Mary Crutchfield // Woodford County

     In an instant, in the beginning of infinite thought, a Story was born. Deep in the recesses of man’s collective thoughts, notions, and ideas, sprung from Creativity’s chaotic heart, Curiosity's seeking mind, and Delight’s carefree smile, came the wee, newborn thing.

     Story came to life, and blinking its eyes open everything came into focus. Its body was an explosion of colors and scenes instantaneously flashing by; all hot reds, oranges, and golds depicting sweltering deserts, and sharp blues with blinding whites covering a vast lake. Words from all different languages seamlessly covered its body. Story’s eyes burst with excitement and adventure, and its tail was long, flicking lazily like a fat, tabby cat.  

     Creativity, Curiosity, and Delight looked upon this manifested thought, Story, with pride. They preened and poked out their chests, and they decided to raise Story themselves. They fawned over Story, and the longer they were with it, the more their pseudo-parental influence brought Story to life.

When Story was fully formed and out of the hellish pubescent stage of development, it journeyed out of Deep Thought for the first time. Story passed subconscious Dreams and took a glimpse at Id, the notorious high maintenance member of Thought Trio. The other, more agreeable members, Ego and Superego worked on different floors. Story kept on flying through until it took a right at Human Emotion, just as Curiosity said to do. The angular porthole with the words, “Auris Passage,” inscribed above, was right where they said it would be. Then, with a slight hesitation, Story ventured out.

The landscape was foreign to Story. Dreadful and gray, there was nothing but existence. Story saw lifeforms that were hunched, dreary figures who blended in with their colorless surroundings. They slugged their way through the sad, dirty sludge of work, responsibility, and hate on the ground. Story was saddened by the sight.

     A deep sense of purpose filled Story. A change was in order. Story felt the need to save these strange lifeforms from this killing boredom churning restlessly in their guts. Story flitted along, unnoticed by all, until it came upon one sad figure, isolated from the rest. Story saw this lifeform was much smaller than the others, and its color was more white than grey. Perplexed by the small form, Story wondered at its uniqueness.

     Story noticed that the smaller the lifeform, the more white they were. The whitest were so small they were carried around in basket-like containers. Story remembered its mission and zoomed up to one of the gray forms. It whispered its most favorite, compelling tale in the lifeform’s ear, and Story watched as the grey color began to unattach from the figure like sticky gum. The slime-like substance had barely lifted off the lifeform before snapping stubbornly back into place.

     Story was disheartened. He started to move away when in the corner of his eye he saw a flash of color. One of the small white figures had pigments splashed on him like paint on a blank canvas. The life form’s face held the beginnings of childlike joy. Story rushed over and began to tell the figure its best tales, full of grand adventures and impossible feats. Story’s tales were absorbed by the form until there was not a space left without color.

     The now colorful lifeform was a small child, not yet affected by the awful grey of reality. Story realized that the impressionability of these budding forms were susceptible to any type of influence, whether good or bad. Without anyone or anything to counteract the grey of this world, these lifeforms became empty and cold: the only thing they had ever known.

     Story spread his tales all over the world and brought color to every figure possible. Those who were told stories of great avalanches, fresh snow, and red roses became peach skinned, while those he told of rich earth and sweeping jungles became a chocolatey brown. In addition, those who heard of fierce dragons and ebony black as night became yellow toned, and those who listened to tales of exotic spices and cerulean waters became the color of warm coffee. Each figure, unique in color, passed on the tales they were told, generation by generation, and thus the colors they had received.

The world that was once fully encased in grey slowly became vibrant with color until the morbid place it used to be was forgotten by all. Story’s tales continued to keep the ever-pressing grey from creeping back into the world, while bringing color and life to all.