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That Kid Named CRAYON!
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Twilight adjusts the rear view mirror from the front seat of his blue Mercedes van. Glancing up at the rearview mirror; gaze hidden behind shades, he subtly checks on Crayon’s condition, taking care not to make him uncomfortable.
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As he does, he catches a glimpse of the boy’s left eye. The moment is fleeting, but the sadness in Crayon’s gaze doesn’t escape him. The weight of it lingers as his thoughts drift back to the conversation with Ms. Belle, the concern only deepening.
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MEMORIES:
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Ms.Belle: But today… he saw something.
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Her lips pressed into a thin line as she sank deeper into thought.
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And like flood waters, the moments rolled into view without holding its breath. One after another.
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At TLC; an orphanage Crayon once stayed at. Tariq and Twilight stand talking.
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Tariq: They say he sees things…
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Tariq handed a case file to Twilight. His eyes scan the document as Tariq continues to talk.
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Tariq: But, he never says what he sees. I… I don’t think he’s a bad kid, he’s suffering. And I hope we can help him. He’ll be in our prayers.
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Twilight nodded with silent understanding.
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Twilight: Thanks man
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They both clasped hands giving a guarded hug.
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And that from that moment rushed another, more recent.
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He stands in a class room with his co-worker, Mariana (Ma-ree-au-na). She has her arms folded, leaned against the white board. Concern and sadness written across her face.
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Twilight: What happened? he inquired.
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She stammered, then paused.
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Mariana: He saw something, but… he wouldn’t tell me what, he just got really upset and—
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She is consumed by sudden grief, holding in a cry; holding her lips tightly.
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Mariana: He yelled. He screamed.
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Her voice falls apart with every word.
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Twilight: Mariana…
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Her head collapses onto his chest.
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Mariana: I’m just worried about him…
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Present day, Twilight and Crayon sit across from each other in an office near a table. Crayon stares at him, his eyes narrow trying to read his intentions.
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Crayon: What do you want from me?
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Twilight: Tell me what happened.
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Earlier that day, Crayon had an outburst. He hadn’t told anyone what happened and why he reacted the way he did.
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Instead of answering Twilight he stares, silently.
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Twilight leans forward a little, gentle understanding. But determined.
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Twilight: What did you see? What have you been seeing?
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Triggered, he instantly gets up rushing off. But Twilight grabs ahold of him before he can get far.
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Crayon: Let me go! I’m not telling you! You won’t understand!
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Twilight: Hey. Listen, I will. You can tell me, we agreed to be friends, remember.
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Crayon: I told you I don’t have any friends and I meant it.
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Twilight: Not even Chalk?
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Crayon had to stop and think about it. Twilight lets out a small laugh.
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Crayon: No one else.
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Twilight: Fair enough.
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Silence comes between them. Crayon lowers his head. After a moment, he speaks.
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Crayon: I see—
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He gazes up peering through his wild strands of hair hanging over his left eye. He sees a girl, pretty, dark skinned, innocent; but undead, soiled in blood.
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Crayon: her.
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He erupts, tears streaming down his face, unsteady breathing.
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Twilight's brows furl with concern.
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Twilight: Her? … Who is she?
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Crayon: Crystal.
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Twilight: Who is Crystal?
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He pulls his notebook out of his backpack on the floor giving it to Twilight. It has drawings of the way he sees Crystal, haunted and bloody. He looks with intense concern.
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Crayon: It's this stupid demon eye!
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He impulsively tries to dig into his eye in an attempt to rip it out. Twilight quickly grabs his wrist, stopping him.
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Crayon: Let go!
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Twilight: Stop! Look, just look at me.” (he turns his head towards him) “Who is she? Who is Crystal? Why are you seeing her? What is she doing?
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Crayon: I don’t know… she’s my baby sister… she died… she died because of me. Because I couldn’t help her. She probably hates me now. She hates me…
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Twilight: No… No she doesn’t. It wasn’t your fault. You both got hurt didn’t you?
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Crayon: Yeah but—
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Twilight pulls him into a gentle embrace. And even if for a moment, he felt safe. His cry hushed just a little.
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Twilight: It’s gonna be okay… It wasn’t your fault.
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He puts his head down on top of his, eyes shut, bearing a heavy heart.
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Crayon stared blankly, confused.
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Twilight slowly lets go. Crayon refuses to look him in the eye, his head hung low.
He shakes his head.
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Crayon: Go ahead… (He looks up at him frowning.) Just send me away to another orphanage like everyone else does!
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The hurt in his eyes outweighed the façade of anger.
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He storms off, again; to no avail.
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This time, Twilight lifts him up by the back of his shirt and sits him down.
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Twilight: You’re not going anywhere Angel. You’re here to stay, got that?
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His voice is assertive, but full of compassion; his eyes matching.
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Crayon frowns.
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Crayon: My name is Crayon!
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Twilight stands walking over to a shelf. He pulls out a fresh black journal.
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Twilight: I know you miss Crystal… (walks back over sitting the journal and a pencil on the table) Do you ever wish there were things you could say to her, that never go to say?
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He twists the chair towards himself, sitting in it backwards resting his arms on the back of the chair.
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Crayon’s eyes become unsteady once more, he struggles to maintain, holding back a cry.
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Crayon: All the time… I—
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Twilight: Well, do you think Crystal went to Heaven?
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Crayon: (frowns) Of course! Where else would she go?! She— (looks away dropping his head down low) She’s not bad like me…
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Tears rain onto Crayons jacket. Twilight’s eyes narrow empathetically.
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Twilight: No, she’s good like you. (grabs his hand) And what you’re gonna do is… you’re gonna tell her everything…. Everything you always wanted to tell her. (Puts the pencil in his hand)
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Crayon: I can’t tell her… she’s gone… forever…
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Twilight flips open the journal.
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Twilight: You’re going to write her letter… Everything you want to tell her. And she’ll read it, she’ll see it… don’t you think she can see them from Heaven?
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Crayon stares at him for a moment quietly.
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Twilight lowers his voice, not quite a whisper; but low enough.
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Twilight: Write her a letter…
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Crayon: (barely above a whisper) This is stupid…
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Still, he begins to do as Twilight suggests. He begins to write a letter beginning with:
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“Dear Crystal,
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Twilight: Tell her everything, how you feel, how you miss her, what you’ve been through… everything you want to say.
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Writing; deliberate and steady now, Crayon continues. Twilight watches.
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He goes on, writing and writing. Spilling everything he bore for too long, onto the page, no longer empty.
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“I love you and I miss you. And I’m sorry I couldn’t help you when you needed me most. I wish I could have saved you. I wish I could have protected you. But I failed. I hope you don’t hate me. And that’s why you’re haunting me. Or maybe, I miss you so much, I’m losing it.
I can’t get it out of my head, the night I lost you Crystal. It sticks in my head and it won’t go away. Your face.”
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In a flashback, Crayon lay on the floor, drenched in a pool of blood — some his, some not. Across from him, a little girl with dark brown skin and chestnut eyes struggled to breathe. Gunshot wounds marked them both.
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With the last of his strength, he reached for her.
Crystal; his little sister, clasped his hand. Her grip was weak, but certain.
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They locked eyes. Just for a moment.
A moment that felt like forever.
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“I’ve never been the same Crystal. Ever since I lost you, it seems like I’ve run out of blessings. You have no idea what I’ve been through. Even at home, things only got worse. I mean I know mom doesn’t mean it but…
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Mommy became even more distant. I don’t blame her, because it was all my fault. I should’ve protected you Crystal. I’m sorry. I’m not a good big brother like I wanted to be. Because if I was, you would still be here. So I don’t blame her or you, I blame me.”
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Grief hung heavy in the air, as thick and unmoving as the grey clouds overhead. Mayana; a brown-skinned woman with chestnut eyes and wavy hair that fell to the middle of her back, wept into her hands, her shoulders trembling. Crayon knelt silently beside his mother, Mayana, unmoving.
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Behind them, Cecelia (Cissy) stood with her hands clasped tightly behind her back, staring blankly ahead. The sadness in her expression quiet and deep, the kind that drained everything from a face except stillness.
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Her skin was pale as snow, her eyes the color of a clear blue sky, and her straight, vanilla-blonde hair was tied back in a ponytail. All three were dressed in black, gathered in front of Crystal’s grave.
Mayana clasped her hands, gazing up at the sky. Her grief spilled out in ragged sobs as she cried out to the Lord.
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Mayana: Why, Lord? Why? Why did it have to be her? Why did you take my baby? (She lowered her head, sobs wracking her body. Her voice cracked, and in a trembling whisper.) Why...?
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Her two children stared at her, her grief weighing heavy on them. The boy looked away from her at the grave adorned with flowers before him.
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He had questions too—so many left unanswered. Some like hers. Some darker. But one clung to his chest like a stone.
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Why?
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His words hung in the air for several moments before he looked at his mother.
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Crayon: Why did they do this? Why did they hurt us?
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He survived that night, unlike little Crystal who succumbed to her injuries. His heart was heavy, he longed for comfort, for closure. Something he felt, but didn’t know the remedy to.
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His mother had been carrying too much for too long—a single mother shouldering the world while raising three children: an eldest daughter with autism, the pain that preceded her son’s birth, and now this—the loss of her baby girl. Something inside her gave way.
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She turned toward him, face twisted with anguish, but it wasn’t sorrow in her eyes—it was something colder.
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With a sharp gaze and a scowl, she snapped.
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Mayana: Why couldn’t it have been you?
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Crayon’s heart shattered into a million pieces at that moment. He was hurt, confused, overwhelmed by things he couldn’t understand. Tears spilled from his eyes like water from a broken fountain, beyond his control; a reaction to a pain too heavy to bear.
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He sucked in a shaky breath that caught in his throat before escaping as small, desperate sobs.
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Crayon: I’m sorry, Mommy! I wish it was me too!477Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡWI9fcxNwvM
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His last word stretched into a long, heartbreaking cry. He collapsed forward, head first onto the wet grass, overwhelmed by grief he couldn’t process.
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Mayana stared at her little boy, broken before her eyes. Her thoughts raced, but her face remained stern, blank, unreadable. Her coldness had frozen over completely.
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Cecilia’s eyes filled with grief and confusion. She knew her mother had gone too far, but she also felt for her little brother. With a look of disapproval, she called out sharply.
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Cissy: Momma!
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But her mother, no longer in control, whipped around and pointed a finger sternly at her.
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Mayana: You shut up!
Cissy flinched, blinking in shock.
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Mayana: I’m sick of this! (She stood abruptly.) I’m sick of all of this! From all of you!
With that, she stormed off through the cemetery, leaving her children behind.
Cissy hesitated, torn between following and staying. Her body froze, face heavy with sorrow. Then, she looked down at her little brother, collapsed on the ground, crying so hard he could barely breathe.
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She felt for him deeply and searched for words to comfort him, but none came.
Instead, she remained silent, standing there as the heavens began to weep with him.
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“Cissy became a big wreck. She didn’t like me just as much as everyone else Crystal.”
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Cissy is shoving his head making fun of him with her rowdy friends.
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“Mom didn’t throw parties for a while after you were gone. I think ‘cause of what happened last time she had one. But then she started up again. Did I tell you that’s how I got in my accident?
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Some of Mom’s punk-pack friends were hanging around and I guess they were bored or drunk or just jerks. I was walking home and a bunch of them — grown men — started messing with me. Real funny, huh? Picking on a little kid. I tried to ignore them, but they kept saying stuff and laughing. One of them shoved me into the street.
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That’s when the car hit me.”
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Crayon, no older than eight, gripped his backpack straps like armor as he made his way down the sidewalk toward home. Even from the corner, the music roared—so loud it rattled the windows, shook the trees, and seemed to pulse under his shoes.
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He walked fast but carefully, like someone trying not to be seen—hoping to pass through the shadows draped across the lawn and porch, where strangers laughed too loud and stared too long.
Just before he could step onto the lawn, shadows blocked his path. A group of guys—some barely older than kids, some old enough to be fathers—stepped in front of him, their laughter sticky and sharp. One leaned in too close, his breath sour with beer and something else.
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Punk#1: Hey little man, you lost?
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The rest cackled like it was the best joke they’d ever heard.
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Crayon froze. He clutched his backpack straps tighter. His heart thudded so loud he thought maybe the music could hear it too.
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Crayon: (muttering) Leave me alone…
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Something was wrong. He didn’t know what. But he felt it.
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Their eyes didn’t look right.
Their smiles weren’t real.
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Punk #1: (stepping closer) Nah, c’mon, we’re just playing. Where’s your mom, huh?
That’s when Crayon turned his head, heart thudding in his chest, and screamed as loud as he could—
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Crayon:MOMMY!!!
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They laughed.
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Punk #2: Ohh, you hear that?
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Punk #3: Little guy’s scared.
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Punk #1: (mocking) “Mommyyy!”
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One nudged him, just enough to make him stumble. Another grabbed at his backpack and let go like it was a joke.
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Crayon tried to break away, but their voices were getting louder, more mocking. He couldn’t tell if they were playing or something worse, but his body was frozen between running and collapsing.
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Then—
A push too strong.
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His feet scraped against the sidewalk, and he stumbled backward into the street.
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Headlights.
A horn.
A scream.
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Then nothing.
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Just darkness, pulsing and strange.
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“That’s how I lost my eye. I can’t see out of it anymore, and when I do… I don’t want to. The things I see they’re far from normal. Well my eye doesn’t even look normal anymore."
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Then—
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A voice, loud and far away but somehow right in his skull:
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ANGEL!!!
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His mother’s voice called out.
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When he opened his eyes, everything felt off.
Wrong.
Unreal.
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The faces above him—his mother, the punk men, a few others gathering—looked twisted. Their skin pale and warped, their smiles stretched too wide. Eyes glowing in odd ways. Like demons trying to wear human faces.
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Crayon’s body was shaking, scraped and bloodied. His left eye burned—a wet, stinging heat.
He reached up, dazed, and touched under it.
His fingers came back red.
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And as he blinked, everything on that side of his vision had turned tinted and strange.
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His reflection in a cracked car window showed it:
His left eye was glowing red, and the whites had darkened to black.
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He didn’t wait.
Didn’t speak.
He ran.
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He didn’t care where—just away from their voices, their eyes, their claws reaching for him.
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“They say it’s just Traumatic Optic Neuropathy that causes trauma-induced pareidolia.477Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡVxOl9CQTiJ
Haha. You’d probably freak out if you knew how many big words I’ve learned by now.
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Anyway, I don’t know what it really is, but it makes me look like a monster. I used to think it would go away. It would come and go, only flaring up sometimes, usually just to make one of my worst days get... well, worse. But now? I think it’s here to stay."
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Light shined in his eye as a doctor examined it. He winced in pain and pushed the flashlight away.
I think that’s the main reason people are scared of me. This inhuman eye. This big scar across my face like I’m Frankenstein.
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Not that I care. Nobody likes me either way. So, If I’m meant to be the underdog—the lone wolf—
So be it.
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He walked down the hallways of TLC, children stared, pointed, and whispered amongst themselves as he passed. He clutched his Zip plush tightly, hoping it’d shield him from the world.
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“And that’s how I ended up here. But to save you the dramatics, 'cause it’s a long story, I’ve been shuffled around for years, from place to place, like a stray mutt no one wants to call their own.
Now I’m here, who knows for how long.
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It's like transitional housing, except for kids. We’re all foster kids or orphans, but here, we don’t get adopted. We have our guardians and their job is to take care of us until our parents come and get us or in the worst case scenario we grow up and end up on our own.
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The Day Twilight & Crayon First Met:
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Twilight is the one who invited me after he saw how well I could draw."
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Twilight: How about you join my Art Club, The Youth Community Art Center (glances at Ms. Belle)477Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡqWsCxFqWrH
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Ms. Belle: Mmmmmmmmmmmmm (Her mood shifts as she turns all her attention to Angel) Is that what you want to do sweetie?
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Crayon: What is that? (tilts his head curiously)477Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡuwVm3Tz3vy
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Twilight: Well, it’s for kids like you, sort of a place like this. Except you get to do art… all day! (smiles)
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Crayon: All day? (his eyes light with excitement)477Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡEzKsQd5K2e
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Twilight: Well, almost… We have all sorts of art supplies, paper (whispers) You even get to draw on the walls! (laughs)
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That’s one thing I do like about this place, the art. Yeah and you remember that magic crayon, I still draw with it. I wish you could see all the stuff that I could draw now. Honestly, it makes all the loser kids amazed too. Sometimes I wonder why it chose me.
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All the kids watch as he draws on a wall with his crayon, various vibrant lively colors painted onto the wall from a single light blue crayon with a star charm dangling from the end of it.
I’ve been waiting for Mom to come get me, but… Honestly? I’m starting to think she’s forgotten all about me. I’ve been here a year or so, and before that I was at TLC, another orphanage. I haven't seen mom in two years. Do you think she’ll come back for me?
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She said she would, so she probably will.
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I’ll keep waiting.
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Contemplating, it doesn’t seem like he has much else to write. He taps the pencil on his lip. Although he doesn’t know much else to write. He writes a little more.
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I love you Crystal and I miss you. But I always carry a piece of you with me so I know you can always hear me. Thanks for listening. And you don’t hate me. You’re not like that. I hope one day you’ll visit in my dreams and tell me, what’s Heaven like? Do you think I will go?
Yours Truly,
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Angel Rahman-Ali
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P.S. DONT HAUNT ME ANYMORE BRAT!
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He drops the pencil and rolls a little. He stares at his page. Twilight waits a moment.
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Twilight: So… how do you feel?
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Crayon: (shakes his head in thought) Better… I guess…
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Twilight: Every time that you feel like you miss her, or you feel guilty or like you’re losing touch with her, write her a letter. (closes the journal holding it out to him)
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After a beat, Crayon slowly grabs the journal in both hands.
Looking around, he comes to a realization.
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She’s gone.
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The tormented ghost of his baby sister; nowhere in sight.
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He feels peace, there are no longer an extra pair of eyes watching him.
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It’s just him and Twilight.
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He lowers his head.
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Crayon: Thanks…
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Twilight smiles softly and rests his hand on his head.
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and then Add to home screen.