Hers were very dark, Milo noticed. He thought of the scar again. The moonlight was shining brighter now, the dim blue mist creeping into the forest and creating an interesting light from the falling snowflakes.
“Why won’t you tell me?” He asked.
Her response came sooner than he thought. “Some questions are not meant to be answered.”
Milo took these words in and they made themselves a home inside the complex folds of his mind. It made sense, and he decided he wasn’t going to ask again, for now he realized that there was a very easy chance he won’t see her again. It was dark now, and much colder as it had been before. They had been sitting behind the tree in the snow for so long it was almost as if they had a layer of permafrost on their skin. Milo could feel the sharpness of the wind now.
“Your ears are nearly blue.” She said and she laughed. They broke the quiet silence of the forest with their conversations on the way back to the dinner hall. But there was something that bothered Milo. Throughout the night, he still wondered what it was that he felt before the lynx wandered off into the trees. That dark feeling that something was wrong, it had drifted away once the lynx was away, but he still felt a small bit of it lingering in the back of his mind. It was dreadful.
“Stop here for a moment,” said the girl, stopping. They stood now in the open field where the grass had frozen over; just a short walk’s distance away was the dinner hall.
“What is it?” asked Milo.
“Do you remember the days when they executed the children who grew blue eyes? Before that was outlawed by Amendment 66?” She asked. Milo felt darkness again.
“I don’t remember much of it. It’s been a long time. My cousin died that way. I don’t remember much of him either.” Milo looked away again, but this time rather than turning towards the dinner hall he turned to look at the stars. There weren’t many visible, for it was foggy out and snowing. “Why?”
“Your eyes will sprout a color soon.”
“I will be six winters in just under a month,” Milo said. The darkness began to fall, deep into his mind. “It’s not likely that I will sprout blue eyes, right?”
“Mr. Charlie want’s the amendment removed,” she said, “But he won’t tell the Parliament this, or the people.”
“Can he do that?” Milo asked, curious.
“He can’t but he will.” Her eyes drifted off, her mind leaving. Milo was silent. This was unbelievable. His father didn’t have blue eyes, nor his mother, but rather dark brown eyes. However, his aunt’s family all had blue eyes. Their eldest was unlucky, but the others fortunately were born after the passing of that amendment. Death was not something Milo was ready for. His head began to ache and this stomach twisted into a chilling knot.
“What about you?” Milo asked, “How old are you?”
She looked at Milo. He could see her eyes clearly now. This was the first time he had looked into her eyes this closely; hers had a tone of every color shimmering noticeably over a blanket of black.
“I have to leave now,” she said, turning away. “Mr. Charlie can’t win that election,” she said, turning back around, “But I can’t go back there. I need you to deliver this to Doctor Artimus for me.” She reached into her coat pocket and pulled out a small slip of paper that was folded.
“Do you know Artimus well?” Milo asked, taking the slip of paper. She didn’t respond. He put the slip of paper into his coat pocket.
When he looked back up, there
“Why won’t you tell me?” He asked.
Her response came sooner than he thought. “Some questions are not meant to be answered.”
Milo took these words in and they made themselves a home inside the complex folds of his mind. It made sense, and he decided he wasn’t going to ask again, for now he realized that there was a very easy chance he won’t see her again. It was dark now, and much colder as it had been before. They had been sitting behind the tree in the snow for so long it was almost as if they had a layer of permafrost on their skin. Milo could feel the sharpness of the wind now.
“Your ears are nearly blue.” She said and she laughed. They broke the quiet silence of the forest with their conversations on the way back to the dinner hall. But there was something that bothered Milo. Throughout the night, he still wondered what it was that he felt before the lynx wandered off into the trees. That dark feeling that something was wrong, it had drifted away once the lynx was away, but he still felt a small bit of it lingering in the back of his mind. It was dreadful.
“Stop here for a moment,” said the girl, stopping. They stood now in the open field where the grass had frozen over; just a short walk’s distance away was the dinner hall.
“What is it?” asked Milo.
“Do you remember the days when they executed the children who grew blue eyes? Before that was outlawed by Amendment 66?” She asked. Milo felt darkness again.
“I don’t remember much of it. It’s been a long time. My cousin died that way. I don’t remember much of him either.” Milo looked away again, but this time rather than turning towards the dinner hall he turned to look at the stars. There weren’t many visible, for it was foggy out and snowing. “Why?”
“Your eyes will sprout a color soon.”
“I will be six winters in just under a month,” Milo said. The darkness began to fall, deep into his mind. “It’s not likely that I will sprout blue eyes, right?”
“Mr. Charlie want’s the amendment removed,” she said, “But he won’t tell the Parliament this, or the people.”
“Can he do that?” Milo asked, curious.
“He can’t but he will.” Her eyes drifted off, her mind leaving. Milo was silent. This was unbelievable. His father didn’t have blue eyes, nor his mother, but rather dark brown eyes. However, his aunt’s family all had blue eyes. Their eldest was unlucky, but the others fortunately were born after the passing of that amendment. Death was not something Milo was ready for. His head began to ache and this stomach twisted into a chilling knot.
“What about you?” Milo asked, “How old are you?”
She looked at Milo. He could see her eyes clearly now. This was the first time he had looked into her eyes this closely; hers had a tone of every color shimmering noticeably over a blanket of black.
“I have to leave now,” she said, turning away. “Mr. Charlie can’t win that election,” she said, turning back around, “But I can’t go back there. I need you to deliver this to Doctor Artimus for me.” She reached into her coat pocket and pulled out a small slip of paper that was folded.
“Do you know Artimus well?” Milo asked, taking the slip of paper. She didn’t respond. He put the slip of paper into his coat pocket.
When he looked back up, there
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