To understand what I am now, you have to understand what I was then…
My name is Rhya. I no longer bare a last name. It has been lost to time. I am not even sure I could remember it if I tried.
My story is not a glorious one. It is not about wealth and riches beyond comparison. For much of it, it is not even truly that happy.
It is not so different from any other of my kind – heh – my kind. Those two simple words mean so little to me now.
You see – I am not some character from a romance novel. I wouldn't even consider myself a Juliet of a tragedy, except that we have one thing in common.
But it is my story…
It is my life…
And most importantly it is my unlife.
It is about bonds forged in blood - bonds that cannot be broken - trust that should not be gained.
It is not a fairy tale. Rather, it is more of a nightmare. But it is the only story I have that is worth telling…
When I took my first breath means little. What matters is that there was a time in which I relied upon the air around me.
I was born a few short years after World War II. I grew up on a farm in the state of Virginia. What part is not important. Only a fraction of my existence was spent here. What matters is that you understand what I was. The farm is part of what I was.
I don't want you to know of my past because I came from a bad family. On the contrary, my family life was quite good.
My mother was a full blooded Japanese woman. She had come from a farming family in Japan, and would probably still be in a farming family there had she not met my father, an Irishman who also came from a long line of farmers. Farmers and brute warriors.
That's what I was. I was a child of brute, drunken, and yet noble, honorable, farming ancestry. An odd combination, I agree. But what my parents had was love. Their differences didn't matter to them. They were in love with each other from the day they met till the day they died.
I always admired my mother. She came to this country just after World War II. She was the bravest woman I know, coming here at a time when her heritage was not looked so kindly upon. Pearl Harbor wasn't all that distant of a memory in the eyes of many Americans.
I had an older sister named Alannah. We were the best of friends. Even before I could walk or talk my parents said that there was a special bond between the two of us. My sister looked after me. If I fell, she was the one there to help me up. If I cried, she was the one there to comfort me. She was also the one I got into trouble with. She was the one who taught me how to keep a straight face when we were trying to pull off some elaborate story as to how the door to the hen house got left open.
She is why I want you to know of my past. The bond that we shared is what is so important to me. It is the reason I am the – creature – I am today.