The Boy Who Cried Right.

This story begins, like many do, in a far away town in a land somewhat unknown. The center of this tale is our hero, a little boy by the name of Nell. This boy was devoid of race, for his skin was neither black nor white, neither brown nor tan. Instead, he was made of the finest porcelain, a very light stony-grey color, his complexion flawless and pristine. He was not alone in his appearance; all the men and women and boys and girls of his village were composed of the same perfect element.



The village would, to us, seem particularly unique in its existence; not only was race excused, but color seemed abundantly absent altogether! The whole world, as it was known, a grey-style wonderland, equipped with a unique spectrum of charcoal pallets and smoky tinted skies. The bleakly hue-less roads were made of dirt, and the buildings made of simple grey wood with grey paint and grey windows. Blixx was the name of the town, and as far as anyone knew, this was the whole wide world. Not a single resident of the area had left in the whole history of time.

When Nell was very young, he had once asked his mother, “Mum, what lies beyond the Chardrop Hills? There must be something behind them!” His mother gave a small laugh and smiled at her son.

“I’m afraid not, dear. Blixx is all there is, and all there will ever be.”

Nell was never convinced, but he continued to live out his life as all the other normal children. Still, his mind did wander. During school, when they were told to draw pictures of their favorite things, Nell would sketch elaborate pictures of a fantasy world: flying machines and strange looking creatures with four, six, or even eight legs; fields of flowers and lakes of water, all portrayed behind the hills he knew so well.

The Teacher did not want to stifle poor Nell’s creativity, so she grudgingly allowed these portraits to be hung on the wall with the others. However, after Nell’s fourth year in school, when the pictures didn’t stop, they brought in the child’s parents and insisted on an intervention.

“Miss, your son draws these pictures continuously. Every year they get more elaborate and bizarre, and frankly they cannot be allowed.” The Teacher held up a paper. On it was drawn a group of people with wild hair holding spears and round balls that they appeared to be throwing over the hills.

“Those are the Marketeer Men!” Nell cried in excitement, giddy to tell his tales. “They’re a tribe of natives from beyond the mountains. They wage war with anyone who’s hair looks different from theirs. They invented fire, and those balls in their hands are booms. They light them on fire and the booms explode and fire goes all over! Sometimes they just throw them in the air, for fun, and they explode into pretty shapes. That’s how come we have fire in our fireplaces now. Didn’t you even wonder where it came from?” Nell’s smiled wide.



Nell’s mother sighed. The Teacher sighed.

The Teacher held up another image. This one had a small, bullet-shaped contraption with wings and windows. The tip was pointy and there was fire blazing at the bottom. On the top of the page was scribbled dark gray with little spots left white, a rendition of the stars.

“That’s a rocket,” said Nell. “It flies into space, up into the stars and flies around and around until you’re explored everywhere there is!”

“Nell, stop this instant! That’s quite enough!” snapped his mother. “I’ve told you once, twice, and again. There is no where beyond Blix. You can look all around you, but there is nothing else to be found!”

Nell was told to be quite and not draw such silly pictures ever again. For the next few days, he said nothing. No hello to his mother, no hello to the Teacher, no words to his friends on the playground. His little porcelain head hung low and he swung on the swings, his hair waving dismally in the wind.

One day at dinner, his family was setting the table when there was a knock at the door. Nell was instructed to answer it. He slumped out of his chair and, with his droopy head still drooping, he shuffled over to the ash-colored door.

“Hello Nell!” He looked up, confused. He had never had a visitor before. It was the Teacher’s daughter, Marabelle. “Do you want to come out and play?” She smiled.

“No thank you,” he said, finally uttering his first sentence in weeks. “I have to eat dinner now.”

“But wait!” Nell began to shut the door, but the girl stopped him sharply. She leaned in close, and whispered secretively, “I want to talk to you… about your drawings.”

Nell’s very grey mouth cracked a grin, and his very grey eyes lit up.

Soon they were walking down the dirt road. They passed the bakery, they passed the schoolyard, they passed the bookstore; until finally they stopped at a field right at the foot of the Chardrop Hills.

“I saw the drawings you made. I used to just laugh when I saw them, because they were so different and silly. You’re very creative. Unlike the rest of us…” She paused, and picked up a blade of grass. First one. Then two. Then more. “Every day I take a walk here, near the hills. But this morning, without realizing it, I walked further than usual. And I saw something… beautiful. Something that I… I knew I’d seen before. And then I remembered, you drew it!” She laughed.

Nell smiled. He was confused, but immensely curious. “Show me?”

Marabelle started running, still carrying her blades of grass. “Follow me!” she shouted. She ran and ran and ran. The sky was light today, and the trees rustled their achromatic leaves. Nell ran and ran and ran. Until finally, they stopped.

Marabelle pointed her finger, standing with elevated poise. Nell traced the line her finger made in his mind, and found himself staring at the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen.

It was a flower, but not just any flower. It was a rose, red and bright and blooming. The stem was a brilliant color of emerald.



Emerald.

Green.

Red.

Beyond the endless grey and never-ending drab, there was a speck of color and life.



Nell reached down to feel the flower, stunned. The reflection of the rose in his eyes burned red and scorching. Just as his finger touched the stem, he jumped back again in horror. “Ow!” he yelled! The tricky thorns had cut him! He looked down at his finger, and noticed that there was a cut. And out of that cut bled ruby blood. It was a poignant gesture. A gift from the rose to him. He didn’t understand.

Every day after that, Nell went back to the rose and pricked himself. The cuts no longer hurt. The pain was well worth the curiosity and wonder. He had been right! There was more to the world than Blixx! But this wasn’t enough. He needed to find more.

Some days, Nell would bring Marabelle with him to the rose. They would sit together for hours, looking at the blood drop resting on his finger, contemplating the complex hue and wondering, “What for?”

One happy day, Nell had an idea. He drew up one of his infamous pictures and showed Marabelle his plan. It was a picture of the rose, and a boy and girl with shovels, digging and digging deep into the earth.

That night, the children snuck into their parent’s tool shed and found two hand shovels.

Dig. Dig. Dig. Shovel. Shovel. Shovel. Sweat. Sweat. Sweat.

The two dug and dug and dug for hours. Every speck of dirt that they unearthed was just as miraculous as the rose: a dark chocolately brown hue pouring out of the ground.

After another hour of digging and digging, the children were about to give up on their plan, when suddenly Nell screamed out!

“Look look!” Brown, murky, yet colorful, he struck water. They dug further, adrenaline and excitement flooding their insides. Water! Water, and more water! All brown, then clear, then blue.

Before they knew it, they had unearthed a full lake, swarming with funny little creatures like the ones in Nell’s drawings! Little swimmers with fins and gills; squiggly worm-like beings that slithered and snaked; hopping hoppers, green and slimy.



Without thinking, Nell ran to the village, and yelled, “Come everyone! Come over here! I’ve found more! There’s so much more!” He rang the town bell and beat on the town’s doors. He ran and yelled and hopped and danced! Finally, everyone in the town was outside, muttering and whispering and groaning, and following Nell to the lake, where Marabelle was still standing in awe.

“Look everybody! It’s all real! There’s more. And it’s so pretty…” The muttering of the crowd got louder as everyone was trying to comprehend the beautiful sight before their eyes.

After this moment, the town began to reform. All the young children grew up to become scientists and explorers, seeking to find everything that Nell had drawn in his pictures. Painters used crushed flower pedals and tree bark from the new colored area to show the world as it truly was and should be. They began to paint their faces, using a white base on their skin, red on their lips and cheeks, and beautiful purple shades above their eyes. They colored their hair, so many shades! Red, yellow, pink, blue.

The people of Blixx became creatures of color. Nell sat back in his chair as an old man, smiled, and simply said, “I told you so.”