Title: Blue Glass
Rating: G
Disclaimer: This is merely my version of the artist in question. Obviously I know nothing of the real person, and quite frankly probably never will. I claim no ownership or anything of the sort. Obviously these events are fictional and have no basis in reality what-so-ever.
Warnings: None.
Summary: The art of song writing.
Note: Dedicated to nyde. Remember that little two lines of imagery I wrote you? Well, I planted it and watered it and it decided to grow and blossom into a short piece. 🙂

Being colour blind was something Hyde had always had to live with. He was used to it, and even though it limited him in some ways, he didn’t let it take away from his life. Instead of focusing on what he couldn’t have, he would focus on what he did.

Like the colour blue.

He had never meant for it to become an obsession. The first time he picked up one of the delicate, sparkling figurines, he had been terrified of dropping it. But now his home was filled with blue glass objects, strategically placed to enhance their beauty.

His favourite pieces would be placed along the sill of the window in his office, older ones sometimes being moved to retirement on a shelf as a new piece was brought in. They stood together, glittering to Hyde’s satisfaction. And, sometimes, if you caught the light just right, you could see the sun reflecting through the coloured glass and it would reflect its vibrancy throughout the room. In its trail would be woken such sparks as to capture the imagination of a young child better than any television program. It was those moments that he treasured most.

Hyde would admire the beauty of his sanctuary until tendrils of a song would slowly slip into his mind. They would move in so quietly while he was distracted by the light’s tricks that he wouldn’t even realize they were there until he had a full song playing itself out in his head, begging him to write it out.

Manuscript paper, previously sitting forlorn and untouched on the desk, would soon be attacked with a pencil to leave light gray battle wounds of writing. The markings etched along the page would be in the language of melody, with only a few kanji thrown in to translate it into spoken language.

Blue tinted echoes of light would create patterns over the paper as he worked, the shadows of his moving hands creating a stark black contrast to the white paper and blue shimmer.

Finally, it would be done and Hyde would smile. The very same smiled would show up again several months later as he sat at the breakfast table with his wife while he found out that the song had topped the Japanese music charts.

He would go out in celebration, after, and buy himself a new piece for his collection then set it carefully on the ledge to sparkle with its brethren there.