The people of the Black-and-White world were secure in their dichotomy. They wore gray suits and dresses and gray mustaches. They read paternalistic newspapers printed with black ink, telling them what to dream and to especially beware of colors. Answering the mundane question “do you dream in color, or in black-and-white?” was loaded with meaning, and vague answers could lead one to years of Precambrian therapy chock full of colorful explosions as long as they were kept within the confines of the asylum. From its windows the raindrops in a rain curtain decomposed the sunlight and imprinted a rainbow on hope-filled eyes. Raindrops did that, yes, collectively and unintentionally, they broke white light into an infinity of colors that could be harvested and catalogued to be chosen as the bearers of personal meaning. There was no end to the rainbow being borrowed and altered in states of diversity. The colors seeped into the Black-and-White world, and despite robotic calls to remain in the safety of gray comfort, the people escaped to where their own personal rainbows could be seen through tears of joy, ending the Black-and-White binary.