Blue is cold and calculating. He sits behind a steel desk and turns in his swivel chair to regard interruptions with disdain. He is logical and precise and can’t stand the shambolic incompetency of emotions. Or people who let emotions overcome logic. Humans are inefficient in the extreme, which is why he dislikes most of them.
Wherever Blue goes, Red is not far behind. When humans and their messy disruptions prevent Blue from being perfectly productive, she loses her cool. Anger and frustration take over. She wants to bite and kick and scratch and delete the anomalies that disturb her otherwise ordered world. She rages at her inability to control and fix and blames those infuriatingly emotional humans who just won’t get out of her way and into her plans.
Once Red burns through her fury, Brown steps in. Brown is tired. He doesn’t have the energy for the mess of the world. He curls up in his sadness and tries to sleep it away. If that doesn’t work, he ponders the blissful peace of non-existence and cries at how the opportunity is closed to him because of morals and caring and obligations. He feels all the hurt there is to feel – his own and that of everyone around him – and it drains the desire to live right away. If only he could quietly slip away and be free of it all forever.
Pink is one of the few with a fairly solid form. She’s my ten-year-old self, trim purple jacket with lilac check skirt and matching scarf tied at the neck like a flight attendant. Prim and proper and naïve and desperate to please. She would rather be walked on than cause a disappointed face. She longs for that look of approval, that elusive ‘good girl’ and pat on the head from those tall people.
The others can’t stand her because she is the reason for a lot of the crap they’ve been through.
Purple is a rebel. She has tattoos and a nose ring and defies anyone to try and stop her. She’s had it with Pink and would like to see her dead and incinerated. She wants to get on with the things that she wants to do, the things that aren’t allowed or are viewed as selfish or dangerous or verboten. Because then she is happy; unrestricted and carefree.
Then there’s black. Whom I really don’t want to talk about.
There’s one colour that is hardly ever seen, but ought to be around a lot more. It’s Green. A fresh, vibrant, grassy green, like the rice paddies of Madagascar. He is calm, confident, cool, and collected. He makes people laugh. But he doesn’t need to. Because he knows they’ll like him anyway. He is happy in himself and not concerned about the people who don’t understand or don’t want to. He sees the suffering and can feel it without being it, without getting sucked in. He believes, really believes that the future is bright, and there are sunbeams and singing birds and soft breezes surrounding him like an aura. He might be a bit more self-righteous than I’d like. But at least he’s content.