A satire of dysfunctional politics and economic disparity.
Chapter VII: Day/Page 73 CONTINUED FROM YESTERDAY. . . .
In the privacy of the dressing room Sofia strips off the tattered dress and chucks it into the waste-bin. She then commences to thoroughly rinse herself from head to toe, while observing her strange naked body in the mirror. The cool wet towel feels scratchy and pleasantly rough against her unfamiliar skin. (This is so weird. I’m in a completely different body. I can’t get over it.)
Except for the silky black mane of long hair on her head, a slight patch of soft fur at her groin, wispy threads under each arm, and thin lines over her emerald-green eyes, her skin is hairless, smooth, and golden colored like a Retriever. She has a slightly elongated jaw, smooth forehead, and short pointy ears, which are not visible unless she pulls her long hair back. Her breasts are small, and her hips narrower than they had appeared to her in the storefront window. She looks strong, but not muscular; thin, but not skinny. (I’m not ugly—I don’t think. But who knows. Maybe here I’m considered ugly as sin.)
After rinsing her body and brushing her hair, she changes into the new clothes and observes herself again in the mirror: long shiny black hair; loose blue-denim jeans tucked into sturdy black boots that come midway up her calf; a white-linen shirt, un-tucked, sleeves rolled up, and open at the collar exposing the blood-red ruby pendant against the honeyed skin of her chest and throat. The silver and sapphire bracelet on her left wrist; the glittering diamond ring on the pinky of her right. (That’s a hell of a lot better! I’m at least presentable now.)
When she steps out from behind the curtain, Marianova gives a startled look of approval. Even Ivana’s eyes widen in amazement, before she snorts something about “lipstick on a pig” and shuffles indignantly out the front door.
Sofia browses around once more for anything else she might need; selects a black belt, a scarf, and a short leather jacket to match her boots. Lastly, she picks out a pair of sunglasses, similar to what aviators wear on her world. (Those are cool.)
Satisfied, she takes a few gold coins from her chain-mail purse and holds them out in her open palm to Marianova. (Help yourself…)
Marianova sifts through them gently, takes a 0.10 and a 0.25 coin. “This is probably too much. So if you come back tomorrow, after I’ve exchanged the coins at the bank, I’ll be happy to give you your change.”
Sofia smiles, not understanding; tucks the purse into her pants pocket and packs the rest of the clothes neatly into the knapsack.
“Here, take this too,” Marianova says, tossing in. . . .
TO BE CONTINUED TOMORROW
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places, events, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 2013 by Gregory James
All rights reserved