(I hate that I have to do this.) Disclaimer: I just want to state that all colors used in this story are used by right of having eyes, no colors in this story are symbolic of any race or country or other group of people, any connection with any of those things in purely in the reader’s imagination.

Once upon a time all the colors of the world worked together. They got along splendidly; mixing when needed and other times merely sharing a space. All went well until… one day the color Red decided it didn’t want to be Red. At first the other colors were shocked; who had ever heard of such a thing? They immediately had a council. Red defended the position, saying it wasn’t its fault it was Red, that Red was such an angry and harsh color, and the other colors just didn’t understand how terrible it was to be Red when you wanted to be another color. The other colors began to feel sorry for it, although White did ask, “If you aren’t Red, who will be?” But Black hushed it. The other colors voted to let Red be another color. “I’ve always wanted to be Blue,” said Red. The colors suggested Blue give some of its color to Red, and if enough Blue was put in Red, Red would turn Blue. White cried, “I object! We all know Red and Blue just make Purple! And if there’s no Red, how am I going to make Pink–” Black again muffled White. “If you can’t be nice, White, perhaps you’d better go out,” Yellow said. So White was sent out. Well, after that the plan was put into practice. More and more Blue was put in Red every day. Red also developed ways of fading its own color while Blue was made stronger. But no matter how many times they put Blue in, Red was still merely Purple. Darker and darker Purple. It didn’t concern them at first, but after a while Red began to be impatient, then frustrated, then at last depressed. It was  now a very dark Purple, almost black. “I don’t like it, I can’t color anything.” Red told the Color Council. “Well, it isn’t my fault,” said Blue. “I’ve done all I can, and I’m sick of your demands. I won’t have any color myself soon. I quit!” The other colors weren’t sure what to do. Then Yellow suggested adding some of each color to Red and perhaps darkening the purple till it was blue. Red agreed, and as White wasn’t there to object, it was put in practice. This made things worse than ever. Red really wasn’t sure what color it was now. Eventually the other colors grew disgusted with it. “You’re nothing but a mess now,” said Brown. Red–or Mess–was excluded from the council. Miserably, Mess went about looking for something to do, but it had nothing to color now except the worst things, like muck. “Alas!” Mess wailed. “It was better when I was Red. I could color roses, or tulips, or salmon, or rubies, or rainbows with my friends. Why did I ever call Red an angry or harsh color? I’d rather be Red than nothing in particular.” Mess was startled to see White, busy coloring a cloud. “You were right,” Mess said bitterly. “No sunsets,” White muttered. “Huh?” “Since you changed your color there’s been no sunsets. No Pinks or Reds. The humans are quite tired of it. And the roses are certainly more bland as well, and–” “I get it,” said Mess. “I should have been content to be what I was because then I had some use, and some fun, and now I have neither. Sigh. I just wish I could be Red again.” “You can be,” said White. “What?” “You see, to a certain point, adding White to any color makes it lighter. I’m a base for other colors. (Ever hear that white light is the original of colored light?) Now, if you’ll let me strain out all the other colors, we shall have you yourself again.” “Oh, please do,” Mess begged. It took a very long time, but eventually the other colors were strained out and Red was Red again, just a little wiser than before.

Is it oppressive or restrictive for Red to be Red? For air to be air? For your lungs to work as lungs? Can you hear with your eyes and see with your ears? Is it wrong then for a person to be content as they are? Disliking your sex, hair, eyes, or body is as silly as Red wanting to be Blue. Red’s whole molecular structure would need to be different. This story was a fable about not trying to change what you are, or step outside the right design.