THE BLACK
CRAYON
Once upon a
time
there was a
girl named Gold.
Her eyes
like bright sapphires
her cheeks
like blossoms red and bold.
Gold had a
box of crayons.
With which
she painted dusks and dawns.
Colouring
mornings bright golden
with crayon
yellow
and with
green crayons
sketching
blades of grass, soothing mellow…
With her
box of crayons
Gold
coloured the sky and the bluebells,
Lost in the
sketchbook of her life
Gold carved
herself a sparkling rainbow shell,
Reds of
roses, and pinks of sunsets,
orange of
marigolds, and creamy white of jasmines,
Oceans of
emerald blues dripping from her dance
As she
played with winds, fire, moon and earth’s skin
With a
palette full of sparkles and colours,
She painted
her laughter and playfulness
Until one
day,
when she
came across
a crayon
the black
crayon,
As she
picked it up,
and
scrubbed it against her sketchbook’s paper,
her
laughter turned to dismay,
a look of
terror clawed over her face,
Sitting
atop a cloud, she starting falling down
down and
down into some dark alley
she shrunk
and shrunk
but she
kept colouring
as if a
giant bucket of black paint had spilled itself
and now her
fingers couldn’t stop
using this
black crayon,
the yellow
golden sky smudged into darkness
bluebells
and marigolds drained of their colours
Nothing
remained,
except for
a gigantic dark blackness
and some
slivers of white and grey spaces scattered hither-tither
Her joyful
and playful world
had been
engulfed under a giant shadow of black
Her box of
crayons
nowhere to
be seen or found
Everywhere
she saw
there was
only darkness,
a grim
gloomy terrifying darkness
a cold
hauntedness
there was
quiet even though, but no silence
unlike in
the worlds she drew with
her box of
crayons…
Gold didn’t
know what to do.
Her
colourful world had shattered apart
Tears
rolled down her icy white cheeks,
but the
black crayon didn’t wash away
It was
sticky, a wax crayon after all.
Gold spent
days and days
weeks and
months and years
crying and
yelling
trying to smudge
away the black crayon
from her
sketchbook
and once
again see the world
she had
drawn with her
box of
crayons…
but nowhere
to be seen
was either
her colourful world
nor her box
of crayons…
Everywhere
she saw
was only
a giant
shadow
smudged
everywhere around her
with black
crayon
She slapped
herself
she wailed
And
regretted
why did she
ever use
the black
crayon…
But what
else could she do
she didn’t
know
what colour
this black was…
she was an
explorer
she
explored all the colours
she had
received
in her box
of crayons…
but this
one crayon
had smudged
her entire world
into a
blackening darkness,
a darkness
she couldn’t escape from…
everything
she drew
anything
she painted
now got
stained with
the colour
of black…
She felt
claustrophobic,
and
immensely sad,
She wanted
more than anything else
to get back
her world
her vibrant
playful blissful world
of colours,
her lovely
box of crayons…
but all she
could see
was the
black crayon
which
didn’t seem to finish,
only
magnified and magnified
shattering
every other colour
staining
with black,
her box of
colourful crayons…
She felt
disgust,
She felt
choked,
And
shackled
She felt
every moment
getting
shrunk and shrunk
into tinier
and tinier and tinier
her entire
being
getting
swallowed up
by the
black crayon
She wanted
to throw away
this black
crayon
and free
herself clean
But the
black crayon had smudged
not only
the colourful worlds in her sketchbooks
but her
entire self
her hands
her cheeks
every pore
of her seemed to be
getting
coloured by this
spooky
curselike black crayon
She stood
in front of a mirror
and
shrieked a cry of horror
because now
she herself
was turning
bit by bit, pore by pore,
into
a black
crayon.
Her teeth
growing into giant pointy triangles
Her nails
into pinny paws
She was
getting covered from her foot to her scalp
in the
colour
of the
black crayon
She
screamed
she kicked
her feet
Her breath
seemed to be getting choked out of her throat
But the
black crayon
was now
spiralling around her
spreading
like giant branches
of a
poisonous tree
wrapping
rolling snaking around her
covering
her pore to pore
into the
colour
of the
black crayon.
She used
her will and might,
she used
her power, and all her sight
but she was
unable to get free,
from the
serpentine grip of
this black
crayon….
Losing her
breath bit by bit,
she slumped
down exhausted,
she had
lost all her will,
but the
memories were still
rolling
down her black smudged eyes,
the
memories of her colourful bright worlds
and the
memory of her
box of
crayons.
She had
lost all hope
of even
surviving,
let alone get
back
her box of
crayons….
Gold was
not Gold anymore.
She wasn’t
the same girl
as she was
before.
Losing her
box of crayons
she was now
turning into a giant monster,
a monster,
darker than the colour of black,
a monster,
named as Black.
Her box of
crayons
was now
but only
a giant
black crayon,
and, Gold,
Gold was
now,
Black.
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