just a conversation...

Two women sit by a little table, two old chairs lied directly opposite each other. A delicate blonde occupies the first chair. Her hair is long and sleek, she is wearing a soft, white summer dress, it suits her. She looks like she could be 15. She’s not. She’s just as old as time and life itself , and that is exactly what she is.

She sits in a straight position while the woman in the other chair sits all spread out in hers. She seems to be strained, and at the same time, she doesn’t seem to be bothered with anything. Her black hair falls gently down her back and almost touches the floor as she swings on the chair. She wears long black pants, they are loose and look expensive as they hug her perfect curves. A white, spaghetti strap shirt surrounds her body as the light passes through it, reviling that there is nothing under the thin material. Her feet are bare, a pair of dangerously looking high heels lying on the ground. White fog lingers around them both.

You’re in a mood today.

Are you trying to tell me, that death doesn’t become me?

She gazes at the blonde and her stare falls down to her delicate gold sandals, she shakes her head.

You should wear something more mature.

This look suits me, yours is a bit aging.

I don’t look a day past 28.

Exactly.

She frowns again and sighs dramatically. She loosens her neck, moving it to the sides. It makes loud popping sounds.

I am younger than you by 23 hours.

And don’t you ever forget it.

I would have been much younger if the first Drosophila didn’t decide to die so fast.

So you are blaming your age and sour face on a common fruit fly, sister?

No, it’s a mere observation of the days done.

If you say so... Then why the long face?

I am so tired of people using us in their conversations.

That’s all? You do realize it’s just an expression?

People saying “it’s a matter of life and death” and puff, you know there will be more work today, Liv.

You’re over-reacting...

No, that’s me stating an opinion. Me over-reacting is a car accident on Maine Street. Me being dramatical is someone wanting to jump off the Brooklyn bridge when the CNN is rolling. Me being mad is a tsunami in the middle of the Pacific ocean... So please, don’t call me over dramatic when I am just stating my opinion.

Rough day?

Try rough century... Life and death my ass.

You want to add taxes to that statement?

Oh, just live long and prosper.

The blonde starts to giggle. The other woman frowns, she moves her legs up on the chair and close to her chest. Her toes moving slowly as she decides how to abuse her big sister.

What now? Why are you smiling like that?

I just heard someone in the White House say that phrase...

The dark hair beauty moans in pure torment.

Oh not him again... Does anyone even watch him?

The blonde giggles again.

Me, he appreciates.

Yes, and me he ignores.

Doesn’t everyone? It’s a job like any other.

She moves her legs on the edge of the table and runs her hand past the soft material of her Armani pants and rings her gold bracelets. Finally, she smiles with confidence.

True, job like any other...

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