The heart is deceitful above all things.

journal

I thought I had reached the end; but no, now that I think of it, it is merely the beginning.

story

I know that there are hordes of other wolves like me- the terminally depressed, pathetic beings that grasp their only happiness from the pain of others. But to every one of us, there is something behind it, something that caused us to become what we are. My hope is that you will understand once you have read the story of my life (or the pieces that are still readable).

I am something to be pitied, not hated.

I was born in the midst of bright lights- multicolored spots of light flicking back and forth, sound thick and deafening to my ears. It was between spring and summer- the time when most young animals are born... and when the Circus opened, year after year. I can see the sign so clearly, even now (to my dismay!) that I might as well be standing in front of it all over again. It was a cheap panoply of painted wood with bold, blocked words pasted into the center: Animaux Exotiques. It was, as I have said, where I started my life.

The Circus exploded into my life. First I was only a whelp snuggling into my mother's belly at night, and then I was separated, shoved into a crate and then put into another room. I remember the first night. The other animals were moving about restlessly in their cages- the tigress gnawing at the bars that held her in, and the other grown wolves growling at their captors as they were lead out to yet another performance- the bright light, the raucous music. I whimpered as the door clanged shut- the door that led to the outside world.

I grew older and stronger, and Training began. I saw my mother again (joy of joys!) but this time, she was used as a motive for me to do what these vicious humans wanted me to do. When I first saw her on the stage, it seemed to me that she had grown older, more haggard. And it was then that I first noticed the blue markings that had been painted on her fur- under her eyes, across her back and hips. They looked old, but I found it strange that I had never noticed them before. How long had it been since I had seen her? She would be lead in front of me, and while I strained at the collar that held me from her, a hoop would be placed between us, and I would have to leap through the hoop to get to my mother.
But these humans were cruel. No sooner had I jumped through, she would be lead away again and the chain would tighten again over my throat, choking me into submission.

I was painted like my mother, with yellow paint- stripes across my legs, speckles under my eyes. And then performances started. They were the only times I was allowed out of my crate, which had grown into a cramped, dank space. Although those few minutes were the only time I had to stretch my legs a bit, I grew to hate it, and much preferred the darkness of my prison. The audiences would ooh and ahh at everything we did- did they ever see the pain we went through? It was humiliating.

And then there was a time I would never forget- the time they roughly tried to get me to go through a burning hoop. This time, they tried to get me through by force. They used whips, and they stung as they bit through my fur. I was cornered- fire on one side and lashes on the other, when finally I made an awkward half leap, and then was pushed off balance, and I fell through into the flames. And then darkness, and someone was screaming on and on...

And then I was walking. Walking in a white bare room, staring overhead at the dully shining silver ropes that held up the fabric of this world. I was not confused- this might have been the most natural thing in the world. It was silent here, and because of it, I was happy. Happier than I had ever been in my life.
But then I felt a flash of red hot light, and then all around was thrown into disorder. I roared, both in pain and anger, and the ceiling collapsed, the metal contorting upon themselves like snakes, and a whirlpool appeared at my feet, musty and black. And there was a bright vein of fire that had imprinted itself upon my eyelids.
Confusion...crashing noises, a rush of black liquid spilling across everything until it swallowed up everything in the world.
Everything.

I woke in a daze of pain, wondering where I was, in the darkness and the repulsive smell of filth and... I could not name it, until I looked over myself. The skin on my left side was smarting painfully, and the smell of singed fur, my singed fur, was nauseating.
And then all at once, I was angry, so angry at how unfair it was.

I learned to delve deep within myself, and to hole myself in there, the only place where I could be free of the Circus.

I started off walking, as I usually did, surveying the damage. It was smoldering hot in there, but I did not mind. I paced restlessly, growling softly under my breath. I kicked out a foot, watching as a silver line crumbled and broke beneath my paw. The place pulsed with anger, not toward me, but toward something else. The Circus.
And then the sadness came- the ink spurted from the cracked surface and pulsed from the floor, smearing me with the cool, soft oblivion.

When the next human tried to slip the chain back around my neck, I snapped. I growled, bristling, my ears pinned back into my skull. And I could not help myself- as the days wore on, I became angrier and angrier- moving restlessly at night, throwing myself against the bars at the occasional human being. And so it happened: I was deemed unfit for further performances, and I would have spent the rest of my life in that stinking hole, isolated from both human and beast... but something happened to the Circus itself.
Business was waning, or so I heard as I skulked- but I only turned my back. Did they not understand? This had nothing to do with me, or so I thought.

I pushed back the scorched fabric, pushed a crumbling wire onto it, and attempted to twist it together, but it only broke again.

As business became worse, there were fewer and fewer performances. No income was coming in, and so conditions became worse. We were neglected. No one had bothered to clean off the paint after my terrible last performance (although I would not have let them, anyway) and so it sunk into my fur, dyeing it permanently. (It must have affected the roots, too, because later, when the top crusty layer was washed away, my fur grew in yellow) It smelled terrible in the building, and the smell seemed to have seeped into the wall, ceiling, everywhere... Dark, stuffily hot rooms, and fumes of decomposing manure and rotting food- this was what my life was made of.

It was far quieter here, and I sighed with relief, throwing myself down in middle of the blackened tangle. Almost done, I whispered to myself, allowing myself a small smile.

After long last, the Circus closed down. And rather than give us up to who-knows-what, they released us wolves unceremoniously in a forest, or whatever it was called. They shoved our crates onto the ground, hurriedly opened our cages, and drove away, abandoning us.

I stepped outside for the first time, stretching my limbs, feeling emotions of insane elation coursing through my body.

I howled, throwing my head back. I positively gamboled through the place, through the blackness and over the uneven ground. I had finished.
It now resembled a monster's playground, the net of silver pasted together with sadness, welded with anger. It was a twisted, deformed mess, but to me, it was beautiful.
Of course it was. It was my mind.

vitals

[x] Age: 25 in "his" years
[x] Nickname: Curi
[x] Acquaintances: Evellen, Kali
[x] Mother: Dead
[x] Father: Unknown
[x] Love: ...
[x] Desire: ...
[x] Personality: Dry, bipolar, egoistical

appearance

[x] Black coat with yellow stripe running from back of ears to tip of tail
[x] Stripes of varying thicknesses and increments running down legs
[x] Speckles near the top of the leg stripes and under eyes
[x] Semi-fluffy coat
[x] Eyes change color according to mood- yellow is regular, the color changes according to the chemical/toxicity level color codes (green,blue,yellow,orange,red).
[x] Build: fairly thick-set

acquaintances

	Kalisteia is, to say the least...text here text here text here text here text here text here text here text here text here text here.
Evellen. text here text here text here text here text here text here text here text here text here text here text here text here text here.

love

I have never loved. I see no promise in this word called love.

link

To link trade, please neomail me!

Navigation

[x] Journal

[x] Story

[x] Vitals

[x] Appearance

[x] Acquaintances

[x] Love

[x] Link Out