Some mornings, her best offer is a mere fleeting glimpse of gold in the corner of the sky.

Some evenings, she is overcome by pink, shadows, or clouds far before she can begin her war. But some nightfalls come that drive people to beaches, lift them to rooftops, and spread them across hillsides in hopes that Orange may finally win.

She starts to creep up from the edges of the earth, weapons ready, in full shining golden armor. Blue jumps back, caught off guard by the resistance, unprepared for the onslaught. Orange erupts, shooting her cannons across the sky claiming cloud after cloud, marching on blue with new ammunition rolling in constantly from the sun; she will surely take the sky tonight.

Blue has been, and always will be, better equipped. Moving with the expertise of troops that train all day, blue applies itself back onto the sky and reminds Orange of what always ought to be. Blue knows exactly how this will end.

Orange pushes harder and makes one last shot across the sky in spite of her dwindling support. This moment of desperation in the end proves to be the most valued act of the war, she forces an impressive spear under blue that is sure to be seen.

Blue slowly reclaims its home blanketing the earth, audience members run to their homes before the final defeat, and Orange holds on to one far corner of the sky, bordered by thick clouds, out above the ocean. She is no longer hopeful for today’s victory, but rather trying to preserve any home in that distant unbothered oceanscape. Blue leaves Orange alone for a time to mourn the loss.

She, however, is already intent on tomorrow’s victory. She will draw the crowds back out. She will take everything into battle again.

She will repeat her war, twice a day, ignorant of its futility.

She will repeat her war, twice a day, deriving meaning each time.

She is always aware that there is no way blue could continue to rule the sky forever. Right?