One Wax Crayon

It was just a normal school day for the kids in Reception. It wasn't raining so there was no wet play, so and I sat on a bench as usual watching the three and four year olds play. And I would intervene if any trouble arose which very rarely did.

I liked being in the playground as I got to watch the kids play and I loved that. I loved the way they had high spirits and were optimistic and enthusiastic about everything. Them being happy about the smallest things and being sad about the biggest things was such an inspiration to me. They kind of help me go through my own life when I remember the way that they take on the world and how I should embrace the world with open arms and speak up for myself when there's something I don't like.

So every weekday when I go to work, and I would sit on a bench as usual, oh I already said that, and I would watch the kids play and I liked watching them play as I liked the way they interacted. Despite not having anything substantial to talk about with the children, they would always find a way to talk to me about the latest tv programme or tell me about something that just happened in the playground and laughing about it and I would too. I love my job. I can't tell you what the worst day I've had so far there but I can tell you about the time I didn't like watching one of this kids. There was one boy in particular who did something, it wasn't bad, it was good, but I just didn't like it. I can't like everything kids do I suppose.

 

A couple of months ago, Miss Strawfield decided to give the class big wax crayons to play with on the playground so they each got a wax crayon. After arguing about getting their favourite colours, they had alot of fun with the crayons. I watched them be more noisy and run around the playground more than usual. Three kids were clever by creating something with a proper use, a longer hopskotch, and a circle for den in tig. It was quite funny watching someone trying to draw around their shadow and then getting their friend to do it.

 

After the excitement of the crayons died down, there was still someone who found it fascinating. The boy was still drawing things long after everyone had finished and got bored of it.

He was drawing some super amazing magnificent wickedest thing and nobody had no idea what it was. Everyone apart from him was in the playground having their fun and he was having his. I wouldn't call it fun. I know what I would rather be doing.

 

When everyone stopped he was still drawing nonsense. The playground was already full of scribble and spirals that the other kids had done and all he was doing was adding more scribbles and spirals to the scribbles and spirals. What was the point? It must have meant alot to him as he was spending alot of time doing it but I surely wasn't interested. I didn't sit here so I could see anyone's amateur drawings.

 

There he was drawing his nonsense on the playground that didn't make any sense. I don't know what he was doing. I just know that he looked possessed. The crayon was controlling him. That's when I stopped watching him in the playground.

 

The next day he was still there still drawing with his wax crayon, still drawing his nonsense. I don't know what he was doing. I felt kinda sorry for him knowing that he wasn't really socialising with anyone, just him being in his own world.

 

I remember when there was a supply teacher and she saw him playing by himself through the window and she came out and asked me if he was autistic. I said no and she looked confused and went back inside.

 

A couple of weeks later, I noticed that instead of drawing nonsense he started drawing blueprints. They mostly had letters and numbers on them. Sometimes he would draw grids and sometimes he would draw shapes. And he would put letters and numbers into the grids and shapes.

 

This boy was very clever for his age. He could spell every word he wanted to spell in class except for biscuits. He would always miss out the u or get two letters mixed up. When it was time for maths, he would race, not race he's not my age, he would go through the worksheet of adding and subtracting numbers up to ten and complete three worksheets in half an hour and get very little questions wrong. Maybe he's more clever than me.

Now it was just getting ridiculous for me? Was this boy ever going to go back to playing with his friends? He had a best friend who I'm sure missed him but it didn't seem like he existed to him for the whole while that the boy was drawing on the ground. He must have been drawing some fantasy world using his imagination or something.

 

When I watched him draw his blueprints, I had no idea what was going through his head. He was the only one in the playground still with a crayon and days later he was still drawing his mind thoughts. I just thought that he was doing his own personal private business like when people disassemble technology.

He became wrapped up in his fantasy world while the world around him were aware of what was truly going on. When an aeroplane flew up in the sky, he was the only one who didn't notice it when everyone else stopped what they were doing to look at it.

 

I later noticed that his drawings became more of something I was more able to grasp. He drew a maze onto the ground which had many corners. He drew faces that, no people who were made out of shapes. I finally realised all that time, what he was doing. He was planning and drawing games. He also drew other games but I didn't know how they worked. I'm sure if I was to ask him, he would tell me.

 

I took back and I think the teacher did too, back all the times we thought he was weird or in his own world. He was actually creating games that he could share with the class.

 

A time came when he actually finished doing what he was doing. He glared at his masterpiece and walked around the playground with happiness and satisfaction.

He had the same type of answer from everyone he asked to play and translating their limited speech, body language and envy, what was meant sounded very much something like this.

 

Would you like to play a game? What game is it? A game I drew on the playground. No, I want a go on the last crayon. You've had it for a week so I want to create my own game.

Author's Note

I didn't like the story idea and I only came up with it as my brother's friend said that I could be in an anthology of conceptual short stories that me and 4 others are doing. Conceptual stories are not my thing.

I'm going to write a 2nd version of this, and it will be written in the viewpoint of a narrator, and will have a different slant.

Reviews

[Desert Dreamer]

Amazing what a kid can do with a crayon. Your story is interesting.

[Angie Diane♥&hea..]

I think this is good. I liked it. It wasn't really a bad story. Thanks for sharing. :)