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 Presents... |
 (click on graphic for definition) All are welcome to submit a Musing, however, it is our preference that it maintain the level of thought which our first entry [below] has most certainly demonstrated. Thank you.
I am the white crayon in the Crayola box. Clean cut, no decay, and my grey label wrapped around me like a coat. I sit quietly and watch as the other colors dance on printer paper leaving a masterpiece with their footsteps. Scarlet carefully carves out the curls in a young girl’s hair. Cerulean highlights the sky on a sunny picnic day. "I can color in the clouds" I call out. No one responds. It’s a white sheet of paper. They don’t need me. I remain in the box. I do not show up on white paper like everyone else. I am alone. I am alone in a box. The other colors dance nonstop and never even once look back to notice me alone. They don’t care. The only place I can dance is on a black canvas. Each step I take leaves behind my ideas; my thoughts; my creativity. But no one sees. I am the only color that shows up here. I consider this black canvas my mind; my imagination. I am alone. I am alone with my thoughts; with my art. Any other color that tries to dance here leaves merely a faded residue as I create my vivid art across the page. But I am still alone. This place, this black canvas, is my own. I dream of it while I sit alone in the box watching the other colors dance. No music plays where I am. They playfully share their white canvas while I’m alone on my black one. The only color that could maybe identify with me is Green-yellow. He’s like me but more visible. I can tell he feels bad about leaving me behind but he still does. How I would give up my black canvas for the white one. How I want to dance and laugh with the others. How I want to bring out the life in a rose, a bowl of fruit, a souring balloon. But my desire to dance is ignored, my mind rejected, my color cursed. Why? Why am I so alone? If you say I’m not, tell me the last time you saw a white marker! When was the last time you ate a juicy white Fuji apple? When was the last time you carved a heart in the trunk of a white tree? I hate this life. I hate being alone. I hate that no one knows or cares how I feel. They continue to dance. They dance circles around me. They keep dancing MAKE THE DANCING STOP! I just want to be happy. I just want a friend. That’s all I’m asking for. I don’t think that’s too much to ask for. I just want to get out of this lonely box and be productive. Can anyone hear me? Can you hear me? "No." Why not? "Well, because crayons can’t talk." DAMNIT!! Author wishes to remain anonymous | The BANYON NETWORK | Betty Byers | MUSINGS | INNER-VIEWS WITH CELEBRITIES | Whitlow Synopsis | ECLECTIC REVIEWS | The NEWS | SHORT STORIES CORNER | Francine Silverman | BOOK REVIEWER'S CORNER | | Return Home | GREAT LINKS | CONTACT US | BLOG PORTAL | |
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