Chance Of (rain
Sue. Gen. G.
The sunlight washes in her room and bathes it in an elegant glow. A swirl of clouds are just off to the left of the light blue sky that she can see from her window. A smile grows from one ear to the other and she can feel it in her bones today is going to be a good day. She tries to soak up all the energy, every little molecule of cheery sun before pushing herself out of bed for a warm shower. The water splashes against her and she feels truly alive. A lazy morning, and yet it is not. She takes a little extra time doing everything today, enjoying it. Perfect.
She should of known that today was the first day of spring. It fit beautifully, and for once DC wasn't grey with the reminders of winter that slowly melt away. She hums to herself, in an even better mood than she was in this morning. Everything fits.
Her case is solved and she feels the wonderful rush, and she is intoxicated. Nothing could be better. Celebratory breakfast, here she comes she thinks as her stomach rumbles. A laugh, light and airy and she notes how everybody else is sharing her good mood.
Today is a good day. It just has to be.
The problem with good days, she thinks, especially very good days are that the day after seems a million times worse. A million times worse crashing off of that high is not something she is looking forward to, so with a sigh she finally rests her head against the pillow for a few hours of sleep.
When she wakes up, she figures it will be cold, or hailing, or something to counterbalance the sheer wonder that was yesterday. But it's not. The sunlight seeps in through her lacey drapes and the swirl of clouds are still just a little off to the left. It's another perfect day.
The cycle repeats, like a loop, and while small things change, it still seems to be the same. It's the same because every case is now ending with a celebratory breakfast in record time, and it's the same because her swirl of clouds are always off to the left. It's always a sunny day and everybody around her is now cheery, having soaked up..whatever this is.
Bliss, they are calling it.
A few days ago, she would have agreed.
Opening one eye carefully, she curses softly at the fact it is sunny again. She hops out of bed and looks out to see that the grass is green and lush and the flowers are blooming. Ideal spring picture, and yet it feels so false.
She gets into the shower and purposely takes a cold one, hoping it will cool her down. She's annoyed. She's mad. Yet she doesn't know why. There is nothing to be mad about. It's a perfect spring day, and that is exactly the point.
Never has she missed a grey, cloudy day so much. Never has she missed the sensation of not solving a case and putting the grueling, coffee-fueled hours to try and find a break. Never has she been so tired of perfection.
Life should not be perfect. It has it flaws which makes you who you are. Stronger. Smarter. Older.
The world shouldn't be stuck, standing still and the phrase it's all the same and it doesn't matter seems to fit.
It's been almost a month, and she goes to bed each night hoping to be woken up by the soft pitter patter of rain. She thinks of her father, and how much he loved getting stuck in.
She turns on the weather channel in vain for the slightest chance of rain, and she knows it's not happening.
Spring is soon going to turn into summer, and all that will bring is a warmer drought.