hungeringfor's Journal

B A S I C S;
NAME : Sorsha Aldonza Garcia Rodriquez
AGE & DOB : 56, 12th October 1977
RACE : Werebear
OCCUPATION : Works for the Elari though owns a couple of businesses too.
AFFILATION : Herself mainly. She works with the Elari for the moment.
RESIDENCE :
SEXUAL ORIENTATION :
H I S T O R Y;
I'm a mistake. That is to say my mother never wanted me. I'm a reminder of a night she had no choice in. I am not a product of teenage love gone awry, nor of stolen kisses between already married co-workers. I was not a plan come too soon or the reason for a shot-gun wedding. I am the product of rape. Everytime my mother looked at me she would see that night - relive it every moment. Everytime she looked at me she would see him, the man who made her a victim.

You can imagine my childhood. Lonely, lost, unloved. Ok, I was loved. My mother did love me - she just didn't like to touch me or speak to me. The man I called dad loved me. He didn't see the event when he looked at me - but he never saw himself either. You may want to label my childhood a bad one - tragic. But it wasn't so bad really - I was never beaten, I didn't have a bad word said against me, I wasn't abused. I was just ignored. Black sheep of the family - or perhaps that should be bear.

I was different - I knew that from an early age. Oh, I'd play with kids just find but I always wanted to be the one on top - the big cheese if you will. Playground Queen and Classroom bully. It made me feel important - like I was somebody. To be feared is better than being ignored - at least they feel something that way.

My biological father left me a gift. A present all neatly wrapped up in genes for when I was old enough. I'd just hit seventeen, moved away from home, got into the rough crowd. I didn't know what was happening at first. The first it began I thought it was a bad hit, the drugs fucking over my mind. It carried on - for days. It was like something was taring out of my skin, it wanted to be free. The first time is fucking scary - it feels like your dying. I thought I was - I remember crying, screaming, everyone leaving me. That was it - I was going to die there in this shitty run down shack in my own dirt while I screamed for forgive-ness. I just wanted it to stop.

Then it did and I realised that I wasn't quite human anymore. Skinwalkers, changers, shapeshifters, Werecreatures. We have many names. My other form is that of a bear - a genetic gift from my father, perhaps a sorry for all the shit I've been through.