Broken Blue Crayons.
Crying. Screams. Everything is happening at once and he can't stand it. Instead of clinging to his mother's skirt, as so many do, he walks over to a desk in the corner.
Next to him is a boy about his age. He is calm and collected and scribbling on some paper as fringe falls into his eyes.
"Whatcha' doin'?" Usually, he would be scolded for such inappropriate grammar but his mom is too busy flirting with one of the other daddies, and he doesn't care enough to correct himself.
"Drawing." The answer is short and the kid doesn't even lift his head.
"Why?"
"Because the teacher said I should while we wait for all the other kids to stop crying."
"Oh." And he wishes that he had thought of something like that.
"Roger." Paper is pushed under his nose. He smiles back.
"Mark." There is silence except for the occasional cries of the other children and the scribbling of crayon.
When Mark's crayon breaks, he can feel the tears sting his eyes because, he was so stupid, stupid, and pressed too hard, and his dad was right, he is useless.
But then, a crayon is placed on his paper. It's indigo, not blue like the one he was using. And Roger is smiling, trying to apologize with his eyes, because he doesn't have a blue crayon.
Mark smiled.
Years later, there is a paper weakly attached to a fridge that doesn't even work. It's a picture of a blue heart. Except, half of it is painted indigo. While his parents ask why he would want to keep such a strange picture, when there are plenty that are colored the same color, he insists on that one.
And like he did so long ago, before everything happened, and his life crashed before his eyes, Mark smiled.
A/N: Thought it sucked balls? Tell me about it. Review.
Disclaimer: Don't own.
