The Boy with Color

The Arab studied the boy with color. He was unlike any child he had ever seen. All of the others had been dull, but none of them compared to the brilliance of this boy. His hair was brown and cropped short, his bangs just brushing his eyebrows. His clothes were made of colors he had never seen. The colors were not existent in this world. To the child, the shirt was yellow with little white stripes, his shorts were green, like an emerald. They draped over a skinny frame and made him look younger than he actually was. The Arab studied him again, his pack was a color that he had only heard of in fairy tales, blue. The child had the most extraordinary eyes though. They were also the mystical color blue and they stood out from the pale skin that framed them. The child shifted awkwardly under the heavy stares.

"H-h-hello," he stuttered in a boyish little voice, "my name is Robin and I think I'm lost. Could you tell me where I am?"

The Arab's eyes widened, for he had never heard this language, and with such a crisp voice. He started to cower and fell upon his knees into the grey sand and looked up at the white sky. He then picked a rock from the sand and started to carve onto to handle of the little red shovel. He muttered something unintelligible towards the sky that was as white as snow and offered the child back his little red, plastic shovel, for he was afraid.