Glaciar Gray Pearl

Any / all

There once was a simple pearl, once with place skin and shimmering hair, who enjoyed not much more than to play songs on his harp all day long. 

Every day, the pearl played. Not all day. Of course, the reef from which she hailed was strict and made the lower pearls work. But when the end of the day came, so did the music. 

Tunes of all kinds, painting the sky around the pearl all shades and hues. A rainbow of color bursting from strings.

Nobody else saw the color in the pearl. A simple gray thing, but they did. They saw a rainbow.  In their mind, the world was filled with color.

With time, the pearl grew; changed from simple close fitting garments to long, thick and loose. Attending to a pearl who sang in green and yellow. 

The pearl who’s voice came in viridian and gold was not fond of the gray that our pearl came with. It was not appealing. And despite the pearls claims that they were not a simple gray, the pearl which he attended pressed a brush and pigment into his hands and told him to make himself good.

She obliged; the reef was made like that. She knew no other way.

As more time passed, time with the colorful strings of the harp faded. Colors still were vibrant when played, not that anyone but the gray pearl could see them. 

The pearl had since figured out they should not discuss the colors, it bothered other gems, ones whose brilliant pink skin would simply not match a red and green voice, no matter how much they were assured it was beautiful.

Most gems, they found, disliked any truth coming from his voice, a voice that she could not place the color of. Perhaps that was why. 

And when the gray pearl passed into the highest rank they could be, the time with the harp all but ended. With not much color in their life,  they took the brush they had discarded since leaving the green and yellow pearl, and painted on the sapphire hues of their favorite melody.

It was a comfort. 

It was ultimately what drew a collectors eye to them. 

A pearl who painted their skin, instead of embracing their color. Unique. Perfect for a collection. And easy to change when one wanted a new look.

the gray pearl smiled, a promise of time to themselves would always mean a promise of time with the harp. And with the harp, the world of color.

And.

For a brief time.

They had it. 

Happy as they were when they were young, but this time, the only job was to sit within a room, something easy. Left alone with the harp. Alone, without having to paint pigment on unless the collector came.

A guard, one who sat outside their door and listened to them each day, warned them when the collector came. 

On occasion, the guard would join them.

Humming, an orange color, to mix with the harp.

They did not speak often, aside from warning. 

Not for a long time. 

Then they did. Composing melodies as a pair. 

The sometimes-gray pearl was grateful for a friend. They had never had one before. It was nice. 

Then it wasn’t. Then it was. It flipped, Strangely. 

The sometimes-gray pearl didn’t understand it. Maybe They didn’t want to.

The orange tinted guard turned white, only sometimes.

The gray pearl may not have understood it, but they knew how to handle it. 

And just like before, they painted in blue, layer after layer, until the once-colorless words they spoke also were filled with cerulean.

It worked.

It worked for them. The pair were good. 

It was nice.

Gray and orange, and blue and white.

The pair ambled along. Melodies painting the sky of the room and the rooms around them

Orange fading into white, and gray to blue. It was beautiful, they pearl thought. What they had made. 

They were beautiful.

Blue was a lovely color.

Until the collector decided that blue was no longer very interesting 

So the blue pearl left, left the white guard, even though it pained them so.

They left the harp. A reminder. 

They didn’t particularly enjoy the beautiful colors that much anymore anyway.