Arakun

Arakun: “He scratches with his hands” 

It was New Years Eve.  Kya stared hopelessly into the open closest of functional long sleeve shirts and trousers.  She was to meet her best friend Jenn at a popular downtown bar. The tan smocks she wore every day in the warehouse were devoid of style and made her skin look pale. Sometimes she would where a silk blouse underneath to combat the mundane and treat her skin to the dry cool sensation.

She pulled the two silk blouses out of the closet and laid them on the bed. Kya loved fashion but could not afford to keep up with the seasonal trends. However, if the fashion police stormed her door she would not be in violation, but instead applauded for her gravitation towards black.  Her satin bra partially revealed a tattoo, the footprint looked remarkably human. She was convinced after a sweat lodge retreat, she saw her spirit animal rise from the cinders. Kya grabbed the darkest shade of smokey silk off the bed and matched it with a silk pant she had worn to every company Christmas luncheon. The heal caps had fallen off her green faux snake skin shoes leaving the white plastic exposed. She thought no one would notice and found it hard to rationalize the longevity of quality compared to her paycheck.