Gray and White

I stare into infinite White, wondering how I will ever win the battle over nothingness.

White stares back, daring me to mar its purity.

Holding my breath, I direct my pencil towards White.

Delicate whispers of Gray on White.

I breathe easier and continue fighting Gray's battle.

Further and further, darker and darker Gray grows.

Checking each line, aiming for perfection.

Darker Gray creeps up on White.

I am grinning now as the battle is being won.

But then a traitorous line gives White a chance.

White floods to all corners, obliterating almost all Gray.

Aided by my own eraser, White is once again victorious.

Taunted by White, let down by Gray, I am tempted to throw down my pencil.

But then I see a brave little Gray, hiding away from White, and I know I must not abandon it.

The little Gray grows darker on White.

I move my pencil quickly and skillfully, carefully penciling in each detail.

White is retreating surely and briskly.

And then just as almost all is gone, I stop, and breathe, "Perfect."

Remaining are both Gray and White.

Wondering White knows not why it has been allowed to remain.

Victorious Gray groans at my mercy.

Looking at my masterpiece, I smile, for I know this:

Gray is nothing without contrasting White.