A/N: This is an experiment, while I am extremely against anything relating to Twilight, I was almost forced to read the entire series and then I gorged on myself on some of Gabriel García Márquez's short stories which made want to write again. No flames, please, this story is AU, which explains the female shapeshifters, and takes place almost twelve years after the last book.

Genre: Magic Realism/Slice of Life

Rating: Teen and a light Mature for language.

Bitter Sun - 1. "Let me tell you a story."

Let me tell you a story.

Many years ago, this land belonged to my father's people. Miles and miles of earth that stretched from South America, all the way to Canada. They had different names – Oglala Sioux, Duwamish, Lumbee, Navajo, Kiowa, Choctaw, Chickasaw, Cherokee – different gods – White Buffalo Calf Woman, Wakan Tanka, Itzamna, Spider Grandmother, Hustahli – different legends and heroes – Nata'aska, Changing Woman, Kana'ti. They are different, and yet the same.

Then Columbus came and the death knell of the Taíno was called, their ghosts lost forever and the freedom of my mother's ancestors sacrificed for the use of labor. They were the Yoruba, the Igbo, and the Zulu, but they soon lost their titles, all traded for rum and sugar. Their real names traded in for Christian names like "Charles" or "Veronica". Warriors and priestesses became field hands and unwilling concubines.

The white man prospered. "Manifest Destiny!" he cried and so he continued to push and push and push until he finally got what he wanted; my father's people in reservations and my mother's people in physical, then later on, mental bondage. Old West serials and minstrel shows immortalized stereotypes that would plague both sides for generations. The romances of the noble Indian princesses and their Cowboy lovers and the adventures of Uncle Tom and his love for his masters were just one of the few character tropes and clichés that arose from this era.

It would take more than three hundred years before both ethnicities were even considered human.

My parents met at a bonfire party, my mother not really wanting to go. It was her sister's idea, my aunt. "Last day of College! ", she insisted. My father was a La Push resident, and a high school dropout who instead, earned his G.E.D and decided to go to a community college in the next town outside of Forks.

I can't say if it was love at first sight, in fact, I'm pretty sure it wasn't. My dad claimed he tricked my mother into giving him her number, my mom argued that it was her that wrangled his number away, not the other around.

Either way, someone's phone number was haggled off.

I was born in Twin Peaks, Washington on February 20th, 2002. They named me Marisol, Marisol Judith Drinkwater. My parents were different. Overlooking the fact that they were, in fact, an interracial couple, they were never really traditional parents. My mom claimed to see spirits and played with tarot cards in her time away from teaching. My dad had this obsession with wolves and knew everything about them—hunting skills, food sources, reproduction techniques. He was crazy about them, he used to joke that he was part wolf, even though there's some truth to that. Unfortunately, my parents died a few months ago, and my brothers are still minors so they couldn't take care of me. My mother's sister is always travelling with her own family; she hardly visits for Christmas, anymore.

So, it was inevitable, I had to move to La Push. In La Push, my dad is…well, dad was disowned by his side of family for leaving the rez. I was really little, too little to remember, but when he finally decided to leave La Push for Seattle, my brother told me that his mom, my nenah, told him to never come back and, "keep those half-breeds and your black, stuck up, wife, away from my house!", and so, he did.

She died a week after that.

On La Push, no one lives in teepees and they don't wear buckskins or beads or feathers in their hair, unless it's a powwow. They don't worship, "pagan, monkey gods", or some stupid, racist, bullshit that some of the more ignorant white kids from Forks like to claim. My family is Catholic.

Alcoholism is prevalent here, especially during the bonfires. I can hear them. The sons and daughters of church members and relatives, sloshing and carrying on at night, bragging about some sexual encounter that might've never happened; the smell of vomit and piss in the air was so strong during the mornings that after smelling that, I fainted.

La Push is not a den of useless drunks or whores, nor is it a justified example of why Native Americans should be in reservations. No, there are laborers, and fishermen, and teachers and others who really just want to have a better life in this hell hole. The elders are a testament to that.

The most mysterious and extremely dangerous aspect of living in La Push, is of course, the packs. Or packs, since there's been a sudden boom in young women chopping their locks off (one girl went so far as to shave her head) and going off in the tight-knit groups that the men of the tribe have been doing so for years. My cousin is one of those aggressive, short-haired, and short-tempered young women.

Both packs (the male and the female) seem to keep to themselves, it's almost like a cult, really. Leah Blackwater, a past member of the male pack who now hangs with the females, appears to be the leader, as well as Jacob Black, leader of the males.

The legends of the tribe speak of skin walkers and creatures known as the "cold ones".

I'll be blunt, I know the secret. I know my cousin is a werewo—I mean, a skinwalker. And I know that she's…they're waiting for me. To be like them. I've always known. There was some reasoning behind my father's obsession with wolves. And that's all I can say regarding to that. But, I know. I know that the cold ones are really vampires. Ugh, if you could call them vampires. They're sparkly, pale skinned, over-dramatic, pretty boys and prima donnas that happen to drink blood and run really fast. I know that if there are werewolves and vampires (or at least a very, very, VERY weak species of vampire), then there are ghosts, fairies, witches and anything else that you can find in a cryptozoologist's textbook! I am painfully aware of everything, here and I hate the fact that I do. I hate the fact that sooner or later, I'll be another drone for Queen Leah to bitch at and I also hate the fact that I'll be pressured in cutting my hair. I will never have my period again or grow past the age I changed until I imprint, which is stupid.

But, what can I do? I'm praying that my mother's blood will override this, but it's already too late for my brothers. They answer to Jacob now.

Despite all of these things, nothing amazing really happens here. Forks is a logging and fishing town. In a way, it's like this gray vacuum that seems to suck up everyone and everything into this massive black hole of depression and bitterness.

This is the story of my life, the people I know, I want to write down and explain everything before I lose my humanity. To remember that I was human and not an animal and that maybe one day, I can be a woman without having to find a need to mate and curse another generation with this. This is not a blessing, this is a curse. The others pretend that this is normal, it's not. It's not normal for a grown man or woman to instantly fall in love with a baby and wait for it to get to be age of consent so they can procreate. It's not normal to be forced to live in this hell hole forever because it's my "obligation" to protect the rez.

I am breaking this curse, whether they like it, or not.

…..

She sat there for a few moments, silent. How long had she been typing this? The clock on her laptop read: '1:59 AM' in bold, white, text. Her hands were shaky, 2:00 AM, she began to sweat, 2:01 AM. She immediately pressed the 'off' switch on her laptop and snapped it closed, tightly, as if she were afraid that it would pop open, the offending entry forever stuck in its place.

The young teen quickly jumped under her covers, cold and she was still not used to having a room without a television acting as a makeshift nightlight. Why did she write that? It was supposed to be opening sentences of her writing assignment, "Where Do I Come From?", but then it became this long, angry rant filled with fragments and secrets that she MUST not publish publically unless she wants to be seen as a traitor (the Packs) or an escaped mental institution patient (everyone else).

Marisol's eyes squeezed open, staring up at her ceiling. In the dark, she can see patterns, squiggles of light and squares of light danced above her eyes. Was she dreaming? Was she going insane?

She was more than likely tired. "I guess I should go to sleep now. It's late, and I have school in morning." she said quietly to no one, Marisol turned on her side to face her Madlib poster, "I have school. And I'm going to act normal. And I'm not going to talk about things like Shiina Ringo or obscure video games. I have to remember that I'm fourteen and at this age, everyone thinks I'm stupid." Her heart was still heavy. To think that she would lose her humanity and her individuality, frightened her. She did not want to know that the stories were true, but she did and so there was no turning back. Maybe she should write about her last few years of being human, something for her to look back at. Would she remember her human life?

She thought of her cousin and winced. She did not want to be THAT. But it was too late, she was already given the "look" by Leah, sooner or later, it's going to happen. Whether she liked or not.

And with that, she finally fell asleep.