On the Cue, and why it is never one colour

They will tell you the Cue is blue. The Cue is not blue. Blue is only the colour of this story — the cold one, the rain and the long coats. Tell a different tale and the Cue tells it with you: red for the ones that mean you harm, rose for the ones that mean you love, gold for the ones that mean no harm at all.

And here is the part they do not print: the colour is not yours, and it is not the teller's. It belongs to the room. Push the story and the light bends with you. I have watched a blue go violet over a single night because enough hands wanted to be frightened instead of sad. The colour changed before the picture did. The colour always changes first.

Two things to know, if you mean to read it. A Cue that cannot pick a colour — that mutters between two — is a Cue the room cannot agree on, and a story no one can agree on invites a pen. And a Cue that goes to no colour at all is already gone, and so is whatever it held. The grey is not darkness. It is an idea developed all the way down to nothing.

We have only ever shown you blue. Ask yourself why. Then mind the Cue, friend — it always runs a little hot. The day yours runs cold, run.