What was coming for them next? That was the question Bruno's mother posed to him every morning, as in the weeks, then months, following the triplet's fifth birthday the family's lives all began to settle into a predictable new routine, one that surrounded their new gifts.

It was a terrible burden for each, though their struggles differed in magnitude from one child to the next as they acted in service to their community, the way their mother believed they should.

In that time, Pepa, who was often relegated to fields where her rains helped the crops grow, had become a nervous girl, perpetually afraid of losing control again, her lively, vivacious nature tempered by fear of herself. Still, most days she seemed happy enough. When in her room she could often be found painting with beams of light, or sculpting clouds in the self expression she often denied herself out of dread.

Julieta, whose gift wasn't as obvious as her siblings', now woke early every morning to bake. Batch after batch after batch of buñuelos, almojábanas, and arepas, enough to fill a dozen baskets, maybe more, which were then carted away to town. There she spent the remainder of her time handing out her healing goods in town square, her spirits only dampened by her now perpetual sleeplessness.

Bruno, who had grown much closer to Pepa, believed as she did that where Julieta had been given a blessing, they had each been given a curse. Bruno spent much of his time in the heart of the town as well. There he waited for townsfolk who were leary and full of whispers to approach him with their questions.

At night Bruno would go to his room, and the dark cave within that housed his visions. There he was commanded to seek out the next danger poised to strike their home by his mother, and piece out the inquiries of his neighbors. The visions weren't always clear when he did his best to divine the future, foretell people's coming misfortunes when asked, or even to disclose to them the circumstances of their deaths so that they might not waste another moment idly.

It was these endeavors, coupled with the uninvited prophecies that slipped into his slumbering mind in the form of dreams, that left the boy wracked with nightmares and troubled sleep. All the while he watched enviously as Julieta seemed to thrive in her new role as healer.

It was during one such bout of jealousy that Bruno watched the newly widowed Señora Alvarez make her way through the warm afternoon sun to the first born of Madrigal triplets, her son and only child Hernando in tow. There was something wrong with Hernando, the children who had watched this strange, reclusive boy from afar knew this long before their mother gave it a name.

Blind. Hernando, the thin little boy, with tusseled dishwater brown hair who never left his mother's side, was blind.

When he'd first learned what this new word meant Bruno had closed his eyes, and tried to navigate the house without them. It was difficult, more so than he'd expected, the temptation to peek too great for the five year old to resist, but it wasn't, in his opinion, impossible. So, why then was Hernando never allowed to play?

Watching from his position on a bench near the fountain, Bruno held his breath. Julieta's gift never ceased to amaze him. Gently, Mrs Alvarez guided her son to the blessed girl about his own age. Smiling bright Julieta gingerly placed a sweet buñuelo into the palm of his cautiously outstretched hand.

Everyone in the square seemed to feel the same sense of awe as they stopped what they were doing to watch with bated breath. This was a momentous occasion and a genuine blessing, they all felt, to be there to witness the boy gain sight for the first time. His mother, tears in her eyes, lowered herself to her knees, so that hers was the first face her son would see. Then, Hernando Alvarez closed his unseeing eyes and took a bite of the miracle food. Savoring the buñuelo, typically a holiday treat, he chewed carefully, gratefully, and swallowed.

"Mijo?" his mother asked her joyful tears trekking down the sides of her face. "It's me, Mamá. Look, look at me! It's Mamá!"

Hernando opened his eyes, and smiled. From where Bruno now stood he could see the same unfocused, glassy shine the deep brown orbs had always held. Hernando reached out with his free hand and traced his mother's visage with loving familiarity.

"Si Mamá, I know!" he laughed, trailing a finger along the bridge of her nose.

"The miracle didn't work." widow Alvarez gasped, wrapping the boy tightly in her arms. She pressed her lips to his brow, forlorn, as murmurs broke out among the crowd of people all around her.

"It didn't work!" she said again, her voice carrying a sound only a mother in anguish for her child could make. Hopes dashed, the failed miracle had fractured her heart.

"I- I'm sorry!" Julieta said earnestly, fumbling with the hem of her apron, defeat clear in the sag of her shoulders, voice wavering. Bruno watched her deflate, the natural glow his sister had about her fading, as their mother, Pepa a pace behind her, happened upon them. The Madrigal woman pressed through the crowds in an attempt to reach her daughter and the troubling scene.

Without much thought Bruno, wishing to spare Julieta the same pains he and Pepa were going through, stepped forward to intervene. "Bring him back tomorrow!" he said. "We'll try again tomorrow."

The bereft woman turned to Bruno and took both of his hands in her own. "You've seen it?" she asked in trembling awe. "You've seen my son made whole? Is it possible?"

Bruno's heart beat with a painful arrhythmia, as he realized what he had unintentionally led her to believe. Weighing this accidental fib against the cost of outright lying, he nodded mutely.

Overjoyed, the widow clasped Bruno by the face, lavishing the crown of his head with kisses. "Thank you, thank you, thank you!" she wept. "God bless you Bruno Madrigal, and you Julieta Madrigal. Bless you, bless you! God bless the Madrigals!" she exclaimed over and over, before collecting her son, who stood listening with a saddened interest to what was being said around him.

Bruno, now sick with guilt, could find nothing to say, as he watched the impoverished family of two take their leave.

"Bruno," his sister said after the crowds had moved on. "Did you really have a vision that I cured him?"

"I don't know." Bruno shrugged, arguing with himself that this at least wasn't entirely a lie. "Sometimes I see lots of different things, it gets all mixed up, and I have to figure it out later." he mumbled as an excuse. Bruno tried to smile for Julieta, as limbs heavy with remorse the boy turned to go back to where he'd been sitting, but all he wanted to do was cry.

That night, wracked by guilt, and unable to relax in the sand filled room that further fueled his anxieties, the boy found himself at an impasse. Unable to go to his mother without telling her what he'd done, and too awash with shame to face Julieta, the five year old tiptoed over clouds towards Pepa's bed, feeling that she might be more sympathetic. After a brief bout of irritation the girl moved over, settling back onto her billowy pillows.

Relieved, Bruno felt the tight bound muscles of his anxious form begin to loosen. Then, when he had finally begun to relax, he felt the first cold sprinkles of rainfall.

"Bruno?" the girl whispered after a few minutes.

"Hm?" he asked, trying hard to pretend that he hadn't noticed the beginnings of a storm.

Pepa was quiet for a long while as her sadness caused the rains to fall even harder. Pulling the blankets over their heads the boy scooted closer, until their noses were almost touching. Even in the dim lighting he could see his sister's tears.

Gently Bruno wiped them away before whispering, "Pepita, what's wrong?"

"Am I going to hurt anyone again?" she asked, her voice thin, and warbling.

Her fear hurt Bruno, who pulled her close, letting her bury her face into his chest. "No Pepita." he said hoping to be of some sort of comfort.

"You promise?" she begged.

"I promise." Bruno vowed, putting his own hurts aside he willed all of his strength into Pepa. She needed it more. "Te quiero Pepita, and I will always take care of you!"

When, at last, Bruno fell asleep his dreams were filled with green hued visions of violence and suffering. People on the other side of the world, starved, tortured, and mutilated. Their lives worth less than the rubber they were mercilessly forced to produce. Waking from visions of indiscriminate slaughter, and unfathomable cruelty, the boy shook clinging to his sister, blinking back the visions of children missing hands and feet.

He would not sleep again that night.

The next morning, and every morning after for weeks, Widow Alvarez was waiting in the early light of dawn with her son, hoping against hope for the miracle she'd long prayed for. And every morning Bruno found himself withering inside, unable to meet her gaze when the cure inevitably failed. This went on for some time, Hernando and his mother disappearing into the crowds after each attempt, leaving Bruno to his lingering guilt and shame. Until one, particularly humid, morning when Hernando, a book clutched tightly against his chest, was left sitting not far from the fountain so that his mother could find work.

Bruno watched, hesitant to approach, and interfere with whatever it was Hernando was doing, feet swinging in the air, head pivoting from side to side as he listened contently to the world around him. Eventually Bruno's curiosity and agitation grew too much to contain. Why the book? He wondered, watching Hernando who sat at ease beside what seemed to be a heavy tome. Eventually, after dancing around the question for a while, unable to tear his mind away from the strange couple the blind boy and the literature made Bruno edged his way over to where Hernando sat.

"Hola." Bruno muttered, trying hard not to stare at his eyes.

"Hola!" Hernando beamed brightly, eager, it seemed to have company as he scooted aside to be more accommodating. "My name's Hernando, what's yours?"

"Bruno."

"Bruno... Madrigal?" Hernando inquired.

"Yes." Bruno muttered with a wince, his hands wringing together. This was a bad idea.

"Do you really know the future?" Hernando asked, leaning forward with interest.

"Yes."

"Whoa!" Hernando gushed.

Fidgeting apprehensively the Madrigal boy offered, "Do you want me to see your future?"

Whenever he closed his eyes all Bruno saw were those people suffering and dying in the name of greed, the harrowing dream a reoccurring one. He didn't want to venture into the tomorrows yet to come, now or ever again, but after lying the way he had, he felt indebted somehow to Hernando Alvarez, and wanted in some way to make amends.

Hernando thought for a long minute before answering. "No, but would you read to me?" he requested, picking up the book and holding it out in front of him.

Bruno felt the corners of his mouth quirk into a smile as he gauged the strange boy before him, relief washing over him in waves. "Um." he hesitated, finding a seat beside the other boy and taking the book.

"I don't know, I can't read very big words yet." Bruno confessed as he flipped through pages, quickly becoming overwhelmed by the vast amount of text before him.

Then, slapping his hand down over a passage as the pages flashed past, excitement welled within as Bruno found something he could do. "I can describe the pictures to you though!" he offered, though he felt that it was insufficient, rude, and perhaps wrong to have even suggested the idea the moment the words left his mouth.

"Si, ok"! Hernando agreed, a grin on his face as he turned towards the sky, eagerly anticipating Bruno's words.

"Well, this one is a picture of a cat," Bruno stated before flipping through the pages until he located the next illustration. "Oh, in this picture the cat is drinking tea." Again he passed several more pages, giving a brief commentary on each.

Bruno was enjoying this lazy activity, and thought he was doing a splendid job, until he glanced in Hernando's direction and noticed that the other boy's eager smile had vanished, and that his head hung a little lower than it had before, when Hernando was sitting alone.

"Are you alright?" Bruno asked, unsure of himself.

With a little, tight lipped smile Hernando nodded.

"Are you having fun?"

Again Hernando nodded.

"Am I doing it right?" Bruno snapped, irritable with the muteness the blind boy now exhibited.

Hernando shifted in his seat uncomfortably, hands squeezing together tightly between his knees as if he was afraid to say anything.

Finally in a whisper he did, "What does the cat look like? Does it look soft?" Hernando asked.

"Oh." Bruno blinked. The thought had never occurred to him how differently Hernando perceived the world, and what would be important details to him, easily overlooked for Bruno.

Self-conscious of his own stupidity, he hurriedly returned to the first illustration. "Uh," Bruno began meekly, now doubting his own ability. Of course Hernando wanted to know exactly what the cat looked like, besides that was the whole point of this game! Now he gazed at the image with scrutiny, trying to pick it apart one facet at a time.

"The cat does look very soft, with uno, dos, tres... sies, long whiskers, and a long twirly tail. The cat is sewing a blue... I think it's a pillow, with red roses." the Madrigal child explained, giving more detail than he had originally provided.

"The cat can sew?" Hernando beamed, wonder and awe on his face.

"Yeah, and do you know how cats drink?" Bruno asked.

"Yes!" Hernando laughed. "My Mamá has a cat, with their tongue."

Bruno nodded. "This cat is drinking its tea like people, and they're adding sugar. Oh, their tea cup is pink, and the cat is yellow. In the next picture the cat is getting ready to fight a big red pig with big, big tusks, he's wearing a green cap with a feather and looks really mean!"

"Bruno?" Hernando, feeling more lively and comfortable as he imagined the scenes described to him, interrupted. "Can I ask, what is 'green?' My Mamá says colors can't be described, they just... are."

Bruno stopped, stunned, and stumped, his brow creased with confusion. Green was green, what more was there to it? He considered stating exactly that, but recalling Hernando's disappointment and sad quietness after his own lackluster skills in describing pictures, the boy gave it more thought.

"Green is ... My favorite color." he mused thoughtfully.

"It is?"

"Yep, um leaves, and grass, and plants, and oh! My eyes are green!" Bruno elaborated, naming anything green he could come up with.

"They are?"

"Uh-huh!" Bruno said cheerily. "But yours are brown, but a nice brown, like coffee, not an ugly brown."

"Colors can be ugly?" Hernando giggled, swinging his legs again.

"Yeah, um ugly is when you see something and you don't like it, because it's not pretty. Pretty means you like the way it looks!" Bruno elaborated helpfully, before contemplating further on the meaning of green. It was a much more difficult question to answer than it had first appeared to be.

Bruno glanced around the square, taking stock of everything he saw, and the vivid colors his world possessed. He really did live in a most beautiful and enchanting place, he thought, realizing how he had always taken these things for granted. Now, as he catalogued all the green and growing things, he knew he never would take it for given again. Then, an idea lit in his mind, a broad smile breaking out across his face.

"Wait here!" the boy instructed leaping up from the bench and racing away towards a patch of long grass. He ripped it from the ground with one mighty tug.

Darting hither and thither, Bruno accumulated leaves, grasses, wild growing herbs, and anything else he could find before rushing back to the other boy, panting with exhaustion and excitement as he did.

"Are you alri-" Hernando began, but Bruno cut him off with an energetic rush of words.

"This - this is green!" he said, squeezing his palms tightly together, and rolling the plant material into a pulp releasing the clean, fresh aroma of life, before holding his hands beneath Hernando's nose.

The blind boy took a deep, grateful breath, treasuring the scent, but let out a little yelp of surprise when Bruno's hands leapt forward, tickling him on the belly. Hernando tumbled backwards onto the bench with a shocked laugh.

"Are you happy?" Bruno asked.

"Si, si!" Hernando chortled, his eyes wet with joyous tears. "And surprised!"

"That's how green makes me feel! It's nature, and happiness, and my Mamá says it's new life, and hope!" Bruno giggled, before a new idea came to him. "Oh! Do you feel the sun?"

"Mm-hmm." Hernando murmured, unable to banish his cheek cramping smile.

"Come here!" Bruno tugged at the other boy's hands until he had slid off the bench. "Jump!" he then commanded, leaping as high into the air as he could.

Still holding hands the little boys bounded up and down, laughing as they twirled in circles, earning smiles from the crowd that milled around about them.

"Are you excited?" Bruno asked in a gasp.

"Yes!" Hernando practically shouted back.

"This is what yellow makes me feel, warm like the sun, and excited, and awake, and loco, loco, loco! It's Pepa's favorite color!"

"I like yellow!" Hernando exclaimed.

Suddenly the jumping came to an abrupt stop as Bruno puzzled through his next challenge, if Hernando knew Pepa's favorite, and Bruno's favorite, now he needed to know Julieta's.

"Uh -" he said, turning this way and that, until he spotted the fountain at the heart of the square. He rushed towards it, running backwards as he guided the other boy, zigzagging through the lumbering crowds of adults towards their destination.

"Here, give me your hand!"

"I can hear the water, it's going to be cold!" Hernando argued, suddenly overcome with nervous apprehension.

"Please!" the other boy pleaded.

"You're tricking me! Gonna push me in!" Hernando recoiled.

"No, I'm not!" Bruno promised, saddened by how real Hernando's fear was.

After a small amount of resistance Hernando relented and let Bruno hold his hand under the running water.

"Now think about falling asleep, and being calm. Are you thinking about it?" Bruno asked, in a tone he hoped was reassuring.

"Mm-hmm."

"Is the cold water nice?" Bruno asked, wiping his hands first on his face and neck to drive away the day's mugginess, then on his pants.

"Mm-hmm."

"That's blue."

"I like blue too, and green!" the blind boy mused dreamily as he lowered himself to sit on the edge of the fountain.

"And red is warm, like the sun, but not loco ... Red is like a hug from your Mamá, or holding hands." Bruno elaborated, snatching Hernando's hand and holding it for a minute.

"I think I like red best then!" Hernando grinned, squeezing their intertwined fingers tighter together.

"But," Bruno added with a wisened thoughtfulness beyong his years. "Red is also blood, and pain too, I guess." he shuddered, unable to escape an unwanted flash of a terrible future, somewhere across the world.

"Are you alright?" Hernando asked, breaking Bruno from his silent state with another squeeze.

"Yeah." Bruno whispered, it was a lie that was growing to be familiar.

"Are you sure?" Hernando pressed.

"I'm sure."

They sat in an uncharacteristically somber amount of quiet for children of their age, until, Hernando softly asked, "Can you explain brown?"

The remainder of the day, until the children's mothers came to collect them, saw the boys racing about town running amok, and causing well-intentioned chaos in their quest to catalog and understand the bright and colorful world Hernando had been deprived of by nature of his birth. Bruno, had been determined that he would know it all. Through this endeavor their friendship was forged fast and strong as iron.

That night, Bruno brought a stack of books to his mother and begged her to teach him to read the really, really big words.

This marked the first of many adventures the boys would have together.