In a little white house in the green, green woods lived a little pink girl with deep brown hair, and all the colors loved her.
In the morning rosy glowing gold reached through her window and woke her gently. Brown and black and white bounded in together on four feet to lick her hand, while green and red and yellow and blue sprang up in the garden to offer her food. All day long she played on brown and green, while blue looked on with a glowing yellow smile and reached out a sparkling aqua hand to wash away her tears when she tumbled and fell. At evening orange and purple gloriously fought for the right to tuck her in, and fluffy white cuddled her close until purply black came to sing her sleep.
Life was bright and happy in the little white house, and even small hurts were a part of the friendly flow of days as red met pink and was soothed by green and blue.
Still, small hurts are only a preparation for big ones, and it is the way of life to bring big hurts when we least expect them. And so it was for the little pink girl, who ran out of the green woods one day to find the little white house engulfed in angry orange and red, while a billowing gray blackened the blue above to a dingy color she had never seen. With wide eyes she watched as the orange and red fought, and when their war was over, the little white house was gone, and in its place was a pile of grayish black that was no color at all. This same non-color covered over the red and the yellow and the blue of the garden, and even the green had clothed itself in mourning brown.
Her brilliant, lovely world was gone, and the little pink girl felt lost. For a long while, she wandered about her old home, the only living color in a drab, lifeless landscape. Then she sat down on the hard, gray earth and cried brilliant tears, which ran pink and blue down her lovely face but fell colorless onto the dull ground. At last, unable to bear the loneliness any more, the little pink girl crept quietly into the green woods, deep into the green woods where she burrowed into warm brown and let the blackish purple steal over her and close her eyes in forgetful sleep for a while.
In the morning, the gold could not get through the tangle of leaves and branches, and so it was a pale dappled green that woke her to her new life. The little pink girl set about living, finding sustenance among the gray and brown that were all that could grow in these shadows. She wandered quite a ways, in fact, and found that everything seemed gray and brown, as if the same non-color that covered her beautiful garden had also coated her own eyes, and even her old friend green and her constant comforter blue were washed out to pale imitations of themselves. Without a home, she wandered day after day, searching for the colors she once knew, and night after night she returned to the brown to cry tears of a brilliancy that she could not see.
Still, unseen things are as real as the things we see, and the tears did their work very well, washing away a bit more gray each night and giving the little pink girl eyes that could see a bit better each day. So it was that one day, as she wandered through the shadowy green, the little pink girl saw a glimmer of gold ahead. With a tiny cry, she stumbled forward and burst into a clearing in the trees, a clearing she had never seen before and did not know was there, a clearing that was filled with golden light.
The shimmering gold glimmered off the living green all around and played over the rosy pink and glowed among the deep brown, and green and gold and pink and brown were the only colors to be found, and for that moment they were enough.
For everyone knows that where color lives, more color will come, and that is something that little pink girls, who carry the colors inside themselves, can always count on.