Some used to describe me as a happy bubbly child. Someone who is bubbly is very lively and cheerful and talks a lot. that was me till the day I turned fourteen and witnessed the murder of my mother. After that I became withdrawn and a loner. What little friends I had before turned their backs on me mostly because of their parents making them do so. I was still somewhat friendly to those patron's that still supported my mother's bookstore that I ran now. Otherwise I was inside of my head and lost in my thoughts. Sometimes putting them into writing and writing short stories.

[smear:#f8f110]Positive Traits:[/smear:#e619c4:0]
1)Sentimental: Being strongly influenced by feelings or emotional sentiment.
2)Independent: Thinking and acting for oneself; resisting influence.
3)Imaginative: Having an active imagination; forming clear mental images of things that have not been previously considered.
4)Introverted: Being inclined to explore one's inner mental landscape more so than the outer world.
5)Creative: Having the power or inclination to bring new things into existence.
6)Adaptable: Showing flexibility and versatility regardless of the situation.

[smear:#e619c4]Negative Traits:[/smear:#f8f110:0]
1)Inhibited: Suppressing desires, impulses, and feelings.
2)Rebellious: Flouting the law or resisting authority.
3)Stubborn: Unyielding or obstinate.
4)Pessimistic: Inclined to focus on the negative and expect the worst possible outcome.
5)Vindictive: Disposed toward seeking revenge.
6)Withdrawn: Detached from others, having retreated inside oneself.

The day my mother turned eighteen she escaped her life same as her older brother before her. Fleeing from their abusive mother who was definitely on the wrong side of the law. When their mother had been younger she'd been a sweetbutt working her up to old lady. So neither my uncle nor my mother knew who their fathers were. My mother joined her older brother Craig in Las Angeles where he had become a Son of Anarchy. Mom said her brother took care of her, and she'd gotten a job at a bookstore loving it. She saved up every penny that she made as my uncle provided for her, and wouldn't dream of taking any money for her. It was through my uncle that she met my father. His name was Thorn Thomas. She said my uncle liked him, and since mom was twenty-one by then he didn't mind her spending time with Thorn while he was there. Even though he was buried in a bottle most of the time I was told he treated my mother like a queen. He was there the day my Uncle was killed while on a job for the sons, and he supported her through all of it. He gave her his bike that was about shot after putting all the miles on it as he was a nomad going from clubhouse to clubhouse barely living. Otherwise she would have no way to get to work and back. When he had to leave she was devastated.

It was a few months later that she realized that she was pregnant. She had thought about asking the Sons there for help knowing that since my uncle had been a son they would help her. Instead she knew she really didn't have a choice she went back to Nevada City. Back to her mother who treated her horrible calling her all kinds of names for getting knocked up and other things. She bought a building on main street and opened a bookstore of her own. The upstairs had an apartment, and as soon as she could she moved us as I had been born on December 18th, and she wanted me nowhere near my grandmother. We were in there by January. Trouble came soon after that with the Mayans coming around and threatening her that if she wanted protection she had to pay. To protect me she paid more than she should have to for their so called protection.

I grew older and the bookstore was my playground as a toddler. When mom had some downtime she would read to me, and she said I would hang on every word she read. When it came time for me to begin going to school she had a hard time with me. As I would throw a fit not wanting to be left with strangers. I would scream and cry as she left me being restrained by the teacher. I guess I usually calmed down because I made a few friends that year. Ones that stayed friends till the day of my mother's murder. It was a hot summer day that I was fourteen. Three years ago. Mom had made me go to the backroom when she heard them pull up. Instead I hid behind one of the bookshelves watching. I heard and saw everything. They wanted their money doubled, and she refused so they knocked her around some as I watched in horror. When they tried to take all of the money out of the register she tried to stop them, and one of them stabbed her. I covered my mouth in horror as they took the money and laughed some, before hightailing it out of there. I didn't dare breath since they hadn't known I was there. Once I heard the roar of the bikes no more I rushed over to my mom, but it was too late she was already gone. A customer found me sobbing there with my head laying on my mother and begging her to come back. Her blood was all over me as well as her and the floor.

The next week was a blur to me. With my grandmother as my only next of kin that they knew of since my grandmother had no idea who my father was. She wouldn't let me tell them either since she figured that I knew. that was my first beating I got from her. I was trapped with no way out. Mom did have a will that what money she had went to me and so did the bookstore. Which royally pissed my grandmother off. At least my mother's savings was safe from her, but I was forced to work at the bookstore running it and she took all the proceeds. Well what the Mayans didn't take. No I didn't go up against the Mayans either reporting them for my mother's death. I was too scared too, and come to find out my grandmother was in league with them. The bookstore was my refuge against her, but since I was missing school the truancy officer got after her, and if she didn't want the state money she got for me taken away along with me I had to go to school. So she hired someone to run the bookstore, and I worked in the afternoons and the weekends.

I can't remember the last time I didn't sport a bruise on me. My grandmother liked to backhand me when she was pissed. Even when I hadn't done anything to deserve it. She threatened to take my motorcycle away too. It was my dad's though that he had given my mother that day. It was all I had left of my parents. I found a place to hide it from her and anyone else that had their eyes on it. Not that they would want the old Harley that was scratched up, and been painted over many times. One day after work I closed up and went upstairs to lay on her bed for awhile, before I didn't have a choice to go back to my grandmother's house. Usually I didn't disturb anything, but I wanted to look at her clothes, and while I was in the closet I found a small chest hidden in the back of it. Curious I took it over to the bed and sat down on it indian style. Finally after staring at it for awhile I opened it, and inside were pictures of my mother with my Uncle Craig who had died before I was born. Though my breath caught on one of them. One of her sitting on some man's lap. Turning the picture over it said me and Thorn. I forgot to breath as I turned it over, and was seeing a picture of my father for the first time in my life.

I don't know how long I sat there staring at it. Going through more though I found other pictures of them. At the bottom was a business card that had Astor Law Firm on it. On the back was if You ever need me call this number. They know how to get a hold of me. Love you Thorn. I bit my lip as I sat there wondering if he was still alive. it had been seventeen years. Mom had told me he buried himself in a bottle after losing his parents and baby sister that he had called Candy Cane in an accident. I swallowed hard looking at the burner phone that I had gotten with what little money that my grandmother let me have, that was laying on the bed by me. Her excuse was so that I didn't starve to death, and her get into trouble for that. She had no idea about it cause I left it in my saddlebag overnight locked up where my bike was hidden from her. I chewed on my lower lip as I couldn't stop myself from picking up my burner and dialed the number. I froze when someone answered saying Astor Law Firm. Quickly I hung up. I put everything back in the box, and hid it back where it had been. Looking back at the phone I saw the number there, and saved it into my phone in case I worked up the nerve to finally try and call again.

A few days later after a royal beating from my grandmother, and getting knocked around by the Mayans I was hiding out in my mom's room upstairs of the bookstore again. As I sat there crying I remembered the number. My grandmother had mentioned it was time for me to start really earning some money for me. A shudder ran down my spine as her words kept running through my head. There was no way I was going to do that. I opened up the number on my cell phone, and bit my lip hard grimacing as I hit my split lip. Pushing the button it wasn't long before the phone was answered. Astor Law Firm. "Is Thorn Thomas still alive?" I asked my voice breaking as I asked, and I hated that. I hated when I let anyone see or hear my weaknesses. There was silence on the other end of the phone for a few moments, before I was asked why I wanted to know. "He left a card with my mother telling her if she needed anything to call this number to get a hold of him, but that was over seventeen years ago." She couldn't stop her voice from breaking as she cried. With that the woman asked for my number that Thorn was indeed alive, and that this wasn't the first time someone had called asking for him. Just as I was about to give it someone dropped something down in the bookstore. Though it was supposed to be closed. I froze as I was saying the number only getting out the area code that was Nevada City, and quickly hung up after letting out a gasp of fear.

Quickly I hid, and heard more noises downstairs. The door to come up here was locked, so thankfully no one came upstairs. It was hours later after it was all quiet that I got up, and made my way downstairs. Nobody was there, but books were everywhere like someone had been looting the store. With a sigh I spent the next hour picking them up and putting them back. I found the back door had been knocked in so that had to be how they got in. There was nothing I could do about it though, and I headed to her house. Thankfully she must have been out doing some kind of shady business. So I slept some, and was up and gone before she got home. I was scared to call the number back again too. At least I knew my father was still alive out there somewhere.