Gun Control

The young boy had his colored pencils lined up on his desk. He didn't reach for them or ask his teacher what to draw. He was going to find the picture. This is what he called drawing.

"Can't you see that everyone else is almost done?" his teacher asked.

"Yes," the boy frowned. "I'm finding it."

"Sugar!" the teacher said and picked up his black colored pencil. "Plain sugar!"

The boy watched her draw a trunk on his notebook paper. She started at the base and moved up through the green parallel lines. This impressed the boy. He didn't like to go through lines. He couldn't draw circles either. He told this to the girl sitting next to him. She agreed. The boy was glad she did. It made him feel better. He picked up his orange colored pencil and made it talk to the girl.

"I am pencil," he said. "I am orange."

"You are silly," the girl said and laughed.

"I am pencil," the boy said again.

"Time to color," the teacher smiled. She put her hand on the boy's and guided him back and forth through the green lines and inside the Sun. "There you go."

The boy grew quiet. He held his breadth. He counted to ten. He let out his breadth.

"Okay," she smiled and lifted his hand. "All done."

Cho looked at the paper. "You found it!" he said.

"We found it together," the teacher smiled.