Once upon a time a long while ago, Lana had a gentle, friendly mother. That didn’t last long, hence the once upon a time part. Her mother used to argue a lot, if you could call it arguing. Lana rarely said anything back, so it was mostly just a hard core lecture. Not that Lana wasn’t allowed to argue back, she just wasn’t made to. Something made her keep it all inside. All her anger was held onto, lassoed down somewhere just below her diaphragm. She would do things wrong a lot. But to tell you the truth, sometimes she wasn’t even the one at fault. Nonetheless though, she got scolded and reprimanded.

Some days she wished she was one of those outgoing kinds of people. They one’s who could laugh with their mothers whilst being yelled at. Make witty remakes and make the whole incident a joke. Make something that was nothing stay nothing. Instead, she was one of the few who could not do that. Lana would just sit there, stare, and take everything in. Making herself look guiltier than she was.

Today, like all those other times, her introverted nature proved problematic.

“Ma’am, you DO know what happened!” yelled the lawyer, “You were the first one to see his wounds, were you not?”

“No,” Lana whispered.

“No. No. Your honor, this lady has just lied whilst under oath. Nobody but she had seen his wounds beforehand, so the victim said before he passed away…”

No, Lana thought in her head, no, I wasn’t answering that question. No, I don’t know what happened, and I certainly didn’t know if I was the first to see his…he bled and bled and bled. I can’t do this…I hate this.

Tragically, nobody can hear Lana’s thoughts. And thus she was asked to step down.

Lana didn’t know what she was being convicted of, and she knew she was innocent. She didn’t know who was convicting her, but frankly, she didn’t care. She didn’t know where she was, but she knew she had to take the 6 o’clock red train east to get home. It was 5:18 now.

There was nothing to do. She didn’t want to be involved, and just let the lawyers do everything. So she turned around and took her trench coat of the back of her chair. Hard and wooden, and not very comfortable. The bottom of it wasn’t really black anymore. More of a brownish color, caked with dirt. Lana wasn’t tall enough for it to reach the tops of her shoes like it did Cameron. But she didn’t mind. Not for one second.

Out of the coat pocket she took out a rather small notebook. She never left home, or anywhere else for that matter, without it. It was bright indigo, her favorite color. When asked to name your favorite color, no one has ever said “indigo”. It seems to have disappeared out of the rainbow. But Lana still loves it. Indigo.

In it she silently, and slowly, with great care, wrote the following lines:

She doesn’t know how to rhyme, but it doesn’t matter to her. She still likes to write. You can check it all out. Just look for indigo. Bright indigo. Indigo that hurts your eyes when it’s the first sight you see when you wake up. Lovely, lovely indigo.