Unnamed Colonel Mustard Project

As the founding father of a nationally know mustard dynasty, it often falls to me to remind the great unwashed masses of the virtues of this mighty yet tiny seed, and how it directly benefits all humankind. Just as every journey is series of steps, or every forest is a collection of trees, the tapestry of human existence is woven with lives, some interconnected, some intertwined, others oblivious. To tell the story of how the this humble condiment has spawned empires and crushed governments, made kings of beggars and reduced men of god to amoral killers, I'll focus on a life which has been profoundly influenced by this most pungent of seasonings, my own.
My story is one in which mustard which has brought joy and tragedy, poverty and great wealth. I've seen those greater than I squirted from this heartless industry like so much mustard water onto a piece of dry white bread. Maintaining the financial viability of a modern day condiment empire is a never ending siege. Every day is a battle, be it with the Captain Ketchup's of the world or the rough and tumble rapscallions of the relish game. Anyone who has the intestinal fortitude, and sheer force of will to succeed in this livelihood though will have untold riches and power, but what mustard gives mustard can take away.
This story begins in the last days of the Crimean war, as the sun begins its rise over a muddy field, men are beginning to stir. A horse knickers, another exhales, a cooking fire crackles and pops as it's fed. Above the general murmur of voices is a woman's scream. It hangs there for seconds, and stops and then again. A few people look up and over to the medical tents, most don't. A rivulet of liquid streams out from under the filthy canvas flap that acts as the western wall of the field hospital. It turns opaque, as dark as the mud around it in the morning light. Another scream, and then silence. A nurse cuts the cord connecting the now unconscious woman to the tiny baby, so pink he's purple. She cleans him off. He takes his first breath. She wraps him up. Swaddled up in blankets, in the arms of a nurse, they are surrounded by thousands of French troops preparing to return to home after the recent Signing of the Treaty of Paris. This tiny baby, so small, so insignificant in it's surroundings like the minuscule mustard seed, will grow from this inauspicious beginning to become a leader of men and a titan of industry. From the bastard son of a camp prostitute to a decorated war hero to the founder of a benevolent industrial juggernaut, this is the story of Colonel Mustard.