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Call me Wilfreda and ...

Well not die, that would be mean, but something horrid certainly!

Created on 2008-09-21 03:14:15 (#16636512), last updated 2008-09-22

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2 Journal Entries, 3 Tags, 2 Memories, 0 Virtual Gifts, 15 Userpics

Basic Info

Name:	Wilfreda "Will" Trafford
Location:	(states/regions/territories)

Bio

     I thought I was human. I thought that my life was normal, boring but normal. I grew up in London. Mum's a university professor. Dad was gone. He wasn't mentioned much and after a while I finally got it into my thick skull to stop asking about him. Mum didn't get angry when I did. She just got so bloody sad and I hated that.

     Growing up, I took to art classes more than I did math and science. I bloody suck at math and I should be kept away from bunsen burners. I think that my Mick's eyebrows eventually grew back but still, it's a hazard for everyone involved. That didn't at all please my mum. Paint a still life that depicts 'how many surrealists does it take to change a light bulb' was no problem. I just painted yarn. Figuring out what 'x' equals while subtracting 'y' and then adding 'n' was hard. I tried. Just to say that I could but it never went well. It was all I could do to barely pass.

     I didn't sit for my A-Levels. What was the point? I'm am artist. I can paint, draw, sketch, and sculpt. I can play the guitar. I was perfectly content to play my guitar for tips or draw people's portraits on some beach boardwalk to support myself. But that wasn't the real reason that I didn't sit for my A-Levels. No. Life decided to throw a wrench in my plans. Guess what Will? What? You're an angel! What...?

     Yeah. I'm an angel. I'm not a being of good. I don't know Jesus. I do know this. I'm an Angel of Healing which just sucks monkey's balls. I can sense pain. I can tell when people are hurt and I feel compelled to seek them out. Did I mention that it sucks monkey balls? There's no white light or anything remotely romantic about it. I touch them and their wounds get transfered to me. Aren't I lucky. On the other hand, what is an artist without angst, heartache and a little bit of insanity.

     On becoming an angel, I can describe it pretty simply for you. In fact, I can even even do it using only one syllable. Ow. Ow. Ow. Ouch. Ow. Ouch. Ow! It hurt. The wings hurt when they came in and it took me forever to get them to back in as it were. I didn't have a Guide to Being an Angel to help me with that.

     That's when Mum finally fessed up about Dad. He was an angel too. She didn't know if he was an Angel of Healing or not. She didn't even know that he was an angel until after they were married. You know, trying to get information out of her is harder than getting blood out of a turnip.

     So, yeah. A-Levels were out. I didn't want to be around people and at the same time I wanted to seek out the injured. This is how I know God or whatever being's up there has a sick sense of humor. Can we say irony for the lose?

     I thought that if I traveled, perhaps the call wouldn't be so great. Maybe if I was constantly around strangers I wouldn't feel the need to heal. So I set my sights on America.

     I had no way of knowing that it was going to be the worst decision of my life.

The player behind the character is Charly and her journal can be found at

simply_blah. If you'd like to talk to me you can e-mail me at toujourspink@gmail.com and my AIM is kindakiutzy. If you don't have either of those, you can contact me at this post here, either IC or OOCly.

Layout profile code thanks to ReversesCollide. All icons have been made by me unless otherwise noted and credited.

I am not Natalia Tena. I am not really an angel. This is all for RP and fun.

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