Indigo
“Please,” Indigo said, exasperated. “Don’t just say ‘blue’. Blue doesn’t exist. Nothing can without context. Blue can be midnight or midday; a dirty joke or profound grief; glacial ice or the flame’s hottest point. The words we choose hold power. They reveal our truth. Observe the scene. Tell me what you see.”
I tried, embarrassed. My words felt clumsy and vulnerable: hundreds of tiny naked beings tumbling from my mouth, into the world. Emancipated. Unretrievable.
When I finished, Indigo’s eyes were wet; their soul clutched in anticipation.
“Now, tell me what you see when you look at me,” they said.
Written in response to Friday Fictioneers, a weekly 100-word writing challenge hosted by Rochelle Wisoff-Fields. Come and play along!
I ended up rewriting my story three times this week, never quite feeling as though I had done the narrative, or Sandra’s photo, justice. For those interested, all three versions can be found here: Shades of Indigo.
Thomas Charles Henry 
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