A Soviet's Struggle

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A comb through her tuft of fur on her head, Mariya picked at the knots within her curly fur. She had been in school for a few months at this point, winter break around the corner. She stared into the foggy bathroom mirror, her deformed face staring back at her as she plucked the knots from her tuft. Her fur was damp, the blow dryer resting on the sink counter to her left; evident in its use due to the dry tuft of fur, to her right, her pocket watch - open and ticking to keep track of the time. She cleared her throat, satisfied enough with her hairjob, turning her attention to the suit and tie hanging on the towel rack. It was dark grey, donned with a white bowtie and a red vest to wear underneath. The vest had an “1850s” vibe, etched with traditional male floral patterns, regal in its appearance. Since her youth, Mariya never bothered with feminine dress, and when Silsina bought it for her so she could go to the dance, Mariya had made heavy emphasis for a suit, rather than a dress.

The dance was tonight. A winter formal kind of dance. Tickets were 15 euros a piece, and lasted from 7:30 pm to 11:45 pm. According to brochures the school had passed out during passing periods, there was to be food, drink, partygoing, and games. Mariya could dig that. Her friends were eager to go as well, many choosing to go shopping for jewellery, makeup, studs, rings, chains, and other worldly possessions. Mariya didn’t have the money for such luxuries, choosing to not go with them for these last minute shopping sprees, opting to instead work with what she had. Besides, the dance was to start in 45 minutes, and Mariya had to get ready.

She grabbed the blow dryer, aiming the device to her legs, and letting the hot air run against her damp fur. Before she was to leave, Mariya wanted to make sure she was de-shed, combing all of the loose fur out of her. As her right paw held the blow dryer, she combed spots, pulling out old, loose fur and tossing it in her garbage can. While it was winter, the German frost was nothing in comparison to back home, her unnecessary fur shedding off as a result, her thick hide made for the harsh Russian winters. As she combed, she glared at the pocket watch, watching the time carefully. She had to be out of the house in 20 minutes.

As she finished her attempt to de-shed, she dressed herself: underwear, bra, pants, belt, dress shirt, vest, suit jacket, bowtie, socks, and shoes. Grabbing her pocket watch, she walked to the front door, fishing for her keys in the bowl she left out for keys, knicknacks, and her wallet; which sat on a mini desk near the front door. Keys in hand, she exited her dormhouse, locking the front door and slipping her keys into her dress pocket. Turning her attention from the door to across the street, Mariya eyed the dormhouse in front of her. The day prior, the group said to meet at Brittney’s, which for Mariya, was convenient; being right across the street from her. She made her way to Brittney’s, being careful to look for cars before she j-walked across the street.

Throughout the landscape that surrounded her, the grass had frostbitten, trees scattered around without leaves, and sun setting slowly behind the buildings. A true telltale sign of Winter. Mariya didn’t mind the solemn scenery, however. Since her youth, Mariya had always been a fan of Winter - it being her favourite season out of the year. She stood on Brittney’s walkway, her breath puffing out of her nostrils, her paws in her pockets. She was the first one there. As she waited, she looked to the sky; she had no smartphone, no radio, no book. Somehow, someway, the Russian had to entertain herself. She rocked on her heels back and forth, humming to herself as she stared at the sky, its blackened embrace slowly overtaking the orange sunset. Through the sky, she recalled her forbidden ecstasy the stars gave her; their twinkling expressive lights slowly clearing, dotting the blackened landscape above, dancing a sort of melancholy slow dance.

Mariya smiled. It was magical. Wonderful.

Taking a sharp inhale, the Russian closed her eyes, exhaling softly, muttering the words: