untitled by Emma yan

​My mother is a stack of suspense and thriller novels, secretive and intriguing, 
Thoughtful and creative, a living encyclopedia of words that make up an infinite list of definitions. An abstract writer, driven into the past, powered by pure unwavering determination.
 
My Father, the average Chinese dad in Ohio, bad tempered and literally the definition of one who opposes women’s rights, not even a drop of literature in his daily life, engulfed by angry bosses and waves of stress, he slouches, a grumpy badger crawling back to his burrow, hibernating all year, ignoring the warning signs of coming out.
 
My friend Jessa, brave, determined and modest, Carries an air of indignant disbelief and sarcasm with her. Her cheeks are slightly puffed by a small amount of baby fat, it’s almost doubtless that her favorite animal is a panda.
Munching on bamboo all year, gathering supplies to build herself a fort.
 
Sarah, another friend of mine, tall and delicate, her long cascade of deep brown hair swung over her shoulders, a cat, it’s fur long and sleek, light footed and gentle, striking after only a twitch of the ear, clever and grounded, always knowing, wise in her own way, just like her mother. 
 
Aiwen, sometimes known by others as Winnie, is the tallest of all, a great bear looming over everyone, with a surprisingly soft and funny personality layered underneath. An amazing chicken whisperer, she owns eight who bow down low to her, crowing her their queen.
 
I am none of these things.
 
I am wild, free, and bound by wisdom. I am a wood elf, roaming the woods with my bow and arrow hunting for rabbits and deer through the tangle of branches, hopping, sliding, skidding on smooth pebbles on the banks of a peaceful stream.
 
One day I hope the world remains in peace as long as it can, for danger has begun to stir in the dark more fervently.