My bones were mis-shapen and cracked, skin and fabric pulled over the exposed muscle. To see me must have been a truly horrific sight. In the lab from which I was born, I was starved and carved until I was hollow, for that was the only way to take flight with the wings they had built into my skin.

They see me for what I can do not as a living being, not a human — if I can even be called that — only as a test. They peel the flesh they draped over my bones to make more of the same.

More is all they want. Science, they call it. They, the people with the white coats, the people free from my room of mirrors, the people awaiting their celebeation for my suffering.