Heartbreaking Work of Staggering Genius

Names and hair colors have been changed to protect the innocent.
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The walls of the room reflect the lemony hue of the sun pouring in through the paned glass. What's left drips over the two women sitting at the scarred wooden table, crowning them with slow-dancing dust motes. Surrounded by the anchors of everyday life - an empty school bag tossed into a chair, a purse slouched on the floor, game board figurines facing off across a cardboard field of battle, a stack of bills to be paid - they each appear to be miles away from the kitchen they are seated in.

The closer of the two is turned partially away, revealing her ear. A parade of silver rings marches down the lobe. A bare scalp explodes into a frenzied and untamed purple mohawk, bisecting her skull. Her bent head causes the tip of her hair to brush against her glasses. Legs of flesh twine through legs of wood as the sister settles deeper into her chair. A leather-booted foot rocks back and forth in time with the undulations of the knee above it. Her fingers race, then pause, then race again over the keyboard of the silver laptop resting before her. A blind hand steals away briefly to grope for a steaming glass of coffee, seemingly unnoticed by the rest of the body. Eyes still locked to the screen, she cocks her head to the side so she can continue to read uninterrupted while she drinks. Through her glasses, miniature concave images of the screen are reflected.

Similar screen images are reflected off of the glasses of the younger woman sitting across the dark wooden circle from her. A bouquet of tattooed flowers vine their way up and across her arm. The arrangement leads to hands that weave and twist a lock of platinum hair over and over, her eyes never leaving the screen. She has braided and unbraided this section of hair repeatedly, only stopping to type or move the mouse. Her black-rimmed glasses encircle eyes that seem to perpetually smile. Occasionally her mouth will join in with a grin of its own, causing her cheeks to lift her frames ever so slightly. Her noticeably pregnant belly throws a shadow across her stockinged feet. Hastily applied labels and stickers across the back of her machine may give additional clues to her persona: 'Blog or die'; 'Nyerd'; 'Mac'; 'I poke badgers with spoons.'

Suddenly, laughter bursts into the room. The force of big sister's body falling back against the chair causes purple plumage to briefly rock above her head. Hands freeze in mid-braid and eyes shoot up from across the table quizzically. Grinning, the blonde demands to know what is so funny. A chuckling explanation gives the link to a website that caused all the mirth. Hands falling from her hair, the poker of badgers enters the address into her computer. Within moments, both women are howling with laughter, heads thrown back. Wooden feet scrape across the floor as arms propel the chairs and their occupants away from the table. A protective hand falls across one belly. The unabashed laughter briefly causes the first woman to cough and catch her breath.

Slowing, the two now are throwing out their own commentary, prompting additional laughter flare-ups in between. The pearls of their teeth flash in the light. Boots and stockings push, push, push chairs back to their perches under the table's edge. Hands readjust keyboards into comfortable positions as the last of the comments are shot across the other's computerized bow. Chattering comfortably now, heads return to bowed positions as each woman returns to her individual space.

Through the light, dust particles continue to roll lazily above their heads.