Line slumped against the edge of the "World," a perpetually smudged rectangle that served as their entire universe. He sighed, a barely audible puff of air that rippled the paper texture. He was surrounded, as always, by his tools: a ruler, a pencil stub worn down to a nub, and a ream of pristine white paper that mocked his artistic aspirations.
Line wanted to be an artist. A real artist. One who could capture the essence of a sunset, the emotion in a flower, the… well, anything other than a perfectly straight line.
The problem, of course, was that he could only draw straight lines.
He stared at the blank page. Inspiration felt as elusive as a curve in their flat world. "What am I supposed to draw?" he muttered, his voice a monotone drone.
Curve, who was meticulously decorating a pebble with intricate swirls, didn't look up. "Draw what you feel, Line," she said, her voice dripping with theatricality. She added another loop-de-loop to the pebble, turning it into a miniature, multi-layered labyrinth.
"But all I feel is…straight," Line said, defeated.
Angle, who was attempting to construct a miniature bridge out of paperclips, piped up. "Optimize your emotional output, Line! Analyze the data points of your current emotional state and translate them into a series of linear representations!" He proceeded to draw a complex diagram of interconnected lines, angles, and squares. It looked like a map of a particularly boring city.
Line stared at Angle's "emotional representation." "That just looks like a spreadsheet fell onto a drawing pad."
"Exactly! Efficiency of feeling!" Angle declared, beaming.
Line groaned. He needed inspiration, not optimization. He needed…something that wasn't a straight line. He looked at Curve's intricate pebble. It was beautiful, yes, but also…overwhelming. He glanced at Angle's diagram. Efficient, certainly, but utterly devoid of soul.
He sighed again. "Maybe I should just apply at Box Factory Inc."
Curve finally looked up, her eyes widening with horror. "The Box Factory? Line, you have so much potential! Don't sell yourself short for a menial existence of box construction!"
"It's consistent work," Line mumbled. "And I'm really good at drawing straight lines." He pictured himself all day, every day, drawing the lines that formed the edges of countless boxes. It was a soul-crushing vision of existential boredom.
Just then, a small, lopsided advertisement fluttered down from above. It was printed on thin, faded paper and read: "ANTED: Cartoonist! Must be able to draw simple shapes. Good pay! Apply at ZIGZAG Studios!"
Line's (lack of) eyebrows shot up. "Zigzag Studios?" he repeated. "I've never heard of them."
Angle, who had apparently finished his bridge and was now attempting to calculate the optimal angle for crossing it, paused. "Zigzag Studios? They're…unconventional. Rumor has it, their art is…dynamic. Chaotic, even."
Curve gasped. "Chaotic? That sounds…divine!"
Line considered. Zigzag Studios… It was a risk. A leap of faith. Maybe, just maybe, they needed someone who could draw a perfectly straight line. After all, chaos needed structure, right?
He squared his shoulders, grabbed his pencil, and walked towards the advertisement. He might not be able to draw curves, or angles for that matter, but he could draw a straight line. And today, that straight line was leading him to ZIGZAG Studios.