I'll upload individual images of each of the six tomorrow, when I have more time. For now, I can't sit on this any longer.



Being as I am an artist, I have in my room markers. I have some thick, black pens which I use to delineate the edges of things, partitioning blank void into vision and meaning. But I also have a set of six pens in shades of grey. Where the black pens add clarity, the greys add dimension. The black has a single use, the greys have myriad. It's not hard to see that the grey pens have the upper hand in personality, so naturally, they are the ones I've selected to personify.



There are, as I said, six, and they are presented here in order from lightest to darkest. The furthest left is a very light shade, almost invisible. She is ethereal and fleeting, so light as to be almost indistinguishable from the rest of the page. Her presence is not seen, but is felt, one cannot always discern that she is there, but they are aware of the way she enriches the page. But her presence is rare. She only appears when the light is good and the mood is bright, and in the telling of a proper story, these moments are hard to come by. She sees so little of the world, and chooses to remove herself from it. This is not born of ignorance, nor bitterness, nor of the simple inability to remain focused. Because she is so rarely needed, she has few obligations, and few responsibilities.

The world has little need for her, and by this she is freed.

The next over is only just darker in shade than the one before, and for this, he is often seen with her. They go together, and exchange compliments as they bring life and vivid reality to the worlds through which they soar. But the tragedy of his life is that he is in love with her. He rarely appears separately from her, and is unremarkable when he does. She completes him, gives him meaning and gives his life promise. But he knows that he can never admit it. Were they ever to cross, to mix, and become one, each would lose the qualities that make them special. He would not mind so much, but he knows it would destroy her as well. He loves her too much for that. And so he lives his life by her side, their fates joined, but their hearts apart, dreaming that she'll come to him, and hoping against hope that she won't.

Next up sees the most action, because of the six, he's the greyest. He's overworked, and underpaid, and it stresses him out like you wouldn't believe. Drawn, tired, and running out of time, he sees too much use and needs a vacation. His butter is spreading thin, and every day he doesn't have to roll out of bed is a gift. He doesn't have time for idleness, like those before him- he's got work to do! He knows all his comrades-in-grey, but pays them little heed- he must be all across the page at once, managing every aspect of the world at once. His only salvation- the one thing that he can take solace in- is that he knows his job, though it may be slowly doing him in, is important. For when the six are called upon to add life and shape to a scene, he is the one who is relied upon the most.



The fourth is a standout among the group, even at a glance, for he is the only one who is not completely grey. And he flaunts the hell out of it- toting cans of spray-paint to graffitize unsuspecting subway cars, a sword to take on evildoers, and a feather in his hair (he can't wear a hat- it would mess up his hair). He dresses like a peacock and acts like a pirate, bringing to bear the full brunt of his sheer oddness on the world. When he shows up on the page, people take notice, and he brings something to the table that no one else can. He's confident, because he knows he can't be replaced- there is no one who can achieve quite the same effect he can. Nothing can stop him. The only one to whom he bows is his the youngest of the lot, for he knows she is the only one whose presence he cannot duplicate- or replace.

The fifth is something of an enigma. when at first she appears, she is dark, as dark as the black lines around which she charts her course. But once you pause, and watch her, she softens, and reveals an attitude not unlike that of her younger companion- brash and confident, but also tinged with a hint of morbidity, as evidenced by the skull-like makeup scheme she uses to adorn her face. She carries on a friendly rivalry with her cheerful, feather-sporting compatriot, sparring verbally and doing battle for supremacy upon the page. But, like their two youngest friends, they function best as a pair, side-by-side. The difference being, they have yet to learn that.

And thus it comes full circle with number six- not even truly the darkest of the lot, but certainly the gloomiest. Though the fifth is, technically, darker, her shade carries a hint of other colours, and her verve and spirit are undeniable. The sixth is not only dark, but plain, and that makes him the gloomiest of the lot. He is like the first, so rarely needed, but unlike her, he cannot understand why. The best stories are full of darkness, and fear, and sadness, and he is so ready to provide, and yet, none reach for him. He would be so perfect, in so many scenes, but he never gets his shot. And so, he becomes an echo chamber. Uncertain of his own worth, he begins to doubt. And that doubt makes him more uncertain, and so he doubts further. So it goes until he is dripping from a rainstorm of his own creation, his silent punishment for his own perceived failure.

The world has little need for him, and it's killing him.

They will not be like this forever. The first, each time she touches the page, will risk being stained by the pitch-black ink whose edges she must skirt. And each time, she will lose some of her shine, and that much more of the light will go from her eyes.

The second will see this happening, and will desperately try to overcome his fear, and may embrace her in a bid to regain that which has been lost, to bring back some of the life into her eyes. And in doing so, they will lose a bit of themselves. But they may yet be saved, because they will gain something sublime- a bit of each other.

The third will probably be the first to go. His lifestyle simply can't be supported, and he knows it. The stress will eventually be too much, and he will simply sputter out. But he will go down fighting, doing what he loves, and when he finally drops, he'll go down happy, because he made a difference.

The fourth and fifth, well, who can say? Their kind, the idealists, reality's swashbuckling bastards, never truly die. For every day they are around, a song will be on someone's lips, and for every day they are gone, a lump in someone's throat. Their lives are unpredictable, joyous celebrations of the finest in life, and when they do disappear from this world, it will be in a splash of colour and glory, profound sadness but joy that they were, however briefly, there.

And as to the sixth, his is the perfect irony. For he too, will pass from this world. He may yet outlast all his siblings, and stand alone on the interface of reality and fiction. But the more he fades, the more he will realize that his life has not been without purpose, and that, in spite of the fears, and the sadness, and the darkness, he too had a role.

For though the best stories are full of the dark, and the cold, and the fear, it is rare that the depths of such things are truly plumbed. But when they are- ah, there is something special. There is the purest moment wherein the audience forgets their world, and joins the six on the page.

That is his role.

And as he fades, he will realize his role has been fulfilled. And in that moment, he will finally know peace.

They won't last forever. But for now, they are young, and sometimes that's enough.