From the top of the stairs, Alina watched the red and blue lights flash through the transom above the door, and then flood into the entryway as her mother’s pale hand tentatively reached, turned the knob, and pulled. Two men in dark clothes filled the doorway, one took off his hat and bowed his head, and said something that Alina could not hear from her position half concealed behind the banister. There passed a brief pause, and her mother crumpled against the door frame, the man who had taken off his hat rushing to catch her.

Grown-ups, some of whom Alina saw frequently, and some whom she did not know, had been ebbing and flowing through the house all day, usually with dishes of food, always with a small, sad smile when they noticed her. It felt like a party, but with no joy and no laughter. Her mother had said it was for her father, but he was not there. Puffy-eyed and drained of all color except for the red rims around her eyes, her mother kept murmuring, “It was only a traffic stop, I don’t understand.” “Hush now, baby,” soothed her grandmother, taking Alina’s mom by one shoulder, while her cousin led her by the other. “Just try to breathe, we’ve got everything else taken care of, just do whatever you need to do to take care of yourself.”

“Tell me again why he isn’t coming home,” Alina demanded of her grandmother.

“Babygirl, I’ve already told you, he’s with the good lord.” She said as she pulled the comforter up to Alina’s chin.

“But why?” Alina asked, her dark eyes imploring. “Me and mama are still here.”

“Because he died,” said her cousin with a quivering voice, keeping her tears at bay by avoiding eye contact.

“But why?”

“Baby, sometimes there is evil in the world. And sometimes people aren’t very kind to those who look different from them.”

“What do you mean?”

“What she means,” hissed her cousin, spinning to face Alina, “is that white people don’t like black people.”

Long after the door was shut and the night light turned on, Alina lay curled up, chewing over her cousin’s words. She thought about her dad and her mom. She thought about her dad coming home. She thought about black and white people, and wondered when she would see one. She had only ever seen people who were different colors of brown. “I wish that there were no black people and no white people to hate each other,” she thought, “I wish that all the people were nice colors, like pink, and purple, and blue, and multicolor like the sherbet ice cream I get at the ice cream truck, and sparkling green like a mermaid’s tail.” Thinking of her favorite things, Alina drifted into sleep.

And that is how a six-year-old changed the world.

Part II: Teddy

An odd thing occurred and then continued to occur, first in a hospital in Belarus, and then across every corner of the globe. As Ludmila squeezed her sister’s hand and gave her final push, a nurse called out with urgency in her voice, “She’s blue! We need oxygen!” Yet the baby let out a long, healthy cry, announcing her new presence to the world. It was not two hours after that that the next baby born in the hospital came out a bouncing berry boy.

Long after all of the Earthtones, as they came to be called, had died out, there existed a world with no black or white. Yet, as humans do, the colorful array of bodies and minds covering the earth had found a way to perpetuate hate against their neighbor. Despite this unorthodox, scientifically inexplicable change in human pigment to which there was no rhyme or reason, a blue father and an orange mother could just as easily produce a lemon-lime baby as a lavender one; they found other ways to perpetuate their prejudices. People with narrower noses or straighter hair placed themselves above those with broader noses or curly hair. People with more vivid skin colors looked down on those with more muted tones. And, of course, there was always religion. This was the case with Teddy.

As the child of two deeply religious, brilliantly colorful parents, Teddy, who himself had popped out a disappointingly pale yellow, made up for this transgression by thumping the bible to the beat of the biweekly hellfire and brimstone sermons of his parents’ church. With time and training, he learned to hate the gays. In college, he confidently shamed his girlfriends for their clothing and makeup choices. And over half a century later, he continued to obediently attend mass, albeit more out of obligation than true investment. He believed in God, he just didn’t feel that weekly mass was of the utmost necessity; he had fulfilled his duty and was sure that he had secured his ticket to heaven, on the piety express driven by the one true god.

The only irritating hiccup was his neighbor, Yogendra. Teddy would tell you that Yogendra’s offense was that he was a Hindu and would not listen to reason; he was an uncivilized blasphemer who ran around decorating his house with bright colors and false gods, but his real sin was that he caused Teddy to covet. Yogendra was a striking emerald green. Though Teddy had had a successful career as an auditor, owned a handsome, moderately sized home, and had readily resigned himself to being a childless bachelor long ago, he had never quite reconciled the fact that his pasty yellow skin afforded others a sense of superiority. That his neighbor, who was so vexingly primitive, should be blessed with such a stunning complexion was simply a cruel act of God.

“Putting out more candles, I see,” said Teddy, sidling up to the fence that divided the two men’s homes.

“Good morning, Teddy,” replied Yogendra with a quick smile that covered his frustration in not noticing Teddy approaching before he could slip inside.

“Always messing with that silly voodoo stuff, aren’t ya?” Teddy said, exasperated.

“It’s for Diwali. It symbolizes Dharma’s victory over Adharma.”

“Backwards is what it is!” said Teddy, his voice beginning to rise.

“It’s the triumph of light over darkness, or knowledge over ignorance, if you will,” Replied Yogendra politely.

“It’s blasphemous!” shouted Teddy, an artery in his temple pulsing, “and it’ll land you in Hell!”

“I suppose I’ll just have to wait until this life is over to see what’s next,” smiled Yogendra.

“You’ll…” Teddy began, mouth opened wide to defend his view. Then he collapsed, the artery in his temple pulsing twice more, each consecutively weaker, then nothing.

Deep in the forests of New Guinea, high up in a tree, he squeezed his way out of the darkness and into the world and blinked. He blinked again. Smoothly and precisely, he coiled his long, scaled body around a branch, peaceful and brilliantly green in his patch of equatorial sun.

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