Give in to Failure by Quill and Saber

Give in to Failure

Disclaimer: I do not own Maximum Ride. If I did, do you think I would give creatures, even evil ones,such short life spans?

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This story is dedicated to my friend Melissa. Even though she hasn't read Maximum Ride, she is the one person I know who will keep fighting. You go, girl!

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We were made to kill, my daughter.

Rend flesh, rip skin, devour. Erase.That was what we were designed to do, though I never was given the opportunity.

I have no parents- no sire nor dam- that I know of. My earliest memory is of bright lights and the sounds and smells of other young ones crammed into one small space, more often dying than living. But I was strong, and I survived.

My next earliest memory was of being picked up by cold hands and of deep, surprised voices. They did not think I would survive; they thought I would die like all the rest of the females had. But I heard, and I understood what death was.

Failure.

I would not fail like those pitiful excuses for my species did. I would defeat failure to survive.

One by one, most of the young ones would simply stop whining, simply stop wriggling; the other females disappeared first. They were taken away somewhere, leaving a gap in our wriggling mass. Eventually, so many were gone that those of us who remained could no longer touch each other. Even though we were all survivors, we were isolated; myself most of all.

Soon after that I was taken away by the men with cold hands and white coats and did not see the others anymore. I heard screams and whines from outside the small room where I was kept, yet I did not understand the reason. I was rarely in pain in those early years. When my fangs grew in, when I first sprouted a tail—that was a slight pain. When they poked me with the needles and drew my blood I felt a sting. But then I learned about fighting, after those early months. I learned about my instincts, those unfailing guides. I learned what giving into pain meant.

Failure.

I would not fail like those pitiful excuses for my species did. I would defeat failure to survive.

Later the people with the cold hands and white coats said they had a special use for me. By that time, two more females had survived, though I was the oldest. They wanted more of our kind, more to rend flesh, rip skin, and devour. And now they had us; now they had a way.

They operated twice that month; I do not know what happened either time; only that they were happy with the results. I was the mother of two young ones, they told me, and both of them survived to be trained as I was. The other two were not so fortunate; one lost one of her young but kept the other, the remaining female lost both. Yet there were more of us now, and most importantly to those people with cold hands, two of the three survivors were female. I had two daughters, my child.

I do not know what happened to either of the two. I was allowed to keep them for a month, but they were taken away for study and to be mothers themselves when the time was right. By now, there were more females born the way I was, but none of them had so many young as I. During my time as a breeder, I had five young ones; all survived, including you, my youngest and last. My young knew they could not fail; I instilled them with that at least. You will not give in.

But now I grow old for our kind, and my time is nearly at an end. We all must fail sometime; you know this now, my child. I did not realize that until late. However, that lie, that picture of success kept me alive long, longer than most of our kind. But soon I shall fail, and like the rest of my kind give into failure.

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