A child is taken from her home and taught how to kill and make it look like an accident. She is taught to thirst for blood so she can be the world's greatest fear. The perfect secret weapon is hidden behind the face of a supposedly innocent child.
The Colour Brown
Colours are pools of magic to the young eyes of an innocent child. They were as mysterious as they were beautiful and I remember reaching my hands out attempting to touch them. Even though I had been alive for a month, I still had trouble grasping the concept that although I could see colours, they felt different every time I touched them. Blue could make my hands wet or it could feel soft and dry to my touch. Pink could be tied in a bow or it could be cool and smooth. At that age, I was still learning what I take for granted now. Colours are not magical and they aren’t always good. I’ve learned over the past few years that the change in colour can be a warning.
I remember sitting in the stroller with a brown bear on my lap. I was chewing on its ear, trying to discover what brown tasted like. My parents let me chew my bear, but when I saw brown on the ground, they never let me go near it. I was pondering the concept of brown when a man came and stood right in front of my stroller and blocked the sunlight. I remember trying to communicate with the man to get him to move out of the way, but in the case with my grandparents, I could tell that he didn’t understand me. When I spoke to him, he knelt down so he could look at me. His brown eyes stared into my blue eyes for a long time. If I hadn’t been studying the brown of his eyes, I may have seen a warning in this, but as things were, I was curious about the differences between his brown eyes, my brown bear, and the brown dirt.
I let the man pick me up. He never took his eyes off of me and I couldn’t stop staring at him. I dropped my bear and heard a light thump as it hit the cement of the sidewalk and inserted my thumb into my mouth. I didn’t know who this man was, but I felt comfortable in his arms. I could tell that he had experience holding babies before, so I felt safe even when my parents were out of sight. It was only when he strapped me into a car seat that I didn’t recognize when I was worried. I cried out for my parents and asked the man for answers and he seemed to understand me this time. He told me that my parents had asked him to take me for a while and he promised to look after me. He put a tape into the cassette player and I heard familiar music start to play. I fell asleep listening to the music and feeling the lull of the car driving steadily through traffic.
When I awoke, I found myself in an unfamiliar crib with strange toys all around me. It took me a few moments to remember that the strange man with the brown eyes said that he was going to look after me for a while. However, I was feeling hungry so I cried for help. I wasn’t used to being away from my parents. One of them would always come running when I called.
A woman with brown eyes came into the room and picked me up. As with the brown-eyed man, I could tell that the woman was accustomed to holding children as well. She bounced me in her arms and sang to me in a voice far more soothing than my own mother’s. I decided that I liked her and so I kissed her cheek. Even though the song was beautiful, it wasn’t a replacement for nourishment. I cried again and eventually, the woman got the message that I was hungry and fed me breakfast.
While we were in the kitchen, the brown-eyed man was leaning on the red cabinet sipping something in a white mug. He smiled at me when he saw the woman feeding me and at this point, I didn’t know what to make of him. I wondered why he was smiling at me. What could be so fascinating about me eating breakfast? Still, his eyes held a mystery and so did the woman’s. I had a feeling that if I stayed with them, I would uncover the secrets of brown. Then I could move on to the next colour and so on and so forth.
Over the next few days, the woman started saying the same thing to me every time she put me down to sleep and every time she left the house: “Give Mommy a kiss!” She never put me down or left until I kissed her cheek. At first, I found it strange because for the month I’d been alive, Mommy had been the woman I’d lived with, the woman who never left me alone. This woman was a stranger. She wasn’t my mother, but she called herself Mommy so maybe she was. I was confused about my parents. Even the brown-eyed man had started calling himself Daddy. What was I supposed to think?
The longer I stayed with these people, the more confused I got. Was it possible that someone could change parents? The people I thought were my parents hadn’t come to get me yet so maybe they didn’t love me anymore. Then another possibility came to mind. Maybe the other people were just a dream. Maybe they’d never existed and the brown-eyed people were my real parents. That would explain my fascination with the colour brown. As things turned out, it was easier to think of these people as my real parents than something completely different. That was how it was for the next few years. I lived with my parents, the brown-eyed people and completely forgot the existence of the other people. I was safe and happy.