Life hates me.

It absolutely hates me, and I remember every moment of my existence. “Inanimate” objects, as you people call us, have the best memories in the world.

I remember being melted and poured into a form. My “conception”, if you will.

I remember being clothed for the first, and last, time. I still have the same boring paper wrapper that I did twenty years ago.

I remember being tossed into a giant container full of other crayons the same color as me. It was amazing how well we all got along…

Then, like a cruel joke, I was shipped down into a smaller container full of differently colored crayons! Not a single one was like me! It was horrible! I was misunderstood, yelled at for being depressing, and, worst of all, I was called uncolorful.

Do you know what an insult that is to a crayon?! UNCOLORFUL !

Since that day, I’ve suffered the same abuse…

Worst of all, my existence is utterly pointless. Who uses me? No one! Why color with a crayon that doesn’t have a color?

Life hates white crayons…