And suddenly she was surrounded, all of her edges and corners englufed by a deep, stomach-churning unfamiliarity, bringing retching noises to her lips. People stared at the girl, platinum waves aflutter in the breeze, crouching to the ground, knees brushing unkempt grass like her unkempt hair. One boy, in particular, who must not have been older than six years of age, bent his knees slightly, looked to hell, and murmured ever so silently "What's wrong with you?". The phrase was not malicious and was more of an attempt at understanding than a rhetoical question in disgust. As the girl lifted her head, silvery strands drew lines in her vision, though it hardly existed anymore. "I can't...se-e yo-ou..." she cried out as tears dripped into her gaping mouth. Lips still parted in an eternal shock the girl lowered herself to the ground again. The boy persisted, sitting on the grass in that triumphant manner possessed only by children, who see no failure. All is triumphant in his squinting eyes. "The sun is bright today--why are you so sad?". She smiled painfully, and as she does this the corners of her mouth press creases into her cheeks, curvy lines that fold under her glasses and into a dark oblivion of tinted shades. "The sun is shining? What news! What does it look like?". A mask of puzzlement is plastered to the young boy's face at her sarcasm, but he decides, ultimately, that she is literal in her questions. "Well, it's bright. The sun looks like something hot that you put in the oven to make it hotter. It's orange. Or yellow. It's yellorange. Do you know yellorange?". Amused by the little boy's attempt at color description, the girl softens, and the very act draws years from her face, which pulses with energy and excitement and wonder. "I did once. Yellorange." "Do you see it anymore?--Yellorange," the boy asked. "No, I don't. I don't see anything. I cannot tell when people stare or hiccup in both pity and stifled humor. I cannot see faces or pretty things like yellorange." The boy frowned, confusion evident in his furrowed eyebrows--which, under the sun, shined like diamonds--but a dawning knowingness obvious in his darting eyes. He stretched out a small hand and his bitten fingernails brushed her face in an attempt at conforting her. The glasses were off now, but people gazed with such focus and intensity that you'd think her top was. Her eyes were fluttering slightly, and her eyelashes were darker than the platinum of her hair. The boy pressed a hand upon her head to gain stability when he kissed her cheek, and took hold of her hand with his other. He stood then, barely 3 feet off the ground, and tugged lightly on her arm. Standing up slowly, she dropped her glasses and they became lost in the sea of green. "Do you know green?". Pondering for a moment, she inhaled once and exhaled. "No, but I heard it is the color of life." He walked her home.