Full legal name: Maria Manzano Pseudonyms: Ashley Maiden *Age: Twenty-three Relationship Status: Single Appearance - She is 5"4 wolf/fox hybrid, with sparkling green eyes and thin lips. She wears a light blue vest over her white shirt and denim jeans because she's not comfortable wearing dresses the girls have to wear. Species: Wolf/Fox hybrid Latin name for species: Canid hybrid Distinguishing markings: Large diagonal scar across the right calf on her leg. College prompt [pick ONE]: Prompt #1: Share your story. Prompt #2: Learning from obstacles. Prompt #3: Challenging a belief. Prompt #4: Solving a problem. Prompt #5: Personal growth. Prompt #6: What captivates you? Prompt #7: Topic of your choice. Life feels like an obstacle; every day you either have to jump over the high stakes or stop moving forward watching the rest of the world go by without you. Throughout your life, you stood foot in front of two decisions; would you fight for what you believe in and take charge, not caring about the consequences? Or would you stop on the malfunctioning treadmill taking you nowhere? Personal growth changes the way who we are. For example, I had made a lot of mistakes in my life. I had to face up against my relatives to not go to the beach because I wanted to help them clean the house for moving day. My two aunts didn't like each other forcing me in the middle of all of it. The two complained the other brainwashed me when in fact, they are brainwashing themselves. I didn't knew who to choose yet myself. Surviving through all of the arguments, I disconnected myself to my second aunt due her being crazy and not remembering things she did in front of me, especially talking to her husband on the phone saying out loud that "Aunt Steph is brainwashing her". However, she doesn't remember saying it. I made a hurdle by overcoming the odds of moving away from a toxic environment where my older brother died after being shot from the stepfather my mom was married to at the time. I'm glad my relatives helped me move away from there. Now, I'm still exploring who I am. I'm more adventurous, very creative, and more emotional from the death of my brother. Personal growth can change your life either for the better or worse. It's up to you to decide where you wanna take your road, your own path in your story.

niri

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Member Back to Top Post by niri on Full legal name: Elijah Tilki

Pseudonyms: Eli, Foxwolf (somewhat derogative)

*Age: 19

Relationship Status: Single



Appearance - Standing at 5’7” he cuts a slim figure, all wiry muscle left over from years of hard farm work as an adolescence. His nickname of “Foxwolf” belies that he really does look like a red fox; his fur is a deep red with cream under his chin. The differences being his ears are more rounded with pronounced fluffs emerging from them and the sides of his face, and a deep black on his tail blending to red. The eyes set in his slender face are circled in black and a cutting azure blue. Usually while attending classes or hanging out around campus he wears slim fitting corduroy pants or dark jeans, buttoned up patterned shirts, and a cardigan temperature permitting.

Species: Dhole

Latin name for species: Cuon Alpinus

Distinguishing markings: Small notches taken out of his ears from a childhood of roughhousing, half circle shaped scar on his lower abdomen, burns on his right shoulder and arm.



College prompt [pick ONE]:

Prompt #1: Share your story.

Prompt #2: Learning from obstacles.

Prompt #3: Challenging a belief.

Prompt #4: Solving a problem.

Prompt #5: Personal growth.

Prompt #6: What captivates you?

Prompt #7: Topic of your choice.



Bigotry is ever pervasive and constantly insidious in our world. What does the nature of my ancestors, my birth, have to do with who I should be? Why should my family have been singled out when we were trying to build a better future?



My father didn’t originally come from this country. He immigrated from a far off place, seeking refuge from the old grudges of his homeland. That he met another dhole who shared his passion and love for life was serendipitous; that they were able to build a family for so long and carve out a dream life was a miracle. My father was a quick learner despite never seeking higher education, preferring hard work and getting his paws dirty. My mother had the same work ethic in entirely different areas; from an early age she devoted herself to studying how plants grew and how to better care for them. Before meeting my father she would have rather spent her whole day alone with her notepad and rows of seedlings, taking diligent notes.



His dream was always to own and run his own farm. He really loved vegetables and growing things in direct contrast to his hatred of the flesh trade. When I was a little boy walking by rows of giant cabbages and experimental brassicas he would instill in me his views on the evil of meat consumption and how some of these peculiar looking plants were being bred to completely fulfill the dietary needs of carnivores like us. The keys were my father’s ingenuity and my mothers knowledge. Together they purchased a modest plot of land amid other farms, where I and my many brothers and sisters were eventually born.



Our neighbors were not so idealistic. We were the only carnivores to have ever owned a farm in the area as far as the local herbivores could remember. Living so secluded they would have only seen our kind a few times a year. The land we lived on was rock and clay and stripped of whatever nutrients there were to begin with. Our neighbors eked out a tiny living with diminishing returns year after year.



There was quiet anger when my parents first bought their plot. “They gonna turn that place into a dog run!” was a common refrain at the local grange and general store. “What are a bunch of foxdogs doing up there anyway? That land gets the best morning sun!”



My father, ever with thick skin, let snide comments and insults roll off of him. Him and my mother (who was more reluctant to engage with the other locals, admitadly) offered a helping paw wherever and whenever they could. When their experiment really started getting off the ground, when my father was able to afford the loan payments on a brand new combine and tractor, he would volunteer his time and machine to help out his neighbors. When another farm had a fire in their barn or shed he would be the first one there to help put it out, then the first one to show up the next day with lumber and nails.



Some my parents were able to win over. Our closest friends, a family of goats, allowed their children even to play with us kids. We were quiet and reserved, not used to having playmates. Still, as their success as farmers grew and grew, resentment and anger boiled over. Open talk of lynching my father and defiling my mother could be heard in public. Vandalism begin happening to our property, first our car, then more serious actions like poisoning our well and trying to set fire to our house.



Eventually it got too much. I watched as my parents, normally loving without a hair raised between them, began arguing regularly. My mother wanted to leave. She had a standing position waiting for her at a university to teach. My father wanted to stay and weather it out. He pointed out our goat friends, how we were slowly changing animals minds. At one point my mother even threatened to leave after a truck full of herbivores drove by and shot out the front room windows.



I truly believe my father was ready to leave by the end. His spirit was already beginning to break, I could see it in his unusually quiet and slouched demeanor. On the fateful day our world changed, I can’t blame my father for not leaving sooner. I always knew he already had a foot out the door.



My father, two of my brothers, and I were out in the back stretches of our field. It was early Autumn and we were harvesting what would be our last crop on our land. The rest of my brothers and sisters were spread out to our friends farms, helping to get their harvests underway as well. My father was bent over the open side of the tractor, showing us how to fix it properly after it had stalled out when we heard the first screams and shots. By the time we were running towards the house we could see tendrils of black smoke wafting up through the air. We all were barking and screaming and snarling when we reached the edge of the yard but it was too late. Our house was engulfed in flame. My mother, always the most beautiful women I’ve ever seen, hung from the large chestnut tree where my brothers and sisters always climbed.



Authorities were brought in from the nearest town, but no one was ever charged or even accused. The community clammed up. Homeless, it was unsafe to stay with our friends. We fled. My father hired agents to quietly sell our property. It was around this time my older siblings began to scatter to the wind. My mother and father’s love was what kept us together. With the money my parents had always squirreled away and the money from selling the farm my father was able to send my siblings and myself to school.



He’s a different man now. Quieter, without the confidence of his convictions he had when I was a pup. I think every day about what he taught to me among the cabbages, how the freshly tilled soil filled our nostrils, how I should live up to what he thought the world should be. Maybe someday I will be able to, and by then the world will be ready.