Searching for a Perfect Day

Decisions

The heavy smell of paint is everywhere, dripping across her face from her hair and, to her chagrin, is finding its way into her once white bodysuit. She wonders briefly how hard clean up will be, and more importantly if she’ll get the smell and paint out of her hair. From her peripherals, she sees that the once platinum blonde locks have turned a questionable color combination of scarlet and taupe. 

“I look like a dirty whore…” 

The words come out before she can think them through, and the peal of laughter bursting from her little sister makes her backtrack. 

“A literal…dirty whore.” 

“Elsa, whatever you’re planning on adding, it’s not going to make it better.” 

She sighs at the amused grin Anna’s throwing her way and reaches up to attempt to wring some yellowish paint off of copper locks. 

“Tell me this is non-toxic?” 

“Course…” the smaller girl just says with a dismissive wave. “It should come out easily if we don’t let it dry out. Come.” 

She follows the redhead to the edge of the rag quarantined area, mimicking her in removing the bodysuit and using it to wring as much of the paint from their hairs as possible. The smaller girl throws it in the veritable pile of unspeakable wet goo in the middle of the floor and she does the same, following her shortly after towards the ladder. 

She makes it a point not to look up as they begin their ascension. The removal of the bodysuit has ensured the return of the sinful motorcycle trousers. One more reminder that she has a lewd face and it’s bound to stick as a permanent inside joke. 

It doesn’t take very long to get to the second story, the ladder only ten or so feet up from the ground. Grasping a railing that surrounds the opening, the blonde pulls herself fully into the room before assessing her surroundings, the first thing she sees jump starting her heart. 

Her eyes flitter at her sister’s unsure countenance before setting back at the mosaic art work taking up the entire north wall. 

“Ahh, you’re the muse.”

Jenna’s words resound in her head. It didn’t make sense then, but now it does. 

“I hope it’s not too weird…”

Anna’s voice is riddled with anxiety and worry, but why should she be? 

The taller girl moves closer to the wall, curious fingers grazing small inch by inch overlapping photographs (there’s at least a thousand) all showing random and different pictures, but if the observer would just step five, six feet away, the main picture…is of her, eyes closed, serene, and asleep. A photo mosaic.

The backdrop is a pretty ocean blue—shades of dark and light mingling as a border and creating an aura around the entire picture. She’s curled in an almost circular fetal position, hair unbraided and splayed majestically everywhere, some strands rebelliously surpassing the border. Her right hand is curled beneath her head as a makeshift pillow, the other pressed against her chest. Donning her curved figure is a simple white, loose sleeveless tank, riding a bit high and exposing a firm, alabaster stomach, and black short shorts, a glaring contrast to smooth curled legs and exposed dainty feet. 

It’s the first time Elsa is given an unadulterated perspective of her sister’s view on her. It’s the first time she’s ever felt…beautiful. Not in the superficial way people have commented her or what she thinks others may see outwardly when she looks in the mirror. This is so much more private, exposing her in a way no one could ever achieve.