Once upon a time, when everything was light and cheerful, there was a dark and not very cheerful person travelling around. Or, I don’t know if I could call him a person. Actually I don’t know what to call him besides his name. His name was Black.
Black had been travelling for a long time. All his friends had settled down. Both Red and Green had found their place in the world. And Blue had found the most beautiful place of them all; the sky.
Black was kind of envious of his friends. Blue had the sky, Green had the grass, Red had the pretty roses, and Yellow owned the sun and the stars. Even Turquoise had found her own place in the water around equator. So Black kept travelling to see if his place was to find somewhere out there.
One day he heard that White finally had settled down too, in some frosty place up North. She’d even got her own animal, Black heard; the polar bear. “Well,” he thought, “if White can have an animal, I can have one too!” And that’s how he started his journey, chasing for an animal who would like to be black.
At first Black visited the wise owls. “Hi!” he said, “Would you like to share my colour?” The owls stared at him with big eyes, then howled: “No, we won’t. And in fact, black is not a colour. It’s just pigment.” “All right, then,” Black said, a bit disappointed, and went on to his journey.
Just a few hours later, Black met a shaggy lama. “Hi!” he said, “Would you like to share my colour?” The lama gave him a stupid look, then spat: “No, I won’t. I’m perfectly fine with my own colour, thank you.” “All right, then,” Black said, and kept walking.
After walking a few days, Black met the long legged flamingos. “Hi!” he said, “Would you like to share my colour?” The flamingos only just glanced at him, then cackled: “No, we won’t. Don’t you see that we’re already lovely pink?” “All right, then,” Black said and turned around to continue his search.
Not very far from there, Black met the enormous elephants. “Hi!” he said, “Would you like to share my colour?” The elephants glazed down at him, then blew to him: “No, we won’t. What would people think of us; big, black monsters rumbling through the jungle?” “All right then,” Black said and walked away from them.
Soon Black met the creepy crocodiles. “Hi!” he said, “Would you like to share my colour?” The crocodiles gave him a killing look, then snapped: “No, we won’t. Green and Brown already came together and made us the most frightening colour. Black is nothing compared to that.” “All right, then,” Black said and turned his back to the crocodiles.
Then Black met the zebras. “Hi!” he said, “Would you like to share my colour?” The zebras watched him nervously, then neighed: “No, we won’t. You see, we’re already partly black. We don’t want to be any darker than this.” “All right, then,” Black said sadly and waved goodbye to them.
Black kept on walking for days and nights, wondering if he would have carriage enough to ask anyone else if they want to share his colour. Or pigment, as the wise owls so cleverly had indicated. He’d reached the edge of the jungle when he finally stopped, then sunk together at the spot. “Nobody wants to share my colour,” he wept silently. “Oh?” said a voice from inside the jungle. “Is that really so? What makes you believe that?” Black turned his head to find himself face to face with a friendly-looking leopard. “Personally I would love to wear your colour all over, not just on these stupid spots.” “You would?” Black grinned. “Yes,” purred the leopard, “then I could hide better in the jungle shadows at night, and I would be even more beautiful than I am at the moment. Black is beautiful.”
And that’s how the Black Panther came to life. If you look close, you can still see the spots on its skin, even blacker than the rest of the animal.