The Little Pink Girl
THE LITTLE PINK GIRL
Once upon a time in the magical land of Magicalena, across the riverbed and in the mystical wood, there lived a little girl in a log house that she built by herself, and she loved the color pink. It was her favorite color. It was absolutely the thing that she adored the most.
Every year the pink season would come. A season of blooming pink flowers of every shade: light pink, dark pink, hot pink, rose, magenta, fuscia, bubblegum, and red – all the shades of pink. For this brief season every year, the Little Pink Girl was so happy, frolicking amongst the fragrant pink blooms, lying down among them as they swayed in the breeze and tickled her cheeks, and picking them in bunches to bring inside her home. It was such a joyful time.
But at the end of the pink season, when all the pink flowers had to say goodbye, the Little Pink Girl was very sad – a blue melancholy as deep as winter snow. There were still white flowers, purple flowers, yellow, blue and orange, but all the pink flowers had gone to bed – their petals taken by the wind or melting softly back into the forest with her tears.
One day, a traveling salesman became hopelessly lost in the Little Pink Girl’s woods. He was trying to find his way to Fantasma, the capital of Magicalena where the great king lived. With his donkey-drawn cart, he had been traveling in ever widening circles for days, hoping to find the hidden mountain pass that lead out of the wild lands to the great golden plains.
As the sun began its descent into the upside-down, subterranean world of dwarves and the shadows grew long and lean, the Salesman found a trail. Desperate for direction and a softer place to sleep, he followed the trail to the Little Pink Girl’s home. He knocked on the door and she, being an empathetic and generous girl, invited him to spend the night.
After eating a hearty bowl of potato chowder, the Salesman pulled out a deck of cards and taught the Little Pink Girl how to play King’s Corner and Cribbage. They got to talking and the Little Pink Girl revealed her sadness at the recent passing of another pink season.
Seeing an opportunity for a sale, the Salesman couldn’t help himself. He was, afterall, a salesman and selling things for as much as he could get was his nature. He told the Little Pink Girl that he could solve her problem. He made every promise and then retreated to his cart.
Combining a mixture of noxious potions, the Salesman created a thick, paste-like paint of the brightest pink.
“With this permanent, cellular, magical, molecular, miracle paint; your dreams will be realized and your spirit spiritualized. Just paint this bright pink upon all that you see and forever and anon then pink it will be.”
He continued, “but this has such a value, it is of such prize that it is worth a vast fortune. It is too much for you to compensate my pay.” The Salesman shook his head and looked down sadly.
The Little Pink Girl was about to plead, but the Salesman, seeing this, broke in before she could make a sound. “But but! What kind of man would I be? You’ve shown me such kindness and been such a friend that if you give me everything that you have collected and made, chronicled, improved or perfected…” He paused and put his hand to his heart, “I guess that I can then part with this special magic.”
And though she was sad to trade all the things she owned, all the furniture that she had built with her own two hands, all her tools, and stuffed animals, she surmised that having built or collected them once, that she could do it again.
“Deal,” the Little Pink Girl said and they shook hands.
They woke up early the next morning and the Little Pink Girl helped the Salesman to load up his cart.
“Good luck!” hollered the Salesman as he cracked the leather reins to his donkey and they sauntered down the road.
The Little Pink Girl waved and watched him drive away, but as soon as he turned the corner (because it is polite to wave to your guests until they’re truly gone), she got to work.
Oh huzzah and hurray and happiest day! With the paint can in one hand and a paint brush in the other, the Little Pink Girl flitted from flower to flower, painting every one of them pink from stem to petal, waving her brush like a baton, splashing the grasses and trees with streaks of pretty pink. All day long she painted her world and all the while her smile was so wide that new dimples popped into her rosy cheeks. Exhausted then, she returned home, ate a gigantic salad, and fell asleep on the floor.
But what she didn’t know was that Salesman was a charlatan, a dirty scoundrel, and a rotten trickster. That pink paint was a toxic potion, a bad blend of balderdash, and an herbicide plant killer. While the Little Pink Girl slept, the plants slowly withered and by the time that she opened her eyes, stretched, and sang her morning song, all the painted plants had died. What a shock it was when she opened her door to greet the day, what a deep sadness she felt – the deepest sadness she had ever experienced. She cried, and her animal friends cried, and the wind cried, and the birds were too choked up to sing.
But she was a wise little girl with great powers of self-reflection and in that moment she had an epiphany, an eye-opening, brain sharpening, emotional growing revelation! She truly loved all the flowers, not just the pink ones. All her life she had been overlooking the bounty displayed before her. “Never again,” she told herself.
So she made a solemn promise: from that day on she would love all the seasons, the white season and the blue, the green and the yellow, the orange and, of course, the pink. The rainbow of seasons was hers to adore.
That was a bad year for the plants, but nestled in their seed bed in the ground were all the baby flowers just waiting for the right sun to enter into their season.
And you know what?
Every year from then on, the Little Pink Girl was happier than ever; she danced through the blue season, sang in the white, played through the yellow, laughed through the orange, partied in the green, and was happiest of all in the pink season. And if you could see her today, you’d find her in a crown of fragrant flowers, singing with the birds, and building herself a brand new bed.