. The whitecoats would push you. Make you do things that you aren't capable of doing. And if you tried to resist, they'd hurt you. Torture you.

And then there are the Erasers. As I have wings, I am known as a human-avian hybrid because I have bird cells grafted into my DNA. But erasers were human-lupine hybrids. Part wolf.

Notice how I said/wrote were human-lupine hybrids? That's because I'm not at the hell hole School anymore.

I was rescued from the school, along with five other human-avian hybrids, by a whitecoat named Jeb. He brought us to the house that we are in now and has fed us and clothed us and acted as a parent for a year now.

I guess I should tell you about the rest of my family now then, huh? Ok, here it goes…

First, there is little Angel, only at the age of 3. She has little chicken wings that are pure white. She can't fly yet, but her cuteness makes up for that.

Next is the Gasman. Or Gazzy. He's at the ages of 5. Guess you're wondering why he's called Gasman. Well let's just say he's definitely got a seriously funky digestive system. Just thank the lord that you aren't here to experience the reason why he's called Gasman. Angel and he are the only blood relatives in this house, but we all count each other as family.

Then there's Nudge. Well here's another descriptive name. She gives a new definition to the word motor-mouth. She's called Nudge because she just doesn't stop talking! We call it the Nudge channel. All Nudge, all the time. She's at the age of 8 and has a heart of gold, but could turn Mother Teresa into an axe-murderer.

Next up, Iggy! He's the same age as me, 11. When we were at the School, he had an operation performed on his eyes. It kinda went wrong and he's now blind. But you wouldn't know it. He can walk around and cook and fly like any of the rest of us. Well, except the cooking part. He's so much better at that.

And last, but definitely not least, is Fang, who is also 11. My best friend since the very beginning. He's my rock and my shoulder to cry on. He has some weird obsession with black. His hair is black, he only wears black clothes and his eyes are black. But his eyes aren't the cold black that you would usually find, but they are filled with warmth and tenderness. He's as hard as a rock, but if someone is hurt or angry, he can always calm them down. And that's why he's my best friend.

And that's my spectacular, wonderful and absolutely awesome family that I love oh-so-much.

Jeb gave me this diary earlier today. I made his swear not to tell any of the others I had one. I would die of humiliation if the others found out I was pouring out my feelings to a freaking book. No offence.

Wow. It's getting late. I better find a good place to hide you. Uh… well I guess I'll "talk" to you tomorrow then.

-Maximum Ride.

Yes. That should do for my first ever diary entry I thought. I walked over to my bed and placed my brand new diary under my mattress. There. Nobody would ever find my diary there…

Well, I hope you liked this. I don't know why I thought of doing this, but the idea just popped into my head.

Review please!