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Post by ` EMBERS on Jun 15, 2009 17:03:28 GMT -5
 name
I live under the alias of Rivalry.
prononciation
Just say it Ry-val-ree
alias
If you don't have any friends, you don't got none.
gender
A Brute since the day of my birth, and until my death.
breed
My mother, a Dalmatian, my father, a Pointer. and I, a cross between the two.
age
Life has run through my veins for four years.
history
I have never been much of a storyteller, and I have never dawned on my past. Therefore, how am I to tell of what used to be? Why not explain what is to come, or the daily occurrences of the now? Is that not a more suitable tale to tell, rather than what no one can ever change? But I cannot answer questions that I have not been asked. I can only supply the stories that are wished to be told.
Two years ago, I was born into a litter of five pups, all still-borns. I was the only survivor of the group. It was not but days after my birthing when my father fled from my mother, for a purpose still unknown to me to this day. Alone and broken-hearted, my mother could scarcely supply enough milk to keep my alive, let alone herself. I was forced to be weaned early, as my mother perished from the lack of nutrition.
Alone in a world I did not know, I learned how to live on my own. I found I had to fight for what I wanted, and kill for my rights. Blood was like a drug, and I felt the need to murder those who stood in my way so I could rise to the top of superiority. My only want was to tower above the other dogs, to show them that I was stronger, better, and more cunning than them.
As months wore on, I found within me a defect I had never cared to notice before; a disorder that plagued me with over-expressed emotions, feelings and thoughts I was unable to control. I fell victim to my own loathsome ideas, and I trapped myself within the troubled state of mind from which I could not escape.
I could only trouble myself with my imperfections, living in bitter pity of myself. I began to attack my rivals with a force I could not describe. My rage and hatred toward myself only powered me, and my blood-stained claws were stained with a deeper red. Yet me existence became my enemy, and I began to hate who I was and what I stood for, but I could not grasp the feeling the idea, for my emotions were too controlling. My anger was far more difficult to control and my blood-lust as well. I couldn’t restrain anything I did, and I could not take myself down the path of what I wanted to become.
Everything seemed to morph into something it was not, and even now I have yet to find a way to suppress myself. I cannot even remember who I am, and I have no hope in changing who that really is.
appearance
I can only describe what I have seen with my own eyes. It is impossible to look down upon yourself as a whole, for you can only catch glimpses of yourself when you look down into a pool of water, or turn your head to see your fur slicked down over your shoulder. Yet I can only describe what is known to me, for these orbs can only see so much.
My mother’s black and white Dalmatian coat exemplifies the whole of my appearance. Though, rather than the sharply defined spots of a typical Dalmatian, the black and white swirl together to create a marbled pattern, speckled with the two neutral colors. Each hair and mixture of colors is easily distinguished, as my coarse pelt lies stiffly over my skin. Only my ears remain a solid black color.
Though the pelt of a Dalmatian, my body structure resembles one of a pointer, like my father. Long gangly legs supply me with endurance and stamina, and a thin bodice provides both agility and speed. An elongated tail from both of my parents balance my structure, and large paws also add to my strength. The combination aids me in battles, but also provides me with unneeded cons, as I struggle in water and in defense.
I have never paid much attention to my eyes, but if I am not mistaken they are a deep chocolate color with a glazed look over them. My eye-sight is not the best and many things appear blurry out of my hazy orbs. Large and a dominant feature in my face, it enhances the appearance my pointed muzzle and floppy black ears.
Looks have never much mattered to me, though I tend to be more observant than most because I have nothing else to grasp. Appearance is only but a thought in the back of my mind.
character
A topic I only know too much about, and perhaps the only topic that is ever on my mind; who am I? What I am I? Why am I here, and what is my purpose? Or do I even have one? My very self is my own downfall, and I can only memorize every aspect of what I am. Otherwise, I will never remember myself, assuming it can be forgotten.
As I have discovered in my past, I am victim of a disorder that enhances my emotions to a point which I cannot control. For example, when I am angered by something simple, like another dog, it is impossible to conceal this emotion; it is too powerful to control, and I therefore must let it escape me. I loathe myself so much because of this imperfection, this emotion is established through my blood-lust and attacks on my own kind.
Ignoring this problem, I know very little of who I am. When I am not in a an uncontainable state, I find myself in deep thought, questioning the many viewpoints there are in life; of myself, of others, of the land we walk upon. I have found that I can become very thoughtful and deep when it comes to serious matters, and that I can spend a great quantity of time in silence, wading in wistful knowledge.
Perhaps if I did not have a disorder, and I was brought up properly by my parents, I would have become a very compassionate creature. I long to become normal, and perhaps even raise a family, even though it could not be possible currently. My conscience seems to want me to change from the blood-lusted canine I have become, to something I actually want to be. That is what I do not know; my emotions wash over these thoughts before I can think them.
For now I can only dream of who I want to be, to escape what I truly am.
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