Maman had such beautiful eyes. They were a deep blue, the color of the ocean. And wide-so wide and expressive. She could convey a wealth of words with just one look. By contrast, my eyes were small and piggish, a dull dishwater brown. Maman was embarrassed by my eyes, I think. She made me cover them whenever we went out, and at home she would blindfold me, cursing if I so much as dared to lift the itchy fabric one centimeter.
I grew up in darkness, seeing the world through a dim filter. As I grew older, I came to hate Maman and her eyes. Her eyes that always stared at me with anger and hatred, simply because I had been born different. So I decided that I would change things.
I have the knife, and it is wet with my blood and Maman's. Now all I have to do is find Maman's eyes, and then I will be as beautiful as she was.