Sam looked up at the sky and attempted to name the color. He tried to remember his art appreciation class, for reference, or maybe his last visit to the paint department at the hardware store.
No matter, he decided it was indigo. Mood indigo, that sounded familiar; it sounded sad. "Mood indigo", he said out loud.
The sound of the words startled him, disrupting the complete silence in which he found himself. He was alone with his 'mood indigo'.
Sam looked again at the sky and far to his left he saw it. A slice, a rip in the indigo blanket. He stared now and wondered, 'fingernail moon, is that what they call that?'
He didn't understand this hole he was falling into. It felt cold and dark and bottomless.
He reached out, almost unconsciously, as if to stop the falling. He closed his fingers to get a handhold but, there was nothing. He squeezed his hand tight before letting his arm drop.
He let his head fall back breathing out an audible sigh and closed his eyes. He didn't know how long he stayed like that.
Sam was startled again as he felt the cold, solid tap on his arm causing him to lift his head and open his eyes.
He was looking at an ice cold beer held by a strong hand with the remnants of a scar from the first knuckle almost all the way across to the wrist bone. He could see a still raw cut at the pinky joint and a small bruise peeking out from the cuff of the shirtsleeve..
He reached out and took the bottle, raising it to his lips. With his first sip, he put his head back and looked again at the sky. He felt that hand come to rest on his shoulder.
He saw the stars now, like little twinkling lights scattered all around. They brightened the sky. They changed its color..