New town, new school, new set of idiots. Violet lifted her black messenger bag onto her shoulder and grabbed her viola before getting out of her car. She loved her car. It was a tan 1986 Volkswagen Van named Betty. She had found it in a junkyard and fixed it up when she was first due for her driver’s license. After locking it, she got her first good look at the school that was going to be her place of learning for the next year, though she doubted that she would learn very much, as she was a proper genius and found very little enjoyment in school itself. Unfortunately, the law stated that she must attend some kind of school, and her parents felt that she needed to interact with people her age.
Coming from generations of wealth and countless manors across the country, her parents believed that Violet deserved the best education possible, and she got it. From the age of three, Violet had professors and specialists make house calls to teach her what her parents believed the most important: Math, English, Science, History, and Combat. She was well on her way through Calculus and Charles Darwin by age 9. For her 11th birthday, she received her very own chemistry set, complete with most of the elements of the periodic table, three Bunsen burners, a case of glass flasks and bottles, and other such items. By age 13, she could name all the countries of the world, their capitals, populations, and crime rates. When she was 14, the unlucky man that tried kidnapping her was put into the critical care wing of the hospital, and has been in a coma ever since, courtesy of herself.
With all that knowledge came great loneliness, though. Her father was an extremely important businessman, and her mother, a well-known neurosurgeon in France. As a child of wealth, Violet got expensive jewelry and designer clothing, instead of hugs and kisses, from her parents. They loved her, and Violet knew that. As a child, Violet had wished that they would spend time with her once in a while. As she grew older, though, she realized that that would never happen, and isolated herself, becoming cool and uncaring.
She had found that she quickly became bored, and searched for a new hobby for a long time. On her 7th birthday, she found it. Her nanny had taken her to the park and Violet had wandered off while her caretaker sat on a bench and read. She had seen a man sitting on a different bench with tears streaming down his face. Knowing that to simply ask what was wrong was rude, as she was a stranger and had no business asking, she tried to figure it out. Violet was always an observant child, but this kind of observation made her pulse race with excitement. He was dressed up quite nicely in a black suit and tie, and was clutching a photograph in his hands. The name “Allison” was written on the back, along with a date. She noticed that he was wearing brown shoes and navy socks, though. He was also taking on and off a wedding ring and staring at it morosely. She knew that grief could do something fierce to a person, and this man looked like he was hit hard. The clothing itself explained that he had come from somewhere important, and the tears on his face said funeral. His lack of clothing coordination showed that he was mourning, and had no one to help him through it. The photo told her that it was a woman named Allison that he had lost, and the ring said that Allison was his wife.
So, being the kind and innocent soul that only a child can be, she walked over to the man, hopped up onto the bench, put her small arm around his shoulder, and said, “Allison is in a better place, now. I’m sure she would have wanted you to remember the good things about her, not mourn her until you die. Move on, and find another to love like you loved her.” The man looked at her in amazement and nodded slowly. She knew that she had gotten it right. She realized that her job there was done, so with a small smile in his direction, she hopped off the bench and walked away from the sad man, back to her nanny.
She was amazed that she had gotten it right, and realized that detail was the key to what she had done. She knew that a tutor could not teach her how to do what she had done, so she instead decided to perfect her skills. After that day, she was constantly asking to go out in the city or to the park so she could practice. When she wasn’t doing that, she was online, researching everything she could get her hands on to try to find out more about details of every profession, every symptom, every location, everyone, and everything. She scourged psychology books, tore through books about therapists, and devoured the current events in the newspapers. Eventually, she became so good, she could tell a person what their job was, if they had any medical or mental diseases, where they came from, and usually another small fact, by just glancing at them.
