The Crayon Wars - Short Story

An empty box of crayons lay forgotten upon the table. This, my friends, is the beginning of our little fable...

A short story by Ayngel Overson

To Brooke, Justin, Mystery, and Jaid

Love, Mom

All graphics courtesy of Crayon Tube

This is right, and that is wrong, and thus we have reached an impasse, my friend.

You are so very stubborn, you will not break, you will not bend.

Though anyone could clearly see that the most important color is not you but me

You are as blind as any brick wall could ever hope to be.

Sir, you are mistaken, it is you that has been struck blind.

Blinded by your ignorance, blinded by your mind.

For what lies before you is as plain as the nose on your face,

though by your logic it could be a nose, but you would call it a vase.

A vase and a nose aren't all that different you see,

flowers seem to appeal to them both equally.

If logic is where your argument is based, then logic my friend is dead.

Anyone could plainly see you have but rocks in your head.

Your way of spinning logic, to suit your own device,

leaves my head a-hurting, so here is my advice.

Look at the world around you, and imagine it with no Blue,

the skies, the water, the flowers, all devoid of my particular hue.

You sir are merely Red, a crass and angry color indeed,

the world can live without you; unless they want to bleed.

Anger, war, and violence flash in dark and bitter shades of you.

Look around the battlefield, you'll not find any Blue.

I am the blood, this much is true.

Anger, war, and violence are all devoid of Blue.

Yet blue is the color of sadness, of sorrow, and of pain.

Look among these awful things and you'll not find a red stain.

You forget the rose, my friend, though many colors it can bear.

Yellow, White, Pink, and Orange, a colorful affair.

Yet only Red speaks of passion, of love, and emotion so divine.

You may have the sky and water, but passion is only mine.

They turned their backs to one another, their noses to the sky.

Each refusing to give an inch, move a muscle, bat an eye.

So firm they were in their mission,

neither noticed the approach of a new addition.

Gentlemen, gentlemen, stop this nonsense now. You are you, and he is he,

but where would the world be without the aid of me?

Green is the color of life, Green is the grass, Green is the tree.

The world would be dead and Brown without the likes of me.

And what is wrong with Brown, I ask? With nature, wood, and earth?

I might not seem like much to you, but only I represent rebirth.

When winter comes and the other colors die, I remain.

I wait out the season patiently until it is time to bring life again.

Over in the corner, Black and White stood sullen and quiet.

More colors joined the battle, the crayons began to riot.

Each quite certain of their place, each refusing to budge from a single point of view.

Black looked at White and plead, "Whatever shall we do?"

White spoke up then, her voice clear, strong, and true.

Where would I be without each and every one of you?

When all of you are needed, how can we say only one is right?

The absence of light is darkness, the absence of darkness is light.

The world was not made to be viewed as merely Black or White,

It was not supposed to be us against them, each of you are right.

The world was made for Red, the world was made for Blue,

and Green, and Brown, and Orange, and every other hue!

The crayons lowered their heads and shuffled off to sleep.

Inside their box they settled down, a chastised flock of sheep.

Only Black and White remained outside watching their children rest.

Black asked, "Where did we go wrong? Have we not done our very best?

All of them are different, but they are also all the same.

Why do they attack the differences, passing on the blame?

Where have we gone wrong, when they refuse to see what is right?

We are all the same in darkness, why can't we all be equal in light?"