When I first lost my sight, the overwhelming emotion was panic. Can you imagine how it feels? To lose everything? Colour, the faces of those you love the place where you've grown up – not that that was that much of a loss in my case. I didn't want to see the school, but not seeing it was worse. Not being able to see the scientists, not being able to see what they were doing, or know when they were about to inject you so you could relax your muscles….but worst of all, was losing Fang. No longer was I his buddy, no longer the one who would gaze into his eyes when he cried, alone from all the others, so no one would know except me.

That was the worst of all, the first few days, when everyone apologised, when Fang kept away. I felt so alone. So, so alone. Darkness was absolute. I couldn't feel anything. It was as if I was numb. Maybe the scientists had done it, injected a substance that wouldn't make me feel anything, so they could observe the effects of the absence of stimulation. More likely, it was the loss I felt.

It got better. It would never be fixed, even when I started to see colours, and see on white backgrounds. Nothing was the same, but it got better. I began to rely on my other senses…and Fang. He was the one who helped me. He was the one who led me round new places, who calmed me softly when I began to panic. He was the one, late that night when I was crying, who took my hands in his own, and spoke softly.

'I'm sorry.' He hadn't said it before. In fact, he hadn't said anything. He had just left me alone. But that in itself was more painful. But this. This was a pain I hadn't felt before. This was a pain of loss…but more of love. I began to cry harder, silent tears streaming down my cheeks. Fang brushed them away, his rough fingers, callused, burnt, broken from the scientists, felt so soft against my cheeks. 'I shouldn't have said anything.' He said, and left. I was choking up so hard; I couldn't tell him my feelings.

And so, we continued like this. Fang silent, brooding, Max the strong leader. And I began to see a growing attraction between the two. And it hurt. It hurt so bad. So I began to hang out with Gazzy, spending more and more time with the young boy, putting all my energy into bombs, and electrics, and anything like that, anything that was dangerous, to keep my mind from wandering to the soft touch of fang's hands, the time when we had been so close. From that day on, I would not cry. I refused to cry. I was the joker, the one to cheer other people up. From that day on, no one would have to cheer me up.

But it's hard. To lock your feelings away and keep them there. And occasionally, my feelings would slip out. A single tear perhaps, would roll down my cheek. Or perhaps I would brush my hand, oh-so-gently over Fang's, and pretend I hadn't noticed. Or maybe, when we flew together, I would time my wing beats so our feathers would brush against each other on the down stroke. It was never for long. Fang soon moved away, to fly near max. And that hurt. I told myself to stop, to distance myself from Fang completely. But I couldn't. So many times, I contemplated flying away from the flock, to live with the eagles we had once seen, or even going back to the school. At least there, I knew, I had the escape of death, and there would be no more mental anguish, because my body would be screaming too loud.

And that's where it started. The self-harm I mean. I didn't do it noticeably, of course, at least at first. Maybe just letting an Eraser hit me once more than necessary, or when they had moved the furniture, going crash onto the ground so my body would cry out in pain. I made sure to cry out too though, and to yell at whoever moved the furniture. I wasn't stupid enough to break normal routine. But soon enough, by body was covered in cuts and bruises, scrapes and grazes. And it felt so good. I could concentrate on that, and forget about everything else. But then, we stopped getting attacked, and we settled into a permanent home, and no one moved the furniture.

For the first couple of days, it was okay. I could deal. Everyone else was so happy, so I tried to get in the mood. But it didn't work. Fang and Max grew closer daily. And then I found a razor blade. At first it was just small scratches. Tiny little lines across my chest that barely drew blood, and healed in a couple of days. But soon enough, that wasn't enough. I began to cut deeper, and deeper, the cutting spread from arms to legs to chest to face. At first, it was a big step, cutting my face, feeling the blade drag near my eyes. But then I realised. No one would ever love me. I was a blind freak, marred by scars and wings. My wings. I hated them. They marked me as different. I began to saw at them with the blade, crying and yelling. Everyone was out, no one could see me. Or so I thought. And then I heard his voice. My unknown torturer, the one who had drove me to do this.

'I-Iggy?' He spoke, and I swear, I could see the anguish in his face. Then I turned on him, clutching the blade so tightly in my hand it cut into my palm. "Shut up! Shut up! You don't know anything! You never felt anything for me, and you were, are, my whole world. So just shut up ok-'I never got to finish my sentence, as soft lips pressed against my own. Callused, broken, burnt. But as soft as those fingers had been all those years ago. I hiccoughed in shock, and began to cry.

And so did he. Tough, unbreakable, straight fang began to cry. And we clung to each other through the iron and salt, through the blood and tears. And AS my wings began to burn with pain, he was the one to apply the salve and bandages. And as we lay in bed because the others were going to be late back – that's why fang had flown back to tell me, he traced each scar with his fingers, not shaming, or blaming, just accepting what he had done to me, and I hade done to him.

And as the other came back, that's were they found us. Bloodstained, tearstained, but so happy, for each other, or ourselves….for life.