"Please let it work. Please let it work," I chant silently, staring intensely at the toaster.

The slices of bread pop out of the toaster, scaring me so much that I hit my head on the cabinets above. The pulses of pain didn't faze me as I took one slice out of the toaster.

"Oh my gosh," I mumble. "I just found out why it is called a toaster!" I quietly cheer while I start to spread the strawberry jam on top.

I eat my first slice of bread as I stare out the window. It had a great view, of the ugly building across from us. I didn't mind, the flock was only planning to stay a week until we move again. Oh sorry, I just realized that might sound weird to a mortal.

Well, I'm an Avian American. No, I am not from some other foreign country. I simply was made in a lab, and tested on and crap like that. Yes, I have wings. I don't like to have the out because people like to stare at them, which makes me uncomfortable. I really don't get what the deal is, besides the fact that they are the colors of a golden sunset and basically light up. Okay, I get why they stare so much now. Like when someone wears that really bright pink shirt?

Right as my fingers touch the second slice of toast, my mom's rushed footsteps echo throughout the small apartment room. She wildly looks around until her eyes land on me. "Come," she simply says.

"But I want to finish my toast," I complain.

She rushes over and grabs my arm. My fingers lose their grip on the toast and touch the extremely hot part of the toaster. Right when I open my mouth to scream, my mom clasps her hand over my mouth. She had never touched me like that, I freeze from shock. "Listen, the erasers have found us. You have got to leave," she whispers.

"But what about the rest of the flock? I can't leave without them!" I explain. I smell something burning and see that it was my fingers. My fingers quickly retract from the toaster and I hold it to my chest.

"If you leave before the erasers come in, they will just take the rest of the flock and you will be free."

"But mom-"

"Don't," she sighs. "They will figure out how to escape."

"I'm not leaving without them!" I protest.

"It isn't your decision. Come on!" she says while she opens the window of the kitchen. "Jump out and fly."

"Mom," I uneasily say. "We are twenty stories up."

"I'm going to escape. You are more than welcome to join," she quickly says. "I love you."

With that, she pushes me out the window, spinning without control.