“Since you cannot decide, I shall have to decide for you.” Holding out his hand, the man continued, “Draw straws.”
Turning wildly to each other, they compared straws. The yellow, blue, and pink straws were all the same length.
“Size does not matter; colour does. If you picked a coloured straw, too bad, you’re dead,” his smile was not sinister, rather soft like a baby’s.
“But, we have colorued straws,” Charles answered.
“Yes, yes, of course. You see, they’ll only turn white if your heart is truly pure.”
The straws grew into globes of white light, as the crowd repented.
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