The Inner Monologue

It began, as most wars of color do, with someone pointing up and declaring, “See? Proof the sky is on our side.”

The Council of Chromatic Truths

The Red People had gathered at dawn — their favorite time, when the horizon burned with validation. “Look!” said High Cardinal Crimson, sweeping his arm toward the glowing east. “The heavens themselves ignite for us. The sky radiates red. It emits red. The laws of thermodynamics favor our hue.”

Across the plaza, the Blue People sipped their chilled morning tea, unimpressed. Their leader, Admiral Azure, adjusted his spectacles and replied, “You’re confusing emission with perception again, Cardinal. The human eye — you know, the actual biological interface we all use — registers the sky as blue. Not glowing red like a toaster coil. You’re just infrared nationalists.”

The Red Argument: The Warm Truth

Cardinal Crimson thumped a chart showing atmospheric infrared emissions. “Our sky glows with heat, not illusion. It hums with energy invisible to your cold, ocularly privileged elite. We feel the sky. You merely see it. Red is truth made flesh.”

A murmur of assent spread through the Red delegation. “Yes,” one shouted, “blue is just the shadow of red — the absence of warmth!”

They wore scarves in protest that day, not because it was cold, but because they wanted to “retain the infrared.”

The Blue Rebuttal: The Rational Light

Admiral Azure smiled politely, the way one does before deploying science as a blunt instrument.
“Our eyes evolved under this very dome,” he began, “and it is blue. That’s not a metaphor; that’s a measurable phenomenon. Rayleigh scattering. Photons. Wavelength bias. You can look it up, though I suspect you’ll accuse Wikipedia of being run by Big Cyan.”

He pointed skyward. “The sky is blue. It’s been blue for billions of years. Infrared is just waste heat — the sky sweating. If you want to worship the sky’s armpits, be my guest.”

Philosophical Interlude: The Spectral Divide

A few neutrals — the Grey Folk — tried to mediate, suggesting maybe both sides were right depending on perspective. “Perhaps the sky is blue to our eyes, but red to the universe,” one ventured.

Both factions hated this equally.

The Reds called them cowards of chroma, and the Blues dismissed them as opacity apologists. The Greys sighed; they had only wanted to be invited to both picnics.

Escalation: The War of Wavelengths

Soon, the argument went from theoretical to territorial. Red People began renaming sunrises “Reaffirmations.” Blue People boycotted sunsets as “optical propaganda.”

When satellites detected the faint infrared glow of the upper atmosphere, the Red media declared it “proof of heavenly allegiance.” The Blue media responded with slow-motion videos of afternoon skies captioned, “Still blue. Still beautiful. Still right.”

In some towns, they even changed traffic lights — the Reds claiming ownership of “stop” as a divine imperative, the Blues pushing for “go” to mean intellectual progress.

The End (and Beginning) of the Matter

One day, a child — who could see both visible and infrared light thanks to a rare genetic quirk — pointed up and said, “You’re both right.”

The Reds called her a prophet. The Blues called her delusional. The Greys invited her to brunch.

But that night, when all sides looked up through their telescopes and infrared cameras, the truth was undeniable:
the sky glowed gently red, and shimmered softly blue — both colors dancing, neither surrendering.

Moral:
Whether you burn or scatter, glow or reflect, it’s all just light — and everyone thinks their wavelength is the warmest.