A Red Crayon
Micro Fiction
“The bloody knife can’t paint, and the red crayon can’t kill. Aren’t you aware of that?” the chief quoted and left the question hanging.
“I don’t understand,” I mumbled.
“Your tactical plan to launch the survivors to face the war front and the fighters to guard the check-post won’t work,” the chief hissed.
“But it will work. I can explain,” I protested.
“There are no buts. It won’t work.” the chief was stubborn. There was a long pause. All the while, I looked straight into the chief’s eyes. He clicked his tongue and continued, “Okay. If you prove me wrong, I’ll approve your plan. The bloody knife can paint at least an abstract art, but a red crayon can’t kill even a bug.”
“It can. A sharp crayon can,” I asserted.
“Mike, it ain’t a pencil to be sharp enough,” the chief hypothesized.
“The red crayon may be blunt, but the survivor can hit the right spot. Try to see the blind spot in the vacant space chief,” I persuaded.
The chief thought for a while and replied, “I can’t agree. Still, your confidence challenges me. I’m approving your plan, staking my career. Keep your words, Mike.”
I nodded, gripping the broken red crayon in my palm.
©Anitha Sankaran 2020
