Evergreen and Indigo

The name of this blog has quite a bit of significance to me. Evergreen and Indigo is the title of the 1st chapter in my fourth book Mayfly Requiem, which I am still transcribing. The story itself is completed, but I made the decision right away to hand write the entire thing, so I am now going through the tedious process of writing it out. The colors signify forests and the night sky, the two symbols of my own childhood. Mayfly Requiem is the story of a fallen immortal, written as both a confession and a series of letters to the narrator's sister, who is also an immortal. It deals with misplaced, misinterpreted, and mis-recorded history (history is written by the winners of wars and the politically strong), gods who are fallible and not much more than stronger beings than the humans they oversee, guilt over innocent actions having horrible consequences, and forgiveness, both of the self and of others.

Here is an excerpt from the chapter Evergreen and Indigo, the first of many second-person letters the narrator Lani writes to his sister Dia.

My first memory is of evergreen. Not the tree, but the color. It embraces me, caresses me, envelopes me in a furious glow. It is comfort. It is home, my home, our first home in Lusifal in the days before we knew who we really were. I still dream of it, but you are no longer part of those viriscent dreams, my dear. Our vines have been severed and now I can only dwell in the evergreen alone. There are so many things I choose not to remember, but so many more I am unable to forget.

Dia, I remember you telling me your own dreams were not green, but indigo, an overwhelming blue twilight lit by stars from within. It is your own, and I can't even imagine it. It is only one more thing that makes us different. I can not experience your twilight, and you can not feel my evergreen. These are always the realms we experience alone, though we often dream each other within them. We reinvent our childhoods in deep colors, but are forced to face reality the moment we open our eyes. You always handled it better than I did. You were always stronger than me. I envied you, envy you, for that. Maybe that is why my dreams are still evergreen.