" When you see my face hope it gives you hell."

name: Aleksandra (Aleksis/Alek-Alex), George, Kapustin
gender: XX
birthdate: 06/04/91
age: 17
hometown: Salt Lake City, Utah
heritage: Russian, fathers side

interests: Elephants, Fashion, Techno music, Peanut Butter and Jam sandwiches, Russian culture
addictions:
+changing my hair and the latest fashions
-pissing of my grandmother and blasting techno music
disinterests: Drugs, Alcohol, Rap and Hip Hop, Cereal, War
fears, nightmares: Hurting my mother, having pink hair, being a disgrace to my father’s name
detailed personality:

parents: Louise Donald, Lieutenant George Kapustin
siblings: None
important persons: Grandmother: Mary Kapustin Uncle: Larry Kapustin
pets: None
detailed history: You know those days, the ones on which you wake up and wish you could be someone else? Change for just that one day? I used to have those days, until I discovered how special I was. I guess I should start my story at the beginning. I was born on April 6th 1991 at exactly 1:00am. Of course, I don’t remember any of it, but my mother tells me that she hated me the exact moment she felt her first contraction. After six weeks of living, my grandmother, aka, the devil, decided to put holes in my body, of course, after she had me baptized. I still don’t understand what that crazy woman was thinking, or why my mother let her near me. I don’t remember when or which came first but I started to walk and then I was taught my first word. I should probably explain that my uncle was a severe drug addict and thought it would be funny to have a little baby running around screaming it. It just so happened to be the f word. Yes. You heard me. Fuck. Of course, my grandmother would give me a good beat down after I would say it, not knowing why, I never learned my lesson.

Soon it was the first day of what my mother told me was school, I like every other kid, learned it was really hell. Anyways, it started off normal. Mother dropped me off, I was wearing a little jean dress and a pink backpack with my short brown hair in pig tails, I looked very cute if I do say so myself. My mother took millions of pictures then, like the other mothers, sat in her car and cried. Her little girl was growing up, and boy did she look like her father. I realize that I have forgotten to mention a few personal details about myself. I was conceived the night before my father was shipped off to war. He seemed to think that he would come back to his fiancé and start a family after a year at war. Unfortunately, my father was riding in a jeep with a few other soldiers and they drove over a road side bomb. Exactly at 1:00am April 6th. It is because of this that my grandmother hates me. Well, that’s what I believe anyways. My mother moved in with my father’s mother so she could have some help with raising me.

I was now eight years old. For my birthday we packed up our green minivan and went to spend a day at the zoo. By we, I mean my mother, grandmother and my uncle, yes, the drug addict. The day was going great; we saw all of my favorite animals and even had a picnic of my favorite lunch, peanut butter and jam sandwiches. The day was coming to an end, my grandmother stopped to go to the washroom and my mother snuck off to buy me a stuffed animal from the gift shop. If you have done the math correct, you realize that this leaves me with drug addicted uncle. He could really care less about me, so when he was flirting with the teenage girls on the bench beside us, I decided to be a big girl and go back to see the elephants. They were my favorite animal after all. Wondering around, I was really having the time of my life. It wasn’t long till I found the elephants. At the sound of my name, I turned to see my mother running in my direction screaming my name with an elephant in her hand. The look on her face, it was as if she was never going to see me again. Such desperation. It still hurts to think about it. Anyways, I smiled widely at her as she came closer; it was then when she ran right past me still screaming my name. I was so confused. I then started crying for my own mother didn’t recognize me. At this sound, my mother turned around and saw me. I remember how tight and painful her hug was. This was the good kind of pain. Once home, my grandmother gave me the other kind of pain; the bad kind. Lying in bed, I can still here my mother talking to my grandmother. The conversation used to play over and over in my mind. “’It wasn’t her! I swear it wasn’t. The little girl with the smile, she had pink hair! Not brown!’ ‘It was probably just the lighting. Now. Drink this tea and forget about it. We don’t want the neighbors thinking you have gone crazy now do we?’”

It took me a few years to discover what I could do, and how to do it. To me, it was my super power. I never told anyone about it, especially not my mother who after the zoo event had really taken to the liquor cabinet. Every month or so, I’d change the color of my hair, but the length I left the same to not create suspicion. I believe I did it to piss of my grandmother. She’d come home to find me blonde, or black, or black and red, or blonde and brown. The one hair color I would never use was red. I never wanted to hurt my mother. I did plan on telling her. One day.

The last days I spent at home, I remember everything down to the last detail. For your sake, I will not share it all, just the important details. I was sitting in my bedroom, flipping through a fashion magazine and I spotted it. The perfect hair style. I was in love. Without thinking, I closed my eyes, and opened them to find my grandmother rushing into my room screaming that I was a devil child. Wasn’t soon after that I ended up here. Surrounded by freaks just like myself.