Burnt Umber

The radical red sunglow cast strange shadows upon the mountain meadow as inchworms raced across electric limes. The knight from the wild blue yonder finally reached his destination, deep in the heart of the Purple Mountain’s majesty. Scanning his surroundings with screamin’ green eyes, he quickly found the beast he had been searching for. Brink pink scales melded into torch red limbs, and right above the hauntingly unmellow yellow eyes was the unmistakable symbol of the Purple Heart. Behind him, amongst the tickle me pink carnations and the razzle dazzle roses was the princess, dressed in royal purple. Green eyes met yellow and the dragon let loose a breath of mango tango flames. With a bittersweet smile, the knight braced himself and the world around him started to blur.

Nick blinked as he noticed his glasses threatening to fall off the tip of his nose. Curling his hand into a loose fist around his crayon, he used one chubby finger to push the eyewear back to its proper location. He looked down at the paper in front of him and giggled, satisfied with his waxy masterpiece. The familiar urge to show it to someone swelled within him. Spying his older sister reading a magazine (she had once called it “Gothic Lolita”), he left his position on the carpet and walked over to her. He held up the picture in front her for what seemed like ages, but she never looked up from her periodical. “Mary! Look it!” he said in his childish voice.

She glanced over the top of her magazine and responded with a monotone “Wow.”

He beamed. “I used the crayons Santa brought me for Christmas last year. They’re almost gone, though.” He held up the crayon still contained in his small hand for her inspection. “Do you think he’ll bring me more this Christmas?”

“I’m sure he will,” she muttered as she went back to reading. Nick clutched his drawing against his chest and sat next to her. Glancing at her magazine, he noticed the strange clothes people were wearing. “Why are they dressed like that?”

“Like what?”

He pointed at a photograph. “Like that.”

Mary gazed at the portrait of a teenage girl dressed all in white. Her dress was modeled after a young girl’s, complete with lace, frills, and ribbon. Knee-high stockings rose out of her platform Mary Janes. “It’s called the Lolita fashion,” she began, “It’s very popular in Japan.”

“Why?”

“Because-” She paused, trying to find the right words to explain. “Because Japan values innocence. And children represent it.” She looked at her brother and saw a pair eyes giving her a confused stare from behind round glasses. She sighed and set the magazine aside before ruffling his sandy hair. “Why don’t you tell me more about your picture?”

Nick instantly abandoned his confusion and held his picture in front of them. “This,” he began, pointing at a grey blob, “is a knight who traveled all over the world in search of the princess,” he moved his finger to a shapeless mass of purple, “and the dragon who stole her.” This time he gestured at an inchoate clump of Technicolor wax.

Mary blinked a bit. That was a dragon? A quick glance at her brother’s face explained it all. What else could it have been? She smiled. “So why did the dragon steal the princess.” With a determined expression, Nick retrieved the rest of his crayons and paper and she watched as the story unfolded before her.