Colors (Writing exercise, Cadenza, past)

It was like having synesthesia, and it was one of the most amazing experiences she'd ever had.

She could see her own music; see it like she'd never dreamed. The chords of her flamenco guitar were vibrating vermillion reds, with wailing, high, strident tones of yellow, and deep brownish ochres, almost mournful in their baritones. The castanets' clacks were dashes of Spanish orange and gold, sharp lines and brilliant neon yellow triangles that appeared and disappeared all within an instant. She could see her own voice, a lighter, richer red, see it go orange and bright and spread when it rose and crescendoed and go in curves and faint shapes of violet when it was softer and soulful.

She wanted to see more; she wanted to see the thrumming of a car engine running, see the sounds of love-making. She pulled Johnny close without a word, wanting to savor the colors, save them for the moment. With only the look in her eyes and her firm touches, she let her actions do the speaking as she pulled him into their bedroom and let the symphony of senses begin. Every pant and every moan was a new experience; his husky voice in her ear was a deep, robust, warm reddish brown, enveloping her and sending shivers through her body. Finally, when her last cries of passion came, they were pangs of the brightest reds and oranges she'd ever seen, with short green, softer gasps, and then the colors relaxed, and cooled, and she watched their soft bluish breathing together until she fell asleep.

Since that night, she'd kept the name of them tucked away in a little corner of her mind, for another day... the name of those magic little compounds; they were called, simply, "red caps".