METALLIC FLOWER

Prologue:

Who I Am


My name is Saffron Greystone. Before I start getting into retelling my adventures at Wammy's House, I should probably tell you about myself, shouldn't I? Well, I'll give you a little bit of my life story, but I'm not going to ramble on.

Right off the bat, I should tell you I'm a genius. And I mean IQ over 170 genius. It's not too high compared to some of my friends, but I'm still a literal genius, so it's good enough for me. Funny thing is, I don't know where I inherited the brains from. I mean, I know both of my parents were smart, but neither of them had an IQ over 130.

I guess that may be why my father seemed afraid of me. When I was 5, and could easily solve mathematical problems and read books that 10-12 year old students would often struggle with, my family and teachers knew something was up; that I wasn't a normal child. I guess my father was intimidated by having such an "abnormal" child, so he left. Last I heard he had a happy little family in the US.

In all honesty, I don't think I was that much different from other children. I mean yes, I was a lot smarter, and a bit quieter, but I still acted pretty much the same. I didn't even look that different. Note the "didn't." By now, I look a bit different from most humans. As to why, I'll explain that in a bit.

When my father left, my mother became extremely lonely. I understand that much. What I still can't understand is the way she chose to cope with that loneliness. She somehow converted it into anger, which manifested in her mind for a couple months. One day, I became extremely concerned for her; she was letting herself go completely. The woman I once knew; strong, brave, calm, and caring... she was gone. The woman who took her place was a mess. Always drinking, getting pissed off by the smallest of things, and completely ignoring me. When I asked her what was wrong, she grabbed my hair and dragged me upstairs, then pushed me back down.

Over and over, I was dragged up then pushed down. Oftentimes, my right eye would hit the corner of the table at the bottom of the staircase. Honestly, I think it's a miracle that I can still see out of that eye.

The torture continues until I passed out. When I woke up, I would be in bed. If there was school, I would get up and go to school like I normally did, and if not, then I would go see my mother again, either way, the abuse continued.

No matter what I did, or how much I cried, she wouldn't relent her way of treating me. Actually, the more I cried, the worse I was treated.

Monday to Friday, every week, I would go to school each morning, and come back in the afternoon. I always failed to hide the bruises, not that I really tried anyway; yet, no one asked. I can only wish they did. My teachers noticed, I know they did. If someone had asked where I got those bruises, I would have gotten out of there before I did.

Eventually, as in by my seventh birthday, the iris of my right eye had turned completely silver, due to the trauma it had endured. That little trait would make it difficult for me to hide my identity. I mean, how many people had a dark blue left eye and a silver right one? If you guessed just me, you're probably right.

From here, I don't know what all else I can tell you, so I may as well get into the main story; the main event. Without further ado, I will end this prologue, and get into the actual story.

Good dreams and nightmares.


A.N. See what I did there? If you think you recognize the external reference, and what it's referencing, leave your guess in the form of a review. I will announce who got it right at the start of the next chapter.