Apparently, Canadians Spell It C-O-L-O-U-R

Alright, the new Reedsy prompts were just posted. Let’s see the post title… “Colour Your World.” Wait—color is actually spelled that way? I always thought it was C-O-L-O-R, not C-O-L-O-U-R. Am I developing late-stage dyslexia? Let’s look it up.

Oh, okay, so it’s spelled both ways. I guess that’s fine. But who in their right mind would spell it C-O-L-O-U-R?

Ah—Canadians. That checks out.

Ok… So the host of the contest is a Canadian publisher… Does this mean I have to write my whole story spelling “color” as “Colour”? I mean, I don’t want to offend them or anything. The email says, “But feel free to write ‘color’ in your story.” But they have to have some bias towards writing it as “Colour” over “color,” right?

Also, why the hell does my Google Docs page keep capitalizing “Colour”? See, this is why we spell it “color”—even Google Docs agrees with me. Whatever, it’s fine. I’ll just lowercase the C. No big deal.

Alright, let’s check the prompts.

Okay: Write a story that has a Colour—I mean, a colour—in the title.

Next: Center your story around a mysterious painting. Okay, that seems fun!

Alright, next one: Set your story in a world that has lost all color— I mean, Colour. I mean… COLOUR. FINE, YOU KNOW WHAT, I’LL TYPE IN ALL CAPS.

OKAY, SO THE NEXT PROMPT IS: CENTER YOUR STORY AROUND AN ARTIST WHOSE CREATIONS HAVE ENCHANTED QUALITIES. HMMM, I LIKE THAT ONE.

OKAY, WAIT—THIS ALL-CAPS THING MAKES ME SEEM LIKE I’M YELLING, BUT I’M NOT. I MEAN, CANADIANS ARE SO NICE—AT LEAST THAT’S WHAT EVERYONE SAYS—SO I THINK YELL-TYPING MIGHT OFFEND THEM.

Ok, I’ll just try my best not to say the word Colour and everything will be fine.

Oh, shit, I said it. That’s fine—one time, no harm.

Next prompt: Write a story inspired by your favorite… shade.

Yes… Shade.

I can use a synonym, right? That’s fine.

Although… will they get what I mean by “shade”? They might think I mean a window shade… or a shady place… or throwing shade at someone—for all my Gen Z-ers.

Oh, wait, they might think I mean one shade of a pair of shades… like sunglasses.

Damn it.

Okay, whatever. I’ll find ways around it.

Those were just the prompts. Now I just need to choose one and write my story however I want to—without using the… unspoken word.

Alright, I’ll choose the first prompt: Write a story that has a…

You know what? The second prompt works too: Center your story around a mysterious painting.

How fun!

Okay, let’s brainstorm. Where should my setting be?

Oh! Let’s choose the Louvre!

Canadians speak French, right?

Whatever. I think they do.

Alright, so we have a mysterious painting at the Louvre.

What’s so mysterious about this painting?

Hmmm… What do Canadians like?

Syrup? Maple leaves? Hockey?

Lumberjacks?

Okay—maybe it’s a painting of a lumberjack playing hockey on a pond of frozen maple syrup, surrounded by maple trees.

I don’t know a lot about art, but that sounds like whatever you call it… an abstract piece or something.

Yeah, I don’t know. 

I’ll make it symbolic…

It’s good imagery or whatever.

Alright, so this mysterious painting of a lumberjack playing hockey on a pond of frozen maple syrup surrounded by maple trees…

Maybe it’s cursed!

Yes!

A cursed Canadian painting of a lumberjack playing hockey on a pond of frozen maple syrup surrounded by maple trees—and anyone who looks at it…

They, um… believe they’re Canadian!

Yes!

They start craving poutine, saying “eh” at the end of all their sentences, and apologizing to everyone!

I love it.

Okay—now for a creative title that isn’t a mouthful whatsoever and is totally coherent.

Maybe something like:

The Legend of the Mysterious Painting of a Lumberjack Playing Hockey on a Pond of Frozen Maple Syrup Surrounded by Maple Trees That Makes Anyone Who Looks at It Believe They Are Canadian.

Now that is legendary.

Alright, now that I have my title, it’s time to write:

Once upon a time, Jerry and Caroline, an ordinary couple, decided to visit the Louvre. They had heard about a new exhibit featuring a mysterious—possibly Canadian—painting that no one had ever seen before.

Jerry and Caroline waited in line… You know what? Let’s get to the good part.

Blah, blah, blah—they got tickets… yada, yada, yada—they went to the exhibit… and tada! The unveiling was about to begin.

With a whoosh, the Louvre director revealed the painting to the crowd.

A magnificent, mysterious, legendary—while still very much mysterious—painting of a lumberjack playing hockey on a pond of frozen maple syrup surrounded by maple trees.

The audience was captivated, oohing and ahhing—until their oohs and ahhs turned into “ehhs” and “eyys”.

Jerry and Caroline started to feel funny, and before they knew it, they were craving pancakes—with extra maple syrup.

The rest of the crowd had the same idea. Everyone rushed to find pancakes, but they kept bumping into each other—and immediately started apologizing.

Soon, the only thing you could hear in the entire room was, “I’m sorry.”

Followed by either an “ehh” or an “eyy”.

The police tried to intervene, but everyone who attempted to rescue the poor souls ended up trapped—unable to resist the painting’s power.

Eventually, the entire world became Canadian.

The economy transformed into pancake diners, poutine shops, and maple tree farms.

The End.

Okay, now it’s time to submit it…

WHAT DO YOU MEAN I’M UNDER THE WORD LIMIT—

Oh, wait. No yelling.

Ahem.

What do you mean I am under the word limit?

You know what? I’m done.

I’ll just repeat the same word over and over until I hit 1,000 words.

But wait—which word should I repeat?

Oh… I know…

COLOR, COLOR, COLOR, COLOR, COLOR, COLOR, COLOR, COLOR, COLOR, COLOR…

COLOR… 

IT’S 

SPELLED 

COLOR.

AND I REFUSE TO SPELL IT COLOUR—AND THAT’S THE END OF IT.

And… the end of this story.

Because I hit the word limit…

Well, I guess that’s it.

This is officially the end of the greatest story ever written:

The Legend of the Mysterious Painting of a Lumberjack Playing Hockey on a Pond of Frozen Maple Syrup Surrounded by Maple Trees That Makes Anyone Who Looks at It Believe They Are Canadian.

The end.

Wait—no…

COLOR.

Now…

THE END.