A Purple crayon streaks its way across the bright surface, unsure of its destination. Like a confused, metal ball in a well lit machine, the crayon spends its time bouncing back and forth between black walls that cannot be crossed lest the master be scolded. Purple does as they all try, and obeys the aimless orders to prance this way and that, scratching itself onto the porous surface that they all live for, and will hopefully find their death upon.
It is better that way than the fate of the green, who didn’t obey, and went outside those black walls, angering the master. Green was snapped straight in half, and dropped into the giant crayon box with the banana peels and the broken toys, where all things disappear. The giant box smells like the crap box, and none of them want to disappear into a place like that. So far it has been only green and yellow that were subjected too that end, the latter of which forgot to return home, and tried to warm itself in the sunlight. Some have said that yellow was only trying to see if it was being used properly. The next day however, both the master and yellow were scolded. Some of yellow can still be seen embedded in the red of the soft, long master’s chair to this moment. From all accounts, however, most of yellow was terrible to look upon that fateful day.
On that account, purple crayon continues, leaving parts of itself behind, growing smaller, and less useful all the while. There may be no reason for its wear, but purple goes toward this end as an alternative to the giant box with all the ferocity of the master’s quick commanding.