Beyond the window, beyond her kitchen sink, tempestuous liquid nymphs broke on the rocks. They morphed into white mist only to be joined by others. Blue green were their curled forms. They were topped with bonnets of glittering gems.
On the stern ebony rocks, Tori's sister reclined, the brown skin of her skinny legs sticking out before her like two twisted pieces of driftwood. Sunning herself.
Irresponsible child, Tori thought. Couldn't lift a finger to help in the house but lolls in the sun bronzing her skin. Tori studied her own stubby reddened fingers. She stuck out one leg so much in color and roughness like the underbelly of a yellow sucker.
The breeze outside picked up. Rose stretched, stood, looked to the kitchen window, to Tori, stuck out her tongue.
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Yes, dear Sandy, your prose reads like poetry. I love the description of colors and nymphs morphing into mist. Oooh! So rich. Yours is a great tidbit of writing that leaves this reader wanting to read more about these sisters. Thanks for posting!