The Crayon That Drew Its Own Adventure
- LettersLetter
- May 18
- 5 min read
Scribble was an orange crayon.
He lived in a box with many other crayons.
Red liked to stay sharp. Blue liked to stay quiet. Green liked to stay neat.
Scribble did not like to stay still.
“I am bored,” Scribble said one day. “I want to do something.”
The box did not answer.
The room was quiet. The child who owned the crayons had gone out. The desk was messy.
Paper was spread out like a soft white field.
Scribble wiggled.
He wiggled again.
Then he rolled.
Plop.
Out of the box.
“Oh!” Scribble said. “That was easy.”
He looked at the paper.
So clean. So empty.
So ready.
Scribble smiled.
“I will draw something small,” he said. “Just a little thing.”
He touched the paper and made a short, wiggly line.
A squiggle.
Scribble leaned back to look at it.
The squiggle moved.
Scribble blinked.
The squiggle wiggled again.
“Did you see that?” Scribble whispered.
The squiggle wiggled once more, like it was saying hello.
Scribble’s tip tingled.
“I can make things move!” he said.
He laughed. A small, happy laugh.
“I will draw more!”
He drew a tiny sun.
It popped up from the paper and glowed a warm, soft light.
“Oh,” Scribble said. “Hello, sun.”
The sun did not speak, but it shone a little brighter.
Scribble clapped—well, he tried to.
“I will draw a friend,” he said.
He drew a cat.
Round ears. Long tail. Big paws.
The cat blinked.
Then it stretched.
Then it stood up.
“Hello!” said the cat.
Scribble gasped. “You can talk!”
“Of course I can,” said the cat. “My name is Wiggles.”
Wiggles wiggled.
Then Wiggles wiggled more.
Then Wiggles began to dance.
Left, right, spin, jump.
“Oh!” Scribble laughed. “You are funny!”
“I like to move!” said Wiggles.
Wiggles spun in a circle and bumped into a cup.
The cup tipped.
The cup rolled.
“Oops,” said Scribble.
But he was still smiling.
“This is fun,” he said. “I will draw more!”
He drew a ball.
It bounced.
Boing. Boing. Boing.
He drew a hat.
It flew into the air and landed on Wiggles’ head.
“I look great!” Wiggles said, still dancing.
Scribble laughed louder.
“More!” he said.
He drew shoes.
They ran away.
He drew a little drum.
It began to boom boom boom all by itself.
The room was not quiet anymore.
It was full of sound and motion and wiggles.
Scribble spun in place.
“This is the best day ever!” he said.
Then he had a very silly idea.
“I will draw bananas,” he said.
“Big bananas!”
He drew one banana.
Then two.
Then three.
Then a whole pile.
The bananas grew large.
Very large.
They fell to the floor with soft thumps.
Wiggles stepped on one.
Slip!
Wiggles slid across the room.
“Wheeee!” Wiggles shouted.
The ball bounced into the bananas.
Boing—slip—roll!
The shoes ran through the bananas.
Slip slip slip!
The drum tipped over.
Boom—thud—roll!
Scribble tried to stand still.
Slip!
“Oh!” Scribble cried. “That was not a small banana.”
He slid into the paper.
Everything was moving now.
Everything was slipping.
Everything was a mess.
“Uh-oh,” said Scribble.
“Uh-oh… uh-oh… UH-OH!”
Wiggles spun past him.
“This is fast!” Wiggles said.
“This is too fast!” Scribble said.
“I need to fix this.”
He thought very hard.
“I know!” he said. “I will draw a chair. A nice, safe chair.”
He drew a chair.
A big chair.
A strong chair.
The chair popped up…
…and floated.
Up.
Up.
Up.
“Oh,” Scribble said.
The chair drifted across the room.
The hat landed on it.
The drum bounced onto it.
The ball rolled onto it.
Now the chair was floating with everything on top.
“That is not helping,” Scribble said.
The bananas kept sliding.
The shoes kept running.
Wiggles kept dancing.
“I will fix it again!” Scribble said.
He drew a box.
A big box.
“To hold everything,” he said.
The box appeared.
Then it bounced.
Boing!
The box bounced into the bananas.
Slip—boing—roll!
Now the box was bouncing and sliding at the same time.
“This is worse,” Scribble said softly.
Very softly.
Just then, something small moved near the edge of the paper.
A quiet shape.
A calm voice.
“You are making a very big mess.”
Scribble turned.
It was an eraser.
Gray. Smooth. Still.
“My name is Smudge,” said the eraser.
Scribble slid a little closer.
“I am fixing things,” Scribble said.
Smudge looked around.
The dancing cat.
The slipping bananas.
The floating chair.
The bouncing box.
“No,” Smudge said. “You are not.”
Scribble paused.
“I am trying,” he said.
“I know,” said Smudge. “But you are going too fast.”
Wiggles slid by again.
“I like fast!” Wiggles said.
Scribble sighed.
“I don’t like fast anymore,” he said.
Smudge nodded.
“Then stop,” Smudge said.
Scribble blinked.
“Stop?”
“Yes,” said Smudge. “Be still. Look. Then fix one thing at a time.”
Scribble looked around.
Really looked.
The bananas were the worst.
“They are very slippery,” Scribble said.
“Yes,” said Smudge.
Scribble took a slow breath.
“I will fix the bananas first,” he said.
Smudge smiled just a little.
“Good.”
Scribble moved carefully.
No rushing.
No spinning.
He drew small lines over the bananas.
Careful lines.
Soft lines.
Smudge helped, gently erasing the extra bits.
The bananas grew smaller.
Then smaller.
Then…
They were gone.
The floor was still.
Scribble blinked.
“That worked,” he said.
“Yes,” said Smudge.
Wiggles slid to a stop.
“Oh,” Wiggles said. “I stopped.”
“Good,” said Scribble.
Next, the bouncing box.
Scribble drew slowly.
Smudge erased slowly.
Boing… Boing… …stop.
The box sat still.
Then the floating chair.
Scribble reached up.
He drew steady lines.
Smudge softened the edges.
The chair drifted down.
Down.
Down.
And rested on the floor.
The hat slid off and landed on Wiggles.
“I still look great,” Wiggles said.
Scribble smiled.
“One more thing,” he said.
The drum.
Boom… Boom… …quiet.
The room grew calm again.
Very calm.
The sun Scribble had drawn still glowed softly.
Not bright.
Just warm.
Scribble looked around.
The paper was neat.
The desk was still.
Wiggles sat beside him, tail curled.
“That was a lot,” Wiggles said.
“Yes,” Scribble said.
Smudge gave a small nod.
“You did it,” Smudge said.
Scribble felt very quiet inside.
Not bored.
Not wild.
Just… calm.
“I like drawing,” Scribble said.
“But I will go slow next time.”
“That is wise,” said Smudge.
Scribble rolled back to the box.
He climbed in beside the other crayons.
Red did not say anything.
Blue stayed quiet.
Green stayed neat.
Scribble settled down.
“Good night,” he whispered.
The room stayed still.
The door opened.
Soft steps.
The child came back.
Everything looked just right.
Almost.
On the floor…
A tiny banana.
Very small.
Very quiet.
It slid just a little.
Slip.
And then it stopped.
The LettersLetter "Free Bedtime Stories Club" Team
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