The Magic Orange Line

The Magic Orange Line



The child drew a little line. So straight, so clear and so bright orange that the little line started to come alive. It started to move its puny body, thrashed itself back, and then with a push became lose from the white paper.
-- Where is my beginning? Asked the little line twisting itself in the air.
The little line looked so silly! Snaking and jumping up in the air first with one end and then with the other end since it had no head.
The child started laughing hysterically, seeing the little orange line so confused and silly. And finally catching it between the two fingers, laying it back on the sheet of paper, with the blue pencil, the child drew a point in one end of the little orange line. Incredibly happy now, the little orange line with a blue dot jumped up again this time confident of her looks.  
-- How beautiful is my head! I'm beautiful! I'm beautiful! Where's a mirror? I want to see myself in the mirror!

-- Here it is!  The child pulled a little round mirror from under the table.

The child was in awe of how beautiful and how sensible she had been able to draw the little line.

-- Yeah, yeah, yeah! I am a very attractive little line. But you know what? I need a little red ribbon, just to make me look finished. What do you say? So  that I could look amazing, could you add around my skinny neck a red silk bow? Maybe even with little green polka dots, that would be great! Faster, faster! Give me my ribbon!- The very impatient and  now slightly disobedient  little line demanded of the child who  picked up the  red pencil and colored a little beautiful  bow  . Then, with the green crayon she dropped green small splats on it. She  couldn’t stop laughing at how silly and alive the little orange  line with a red bow and green spots she drew all by herself looked now ,. But aside from this, however, the little line started to act   very affected and selfish. It could not stop praising   its beauty as if no other line like that existed. It kept looking in the little round mirror, turning and curling its neck beautified by the red ribbon, shacking its fragile little body in frenzy.

-- Have you seen a head so pretty as mine? Asked the line pointing with the  corner towards the child.

-- Of course I did.  Anyone can have such a head! The child cut it short, slightly aggravated by such self-importance a little drawn line could exhibit

        The little line was cute and all, but she had drawn it on a piece of paper and so could any other child draw any line, equally of more playfully cute.
The child ruffled her own hair with her hand and then raised herself up from the seat so that her black shiny hair formed a little crown on top of her head, easy to be seen:
-- What do you say? Do you love my head?

-- Mm ... yes, the little line admitted with half a voice.

Indeed, the Child looked really cute and the little orange line was forced to admit it.

-- But I don’t see a red bow around your neck with green polka dots.

The child went looking feverishly through all the drawers   where she knew ribbons were kept, but was not able to find one anywhere. How well would she look with a red silken ribbon! She didn’t really care that much for the silken bow but she really wanted to cut down the bossines the little line was suddenly sporting.

-- Hahahaha!! The little line laughed looking at the puzzled child.

And suddenly in those magic times of perception, the Child suddenly had an idea. Very frustrated, she picked up the eraser   and, with tears in her eyes, she erased the little obnoxious line. In a few moments, the sheet of paper became white. Only one blemish on the paper easily reminded her that there used to be something there before, and she was the only one who could tell it was a wicked little line.
The child grew up. One day she remembered the life of the little line she drew  and she suddenly missed that high pitched voice it upset her with so many years ago. She picked up an orange crayon and a white sheet where she drew a line. The line remained lifeless on the white paper. She tried another one again, and again. She filled dozens of sheets with a lot of little lines in all colors. Pointless. Each line was quiet and well behaved. The naughty little line will never be alive again...


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Short Story
writing atlantis
Sometimes it feels good not having to explain
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