A/N: This one...is some random thing I came up with when I was really disappointed at not seeing rainbows.
WHERE ARE MY FREAKING RAINBOWS DAMMIT!
Gosh, been such a long time since I wrote a tragedy, hmm?
Disclaimer: I don't own Vocaloids.
A rainbow is made up of seven colours: red, yellow, orange, green, blue, indigo, violet. When the sun's rays hit a water droplet, the white light splits and deviates into these seven colours.
A rainbow is a beautiful arch of misty paint splattered into the light blue background.
Things you learn in a textbook can never substitute what you see in the azure blue sky, he finds out one day, when he is out cycling with his parents and sees himself cycling under the arch.
What's that, Daddy?
It's a rainbow. Isn't it pretty?
Uwaaah! Yeah, yeah! But...how come I've never seen it before! I'm five! Five years is a long time!
You'll only see a rainbow when it's sunny after it rains. It's rare, you know, to see a rainbow. And lucky, I guess. You'll have a great day ahead of you, son!
And five isn't a long time, dear.
(Where is the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow?)
So he looks out for rainbows whenever it's sunny after it rains. It's a hard thing to do, since most of the time, the rainclouds covet for the sun and he's left alone, unable to reach out and pull the sun down from the clouds to see a precious rainbow. He's far too short, and he hates himself for that.
He's a man, for goodness' sake! A man is supposed to be tall, to be strong, to be firm, to protect his loved ones. Yet he can't even do that as he watches his mother scream — father pulling away — mother pushing him away — a crash — fresh red paint — deep grey smoke — whispering crowds — damaged sidewalk — bleached walls bleached rooms —
His memory is a fragmented mirror with sharp edges he dare not touch, for fear of cutting himself, for fear of seeing that fresh paint again, this time on himself. He is comfortable to keep it that way.
This is a three part story-thing so yaaaay.
(Right I'm lazy.)