Feathers and Fury
The rain poured like a thousand needles against the hospital windows. Thunder cracked in the distance, casting brief flashes across Clara's trembling form. The fluorescent lights above her flickered uncertainly, as though the air itself hesitated around her presence.
She sat motionless on the hospital bed, feathers damp with sweat. Inside, a storm raged far worse than the one outside.
Her claws clenched tightly.
Clara, strapped to a cold metal table. Wires in her skin. Syringes. Blinding lights. Pain. Then feathers.
She saw it all again....the twisted faces in lab coats, the cold murmurs of scientists debating her "viability," and the scent of antiseptic masking blood. She remembered the scream that tore from her throat as her limbs twisted, her bones cracked, and feathers burst from her skin like needles breaking free.
Clara snapped out of the memory with a shudder, the echo of pain still clinging to her chest.
"They turned me into this," she muttered, her voice dry, low, almost like a chirp....but soaked in rage.
She dragged herself off the bed and padded toward the mirror near the corner of the room. The reflection stared back....an enormous hen, intelligent eyes hidden behind wild feathers and silent fury. But beneath that beastly shell, Clara could see her. The young woman. The university student. The daughter. The fighter.
"But I remember who I am now," she whispered.
Her feathers ruffled as a jolt of energy surged through her chest.
"And I'm not done with them."
Just then, the corridor lights flickered violently, and the hospital floor trembled slightly....barely enough for most to notice, but Clara did. Her head tilted. She felt it in her bones.
They were coming.
The lab had noticed her escape.
Suddenly, a scream echoed down the hallway, followed by the frantic patter of retreating footsteps.
Clara turned slowly toward the door.
No more running.
The hunted had become the hunter.