She looked most beautiful when she was in the water. Lissome. Graceful. Self-assured. More mermaid than mortal, the light sparkling off of her wet skin. A diamond caught in sun. On land, she judged herself akin to a leaden barge.
Zipped into a demurely skirted turquoise one-piece swimsuit, her head tilted down so as to avoid the stares and smirks she was certain were being showered upon her, she navigated the seemingly infinite distance from beach towel (hers was yellow, splashed with orange fish) to pool until she could seat herself primly on the tiled edge near the deep end, and visually reduce herself by half. After dipping pointed toes into the chlorinated fathoms, testing the temperature of her element, she slid into the concealing blue depths.
She felt most beautiful when she was in the water. Buoyantly twirling and spinning in the manner of a sleek seal, her flawlessly executed strokes barely disturbing the water’s surface, she dove beneath it-to a league worlds apart from the ungainly undersea garden of churning arms and legs.
If she could only hover above herself. Observe those other swimmers-flailing and thrashing and gulping for air like fish on dry land. Such a stark contrast to her water poetry. She would really see it, then. The beauty beneath her own surface.
A new writing prompt for me, from Write Tribe.
She looked most beautiful…