colorless colors

The inclement weather was ubiquitous. The wind was howling among hapless tress without cessation, it was determined to debacle everything even that antiquated chamber which stood in that lackluster milieu. There was an archaic desk in the corner of the chamber, on which there was a color pencil box in which a turmoil was going on_ a rift among pencils. Their voice was getting louder and louder.

And now the blue pencil voice was audible; “I am the sign of sincerity, so I must be the leader.” “The sign of sincerity? What are you talking about? There is no sincerity these days, and you are talking about its sign?” commented the yellow one. There was an ominous silence, till the black pencil broke it;” Your colors always change but mine is steady so I deserve the prerogative.” “Nowadays everything is unstable, right is wrong, and wrong is right, merit is nothing, and nothing is merit. How can you rationalize your being constant?” retorted the yellow one.

Now, it was the brown pencil’s turn to speak, and he started talking vehemently. ”you all have forgotten the happiness, I can revive it, thus, I am the only person suitable for being the potentate.” “Making gold out of garbage is much easier than reviving happiness in this miserable society.” Said the yellow one. During this ferment the rest were silent, and the pandemonium was quenching, as though, everyone was waiting for the white pencil who was absent to emerge and fix the problems.