In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “Roy G. Biv.”

Indigo wore her red dress that night. She reclined with our friends on the deep green lawn, pointing in silent awe at the sunset. I followed her finger to the yellow sun, dripping orange on the blue sky, spreading like beams in all directions. I was all too distracted by her. Her eyes, reflecting the tye dyed masterpiece, her lips, painted violet, faintly printed on her glass of wine.

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