Young Writers Society

“Iro!” Ms. Maddie called up the stairs. “Iro! What are you doing up there?”

Iro, standing on several crates stacked on top of each other while balancing on his tiptoes, continued to stare out the half circle window, fascinated by the daily life of the buzzing street market. Iro had hidden himself away in the attic where he spent most of his time watching people go about their business. They’d cross by the front gate of the orphanage, some with small glances every now and again, but most kept walking as if it didn’t exist.

“Iro!” Ms. Maddie called again. “You get down here this instant!”

Iro barely blinked his steely blue eyes, not wanting to miss anything that lie beyond the orphanage. He had never been outside the stonewalls that enclosed them from the rest of the city.

“That’s it Mister!” Ms. Maddie shouted. “I’m coming up!” The heavy thuds on the brittle stairs would have caught the attention of most, but Iro was far too caught up in the outside world (as it was often referred to) to care.

A man with dark brown hair and tan skin carrying a birdcage immediately captured Iro’s attention. He watched the man in awe until he disappeared out of sight. Iro touched his nearly bleach white skin and compared it with the mental image of the man. Only a few weeks ago did it occur to Iro that people were different colors, for the only people he had every seen were all the same: pale skin and white hair. Iro slowly lifted his hand and pet his snow-white hair as he continued to watch the busy market place bustle with life.

“Iro,”

Iro quickly turned and saw Ms. Maddie at the top of the staircase, her hem in one hand and her walking stick in the other.

“I’m sorry Ms. Maddie,” Iro said at once. He had forgotten that in her old age it wasn’t exactly easy to climb a tall set of stairs. “I should’ve come when you called.” He began to clamber down from his mountain of crates much too rapidly. In only a matter of seconds did Iro loose his grip and slip, then to come tumbling down on the floor with Ms. Maddie running towards him.

“My dear are you alright?” she said lifting off an empty crate. There sat little Iro, his hands over his head, eyes sealed shut. He slowly opened them and looked at Ms. Maddie sheepishly.

“What were you doing up here little one?” She said, patting down the stray white strands fraying from Iro’s scalp.

Iro was almost embarrassed. “I was—watching the people.”

“Why so?” Ms. Maddie said, rather confused.

Iro shrugged. “They’re different.” He bat his snowy eyelashes at Ms. Maddie. “How come?”

There was a dead silence. Even the dust seemed to settle quickly as the terms of an entirely untouched topic hung in the air. Ms. Maddie was trying to think of the best way to say this. So far it had worked on the older kids of the home but no matter how many times she had said it it was never easy to say.

Ms. Maddie let out a deep sigh. Her gaze focused on nothing for a few moments when she blinked and smiled warmly. “Do you remember when we found that brown mouse in the kitchen?”

Iro nodded his head vigorously. “Yea! It was dead and one of its legs was white!”

“That’s right,” Ms. Maddie said gently. “Do you know, why only one of his legs was white?”

Iro thought about this for a few seconds before he shook his head. He wasn’t sure where she was going with this but was hoping it had something to do with the people outside.

“Well,” Ms. Maddie began. “You know how we always have those white mice that when they get into the cupboards they make the food go bad?”

Iro stared at her with puzzlement. “I like the white ones.” He said innocently. “I’m the one that takes care of them.” Iro thought about the two containers down stairs in the living room where they kept the mice as pets. One container was for the brown mice, and one for the white.

“I know you do,” Ms. Maddie said with another warm smile. “But whatever those white mice come in contact with, it becomes infected with a disease. That’s why we always keep them in separate containers.”

By now Iro was more confused than he had been this entire conversation. He tried to make a connection between the people outside and the brown and white mice, but nothing seemed to fit. Ms. Maddie could see his bafflement and decided it would be best for her just to come out with it and say it.

“You’re a lot like the white mice, you know,” Ms. Maddie said taking Iro’s small hand in hers and rubbed the backside with her thumb.

“Because of my white hair?” Iro asked.

“That’s one reason,” She was hopping he would understand what she was trying to tell him. “You have a disease, Iro. Just like those white mice.”