Indigo (Prologue)


“She is gone.”

“Where did she go?”

“I don’t know.”

“What do you mean you don’t know?”

“I mean, I don’t know where she went, she disappeared without a trace, she is gone. Why should I know anyway? We haven’t spoken in years.”

“You should know because you are one of the only people that she left something for before she disappeared.”

The police officer handed the puzzled guitarist a square rumpled package with his name scribbled on the manila exterior. The police officer watched him observe the package for a little while before asking, “Do you remember anything about her?”

The guitarist ran his fingers through his jet black hair, obviously remembering painful memories about the girl that influenced the first of his many famous songs.

“Yeah, she was an artist.”


Three Loud knocks on the giant red door and a pretty woman with mousy hair and freckles answered, without detaching the chain. All that could be seen from the officers standing point was one big blue eye staring out at him.

“Hello, I am officer Leon and I am here to ask you a few questions about the whereabouts of-”

The woman shut the door and the officer could hear the chain rattling from the inside. Just as he was about to knock again, the red door opened, without the chain this time.

“Sorry about that. I didn’t want the cats to escape. Come on in”

Officer Leon stepped into the small house. By the time that he had shut the door behind him, the smell of cats invaded his nostrils and they immediatly began to itch in protest. He followed her through a very clean hallway, leading to a very clean kitchen.

She motioned for him to sit. He took the seat nearest to the open window. He was allergic to cats. She lit up a cigarette and sat on one of the immaculate counter tops.

He cleared his throat.

“I am here to ask you a couple of questions about-”

“I know why you came here and I have no idea where she went.”

“I figured that maybe you might know something because she left this for you.” Officer Leon pulled another rumpled package out of his leather messanger bag and handed it to the confused woman. She read the messy handwriting scribbled beneath a mess of post stamps.

“I know that you don’t know where she went, but can you tell me something distinctive about her? Anything at all.”

The pretty woman took a long drag from her cigarette, remembering funny memories of pool parties, drunken nights on her porch, and mushroom adventures. She laughed, then shook her haid before saying, “Yeah, she was a disaster.”


Officer Leon pulled into the driveway of the strangest house that he had ever seen. The house itself looked normal enough, it was the strange things outside of the house that made it look so bizarre. He stepped out of his car and walked along the narrow path leading to the porch, tripping over a metal, headless deer on the way.

He looked around the blue porch before knocking. There were ashtrays everywhere, as well as an odd assortment of beer cans, books, and art supplies. He pretended not to notice the intricate glass pipe sitting comfortably on the arm of a giant red chair. A long yellow rope was strung across the ceiling of the porch, and from, it hung plastic armadillos, old sunglasses, a half burned unrecognizable stuffed animal, and glow sticks. A destroyed laptop hung on the left side of him above a yellow bench that was littered with evidence of the night before. A skateboard was leaning casually against an old torn up leather arm chair, and to the right of that was a small end table stacked with old coloring books, and torn up Playboy magazines. Officer Leon could not help but ask himself if he was at the right house. He checked the address again. 515 NW…hmmm…I guess this is it. He glanced around one more time before knocking. Strange place for such a famous writer.

5 knocks…no answer, he knocked harder.

“Come in!” Said a deep voice from inside. The officer opened the door and stepped inside.

It took a few moments for his eyes to adjust to the darkness. He shut the door behind him. A single lamp provided dim light. Illuminating only what was in its three foot radius. Officer Leon noticed that nearly all of the windows were covered with various sheets, and all of the walls were lined with shelves of books and movies. The wall to the right of him was home to an enormous stereo system, which provided some of its own light.

“Come have a seat, officer.”

He stumbled towards the voice, and found the end of a giant purple couch.

“Would you like a beer or a cigarette?” Said the deep voice.

Officer Leon thought for a moment.

“I’m on duty so I can’t take the beer, but I would not mind having a cigarette.”

Officer Leon has asthma, but because of how strange his day had been, he figured that one tobacco stick would not be enough to kill him.

The man on the opposite, green couch tossed him a lighter, then handed him a cigarette. Officer Leon ungracefully lit the end, blackening a centimeter of it in the process. He took a drag and instantly felt his lungs tighten in protest.

“I heard that she disappeared, and I’m sorry to say that I don’t know where she went. I know that you are here to ask me some questions, questions that I do not have the answers to.”

Officer Leon shifted uncomfortably in his seat, he cleared his throat.

“How long has it been since you have spoken to her?”

“About 2 years.”

“She left something for you, that is why I came.”

Officer Leon pulled the second to last rumpled package from his messanger bag. The man lit another cigarette.

“What is that?” he asked, through a mouth full of smoke.

“I wish I knew.” Officer Leon said, handing him the package.

“Do you remember anything distinct about her that could potentially help me find her?”

“Who is looking for her?”

“I’m sorry but I have been asked not to disclose that information. Honestly, I really don’t know.” Officer Leon took another drag from his own cigarette. This has been a very strange day indeed.

The man took a deep breath, and exhaled a cloud of smoke. He closed his eyes, and felt his throat tighten remembering the girl that broke his heart, remembering the girl that bummed his cigarettes, remembering the girl that he loved. He opened his eyes, took a sip of his warm beer and said: “She never really grew up.”



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