A child was once given a magical crayon. It was magical because it was a never-ending crayon, for when the child drew with it, it never crumbled, it never shortened, it never flaked and it never ran out.
This crayon could draw on any surface. It could draw on paper and wood. It could draw on glass and steel. It drew in the air, through steam, on water and under water. The crayon could also draw in any colour. When the child closed his eyes and imagined any colour he thought of, the magical crayon would somehow turn to this colour.
The child loved this crayon. He would draw and doodle as he pleased. When he was happy, he would draw pictures in gold and silver and when sad, in blues and greens. When he was angry or frustrated, he would choose to draw in blacks and reds. He would draw aimlessly and idly, creating a canvas in the air or on the ground and admire his work before rubbing them out with ease. Mostly he simply drew on paper.
As he began reading, he came across a curious page of a book - half of the page was black and half of the page was white. There were just these two colours, separated by nothing other than the opposite colours themselves.
The appearance of the book upset him immensely, it seemed stark, rigid and without beauty. He examined the other pages of the book and they were full of wonderful colours, pictures and characters. He opened the black and white page again and stared at it longer. The more he stared, the more he disagreed with the presence of these two colours.
With his crayon, he thought he might sweetly add colour to this page. He thought of glittering gold and began to draw. However, the magic crayon did not work on this page. He thought of sparkling silver but there was nothing. The child was surprised and tried again but still there was no impact. He tried with green and then blue and then red but nothing changed. He imagined every colour he could dream upon but the page remained as it was - half black, half white. The child grew more upset. Eventually he tried grey, to simply merge the black and white borders together. He tried at first with a thick gradual transition and then a smaller one and then a singular, one toned, narrow grey line between the two. And yet the crayon did not work. He became frustrated and then more frustrated and the more frustrated. He could not understand why the crayon did not work.
Every time he thought about it, he hurt. The little child cried and the more he saw of the page, the unhappier he became. He slammed the book shut and threw away the crayon. He curled up and wept silently. He vowed to never open the book again. But this process did not help the child. It was always on his mind and wherever he went and played, he imagined the only black and the only white of the page. The once colourful world with his crayon became bleak and miserable. The days passed. The weeks passed. The months passed but each day remained a pure black and white.
The boy played but with less enthusiasm. He had his other toys and other pencils and paints to draw with. With time he eventually forgot about the black and white page and also the magical crayon he once had. He continued as happily as possible in his world and learned never to think about the book to enjoy his day.
It was when the boy had grown up that he was reminded again of the crayon. As he was clearing away all his childhood toys, he came across the magical crayon he had thrown away in anger. He held it in his hand, thought of his favourite colour and drew a smile in the air. To his surprise the crayon still worked. He played and doodled with it freely and laughed to himself before the unhappy image of the black and white page appeared again. This disturbed him but his curiosity increased. He decided to break his childhood vow and he found the book with the forbidden page and opened it up again, staring plainly at the black and the white. With enormous strength he kept his gaze fixed on the two colours without slamming the book shut.
He took the opened book outside and laid the book onto the grass. He bought the crayon towards the book, closed his eyes and began to colour. However, this time he did not try to colour the page of the book. He began colouring around it.
He coloured the grass surrounding the book. He coloured each and every blade a dazzling shade of green that made the black and white of the page instantly brighten. He looked upon the book and felt a burden suddenly released. But he did not stop. With the magical crayon he coloured the barks and branches of every tree in delicate browns and the leaves ranging from willow greens to autumn reds and sun-burnt yellows. And with each new colour, the black and the white became more beautiful.
He coloured the sky an azure blue and the clouds in a whispery white. He coloured the petals of every flower in many wonderful colours, lilac pink, velvet purple and saffron yellow. He coloured the rivers, the seas, the oceans in sapphire and aquamarine blues, turquoise and emerald greens.
He coloured the animals in their furs, wools and skins. The birds and butterflies were splashed with every colour he dreamed of and the fish, the corals and the reefs in a kaleidoscope of boundless energizing colours. He painted the night sky in midnight black with dots of glowing, sparkling, twinkling whites and the moon in a glorious grey. And the book, still with its black and white page, under the sky began to dazzle.
And finally, he drew in the air the emotions and feelings of the people in this world. He coloured them simultaneously in peaceful whites, disturbing blacks, melancholy blues, envious greens and raging reds. Lastly, he closed his eyes once more and painted on each person an invisible, incredible, indescribable colour.
He returned to the book with the page of black and white, closed it and placed it back where he found it in peace.
About me: Hi, Im a new blogger and author on Steemit. I am an orthopaedic surgeon but I love to write fiction and non-fiction. If you liked the story, please encourage me by messaging or following or upvoting as I go! Thank you so much!