I turned to my brother again. He still seemed frustrated with the world. My mother always said he looked like my father. He had his hair parted in the middle and it rested just above his ears. It was a dark brown color that matched his dark eyes. I looked nothing like my brother. We didn’t even look related, which my mother pointed out to me often. I turned to her and found that she had calmed down and was sitting down watching the other ships go by as my brother sped past them. I looked nothing like her either.
One day when I was younger, my brother told me a story of when I was born. He said even though he was young he remembered the whole thing. He brought me to the top of the mountain near our house one night and told me. He placed a blanket over our laps and had me look at the moons.
“I ran through the hallways as the screaming grew louder as I got closer to the door. It was as if she were screaming for dear life. I sat beside the door, looking through the crack they left open,” my brother explained as he used his hands for expression.
That’s when he saw her helper holding the baby. The baby barely had any hairs on her head and her skin looked blue, like there was something wrong with her. My brother was too young to understand what was happening, only that the yelling had finally stopped. My mother was breathing hard and her face was very red. She asked if she could hold the baby, but the nurse refused to let my mother even see the baby for a second. Within seconds of my brother looking through the crack, the nurse was gone through the back door of the room with the child. My mother’s face immediately turned into a darker red and demanded that she see her child. The helpers leftover in the room had to pin her down to the bed just to keep her calm. They reassured her that everything was OK, that her child was just being checked and tested for the routine like other babies. No matter how hard they tried to explain to her, my mother demanded to see her daughter at the top of her lungs.
“That’s when I snuck in,” he whispers as if someone were listening. My brother snuck into the room as the fighting continued and hid behind a bookcase across the room. After what seemed like an eternity to my brother, who was only four moons at the time, the screaming had stopped. My mother seemed to realize the reality and calmed down. She seemed to have shut down completely until finally, the helper returned with a child wrapped up in a tight, pink blanket.
My mother’s face lit up immediately, along with a smile so large that surprised everyone and yet has never been seen again. The smile quickly disappeared. The little girl that she was holding was nothing that she expected to see. She had little blonde curls plastered on her little head. She had bright blue eyes and a little round nose. Her body covered in little brown freckles. She looked nothing like her family, and her mother knew it. She started yelling, this time even louder. My brother swore that he saw steam coming out of her ears. She screamed that the baby wasn’t her daughter; that I wasn’t her daughter. She swore that they replaced me with someone else’s daughter.
“For all I know this could be the queen’s daughter,” she screamed at the top of her lungs, “She looks just like her!”
There is no way that I was, or rather, am her daughter. They couldn’t get rid of me like that. No one is that cruel to an infant. A warrior wearing a full uniform rampaged into the room. He stomped so loudly that the entire room became quiet.
“This is your child and no matter what you believe you have to take care of her no matter what,” he walked in very close to her face and whispered, “Because if you don’t and this child dies on your watch, it is considered murder on the highest degree and you will be put to death.” He stood up straight, placed his hands behind his back, turned away, and left through the door he had entered through. My mother’s jaw dropped and just shook her head as they handed me to her.
“She seemed really angry that day. I barely understand why,” he grabbed my hand and hugged me as if to reassure me that everything was alright. She’s never really loved me since. I’ve learned to just keep to myself, anyway. I’ve never really felt like I was part of this family.