Indigo

Angela’s POV
Today was indigo with depression. It was not red. It hadn’t been red in three weeks, and I was proud of myself. The indigo was still there without the red to sooth it. I promised myself there would never be another red day after the terrible day of white.
I was home alone. No one was there to stop me. I probably would’ve done it even if they were there. I had finally snapped. ENOUGH! I screamed in my head. I was hurting everyone around me and they couldn't deal with me anymore. I was a burden to everyone. I made red: lots and lots of red. Deeper than ever before; maroon with passion and I didn’t care. Deeper and deeper, darker and darker until a black nothingness cascaded over me as a veil of worthlessness and all was lost.
I awoke to white; bright and awful white. Hospital white: my new least favorite color; topping the list right above indigo. ‘Never again’ I vowed silently as my mother wept over ‘If I had come home one minute later . . .’
I sat at home. I was alone again. Today there would be no red. I was fine for a while until the man dressed in indigo came knocking. Red was out of the question. Indigo became a stormy ocean in blue-grey. I climbed the stairs. The charcoal coal colored anchor in the ocean sank to the bottom. I opened the window. The nautical abyss faded to a Neverland of sorts where the man in indigo and the, forever calling, lady in red taunted me. No hesitation. An ink stained bottomless pit off the sea-breezy cliff beckoned me. I jumped the easy two stories to the forever darkness.
This time, the white that I woke to was calming. White was the only thing. No black or red. Indigo was a dangerously normal lavender. The calm looking man in lavender attire welcomed me. I took his hand even though echoes of distant and forgotten screams called my name and begged me to ‘wake up’ or to ‘come back’. I walked into the cream glow accompanied by a friendly glisten of lilac. All was white.