Where we are, beginning of a story I'm working on Options

[xoxo_proud]

I've had this idea of a story in my head for weeks but I couldnt figure out how to start it. I've got something but I'm not sure if it's good. CC please. I need it badly!

He was just a person. A person with flaws and imperfections that showed everyday. He had more friends than one would expect him to have. His father was a rebel and most stayed away from them and anyone associated with them. His favorite color was blue. Blue for the sky, blue for freedom. He himself had never tasted freedom but he imagined it was sweet or perhaps sour. He even thought it might taste like everything. It could, right?

It could taste like the rivers that branched through his country; it could taste like the peaks of the mountains that stood higher than anything else. It could taste like the emerald hill that he was standing on right at this moment.

A light breeze pushed past him without any regards and caused the leaves on the trees to spray in all directions. One of them landed at his feet and refused to move any farther. It was fall and the leave was, well, green. The rest of the leaves were glorious colors. They were rich reds and oranges; yellows and the often forgotten brown. He picked it up and twirled it casually in his right hand. He placed it in his coat pocket and patted it softly.

[xoxo_proud]

A short, quick update

‘O’er the hills of crimson white
The blue bird sings of restless light
And to his friends and foes alike
He lives for the comfort of darkening night’

The song came upon him unexpectedly. He found himself singing the soft notes; he let them drift into the cool air, coil for a split second, and then be carried on. They were tender words to him. His mother used to sing them when he was little but she couldn’t do that anymore. You see dead people often have a hard time singing; with them being stuck down in a hole and all.