I snatched this idea from VinylsAndVirtues and I think it was from their one shot book about a year ago. It was cute and I really liked it. I think it was about like the thing where your mind puts colors to music but in its recreation here I tried put a unrealistic & sick twist on it. I sincerely didn't get very far, not far at all.

It was a good idea in my head but I feel like these things can only be soft and good, not disgusting like everything I make. Anyways here's the thing I barely wrote 1000 words to.

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It's a fantastic thing, to assign colors to sounds. Everything is so much brighter and fun, another aspect of the feelings in tunes and lyrics comes into play to fully immerse the listener in the song. It's an amazing thing to describe a song in colors and it makes total sense, it's gorgeous to hear the yellows and greens clashing together over a sea of blues and deep warm indigo. It truly is a gift in its own way.

However, when the human voice joins the forever game, it becomes an obsessive and controlling need to assign colors to every syllable and draw a sentence in rainbows based upon each letter of the alphabet in every the words that leave their lips. Then it's a curse. It's odd to even consider the fact that the human mind could twist something so beautiful into something straight from a nightmare.

I've banned certain phrases and words from my ears; songs, television programs that frequently use it, anything. The few friends I do have keep a short list of them.

'Anatomy' is an awful word. There are too many red 'a's at the beginning and the blue in the 'o' clashes with the yellow 'y'.

'Strange' is another one. The sequence goes pale green, dark blue, deep red, ugly yellow, bright pink, and brown. Overall, I hate it. The colors always linger in my mind for a while, like a stain on glass doors.

In fact, any audible word with too many consonants clustered at the beginning or end is enough to make me sick and light headed. It's just the slight obsession, though. Everything has a color. I have to watch what I say, I have to listen to what everyone says. Fairly quickly, noise cancelling headphones and blaring instrumental music became my best friends.

I hate my name. The 'BR' in the beginning is a gross pale green combination that reminds me of illness, and the remaining letters all have their own colors that clash and crumble together like cars caught in a wreck.

The bubbles my friends text in are grey, blissful boring grey, but everything they say is far from that. They pop up in sharp reds in the calm white of my bedroom. There's nothing in it besides my bed, the white dressers, and closet that holds everything I can't stand to see daily. I read a story once about a woman who went insane after being forced to live in a room with yellow wallpaper. It was terrifying — I couldn't finish it, and my friends had to tell me the ending.

From: P.W.
Hey. Are you awake?

To: P.W.
Yes. What's wrong?

I hated the word 'wrong'. The 'w' and 'r' looked sickening together, like stomach contents swirling together down a toilet. I couldn't conjure up any other word in the heat of the moment.

From: P.W.
Nothing. Just curious to know how you are doing!

To: P.W.
Fine. I miss school a little bit. The atmosphere mostly, but not the people.

From: P.W.
I understand. Everyone wishes you well.

He avoided the word 'misses'. The only problem was the repetition of the letter 's' in the middle of a blue 'e'. The light red and deep blue sandwiched together was a bother.

To: P.W.
It may be a while until I get back. It keeps getting worse :(

I didn't respond to that. Classical music drifted in the background from the radio on the shelf, deep blues and purples. Deep blues and purples.

Deep blues and purples.

- - -

Every now and then, people assured me it was a good thing to leave the house. I never left without earbuds and a charged iPod, because the music app on my phone drained the battery to hell.

It was just classical music. The same twenty six songs shuffled and looped in a playlist. The single exception in the entire list was a Katy Perry song, but it was slow and calm, and simple, a deep dark song about heartbreak that's just red and black. All her other songs were filled with too many colors, even if they were beautiful symphonies, they were overwhelming. It would be a good thing if I liked those types of things, but I don't.

I still had responsibilities. I needed food from the grocery store, new clothes every so often, coffee occasionally. I had a machine at home, but I liked the smell of the local shop. It reminded me of mine back at home, but way better. I only ever went for the smell.

The grocery store itself was green. Not a gorgeous deep forests green, not the color of the grass in an open field. It's the washed up color of puke and old rotting vegetables.