Entry for Foxtales #19--The Odd Question

Her cornea sticks out, even in the dark. White, pupil-less, without an iris. It’s unnatural hue smudged with a handful of black and a little red where the sclera should be. “What does color mean to you Cherise?” Marcella asked. “I cannot say, remember, I have never seen before,” she replied. “I presume then that this is a stupid question?” she opined. “I would not say this.” “What would you say then?” “The concept is just logically meaningless to me.” Marcella contemplated this. For to her colors, as far as she knew was merely light expressed in different ways. That there was a logic to it, or that there was meaning connected to something she took for granted held her enthrall to that concept. They were sisters, dizygotic twins. So not only was there never that who is who, or which one came first questions from the other military families or anyone on the bases. No, there was only this instant realization that the two were as different on the outside as two strangers who pass each other on a busy sidewalk. How do you describe color to a sister who has never seen color before? The color of the sun as it rises; as it sets. The scratches on the floor, the cracks on the wall could never cease to have magic for Cherise as it did for Marcella, for one saw and the other never did. The lilies in the field or the color of the hummingbird as it sucked nectar. And so they spoke about the sounds of those things. And the sounds of her tears rolling down her cheeks. And her cries that muffled the songs of the nightingale that sang for a mate.