I was sitting by the pond one morning, the first time in a long while. The sun was slowly coming up over the dew-covered hill that had a sort of blue color to them in the light. Before the hills were the sunflower fields, with wild colors of vibrant reds and deep oranges. They looked like speckled paint flung on the canvas by an angry painter. A willow tree sat behind me and gave me a place to rest my back, which was aching from so much hunting labor. The leaves of pure white bent down and swayed in the summer wind, smoothing my bare face. The grass under me on which I was sitting was as tall as my knees, but with me stationary and cradled inside, the blades hid my skinny body like grain of sand hidden in the sea. I was secluded in the morning symphony.

All was right; all was how it should be. The houses in the distance had ringlets of smoke waffling into the dark sky, getting ready for the day ahead. What problems were to be caused this day I could only imagine.

My mind took away from the view and rested on the pond. Few fish lived here, but a couple swollen frogs reside on giant lily pads gliding on the blue water. I gazed longingly at the pond wishing my mind were at peace like the still water.

I was troubled by something that had been eating away at me for a long time: my father and his disappearance. He had once worked for the Order, the organization governing of our town. Often he would come home late and leave very early in the morning. He wasn’t very fond to see my mother or me, often grumbling when he passed us. I learned to keep quiet. He liked it better that way.

I taught myself to play with my sister, Feather. Our favorite game was tag in the forest. I had fond memories of watching Feather leap through the tall trees like an acrobat. We liked to hang in the trees for hours and tell stories of the outside world. Sometimes we would race to the top of the trees like rabid chipmunks, but my sister was always victorious. She had the gift of athleticism and flexibility. I had no talents like her. In fact I had a great disability. I was born colorblind. I see the world as black, white, and grey. In this town of art and inspiration, you were worth less then dirt with a disability like that. How could you paint if you couldn’t see the colors? Everyone in this town was a painter. I think my lack of art skill was part of the reason he left.

I kept asking my sister when we would play in the trees, “Why was I born like this? Father hates me.”

Yet her answer was always, “No one hates you Griffith!”

To cheer me up she promised me dad’s work was just very time consuming, one day I would be a better working man then he is. I thought the only way I could be a better man then my dad would be to get the Gate Keeper’s job. It was the most important job in the whole town. It held high honor. All it required was a vow to keep the location of the Gate a secret and be present at a bunch of meetings located at the City Hall. However, the job is only obtained through inheritance. The only way to get the spot is to marry the Gate Keeper’s daughter, who couldn’t inherit the secret because of her gender. But what girl would fall in love with me? The Gate Keeper’s daughter was my best friend anyway, she was interested in other men. I don’t think she has even thought of me in that way before. I was doomed to have a hard life.

I was 12 when my dad abandoned our family. My mother’s heart broke and she’s never been the same since. My sister was enraged when she found out, but I knew it was coming. I could tell by the way he ate his cereal and brushed his hair in the morning. He no longer whistled the sweet tune or asked me reasoning questions to keep me observant. He wasn’t happy here anymore. He didn’t like the responsibility of caring for us. Something about him was wrong.

I remember the day he left, like it was yesterday. All that he gave us was a note I burned after reading. I can still recall my mom’s feeble voice echoed in the small house. His name emerged from her lips and bounced off the walls. After a couple minutes, she desperately called my name. I answered by popping inside her bedroom. My mother sat on the floor in a dingy nightgown with a handkerchief glued to her red eyes. “Where… did he go?” She sobbed

I crawled up into her arms. “He left mom.”

“And you knew?” her voice was more broken than angry.

“Yes. It’s my entire fault. I was born this way.”