Ewa had been in Moscow for a couple of months, settling in to the subtle and not so subtle changes in culture. She was immersed in summer, now, and the days were long, hot and dry as a bone. In the evening, the heat hung in the air, not cooling but thickening. From waking up to falling into bed, she spent the day glazed in sweat and would duck into a shaded cafe, bar or awning like it was a pool of ice water. That day, Ewa was wearing a light, summer dress with thin shoulder straps. The straps sat neatly in the groove of her strong shoulders and the dress was tucked in the back, so it hugged the dramatic curve of her spine and the muscular curve of her hips. She’d walk around naked if she could, but it was a compromise between comfort in the heat and inviting stares and cat calls in the street. This happened anyway, of course, and she did her best to shrug it off. Somehow, cat calls in Russian retained enough novelty to mask the buzzing nuisance. By contrast, she didn’t mind the attention she got from other women, who, she noticed several times a day, couldn’t help but glance at the sweat running from her collar bone, down the gentle valley between her small, firm breasts, or at the way her skirt hung off the round shelf of her ass, the hem clinging to her thighs when she walked.
Author: 13Stories
First Hunt [FF] [Fantasy/Sci Fi] {Post-Apocalypse] [Hunting] [Gore]
**First Hunt**
Tiny curves of Orla’s hair fell twirling past her eyes to the ground. Some caught on the light, chilly wind and were tossed high into the air, over the heads of the women standing in a circle around her. The repetitive noise of the scissors, like air being ripped in two, reformed in her mind as the body of the girl she was being peeled away, like a snake shedding it’s skin, inch by inch. As her long hair formed a pool on the muddy ground where she knelt, the breeze noticed her scalp and began to caress it, sending shivers down her bare back. Small coils of hair tumbled down her chest, over her skin, the colour of orange segments, and some caught on her nipples, trembling on the edge.
Lain’s hand gripped Orla’s neck as she took the scissors to her long, honey hair, firmly, holding her head stock-still to cut as close to the scalp as possible with the razor sharp blades. With the hand on her neck and the hair falling over her face, she could only glance momentarily up at the crowd gathered around her, watching in silence. All the women of the reserve, except for those minding the girls, had come out to see her emerge as a woman.