Female Inflation

A chilled breeze brushed along the pale-albino girl’s cheeks. Her short, tomboyish brown hair tussled in the winter winds. The hair on the back of her neck perked up. Fall leaves brushed along the side-walk with a gentle scrape, it followed in the wind of the afternoon while Maya pulled herself along. She wasn’t a big fan of these long, tedious walks that seemed to last a lifetime from her College to home where she still lived with her mother and father, which was a chore on its own – regardless of the actual ‘chores’ she was given.

Deep underground in a small tunnel, a red rubber woman paced impatiently in her confinement. Her name was Poke, a name she was never too proud of: it sounded too much like her specie’s name, the Pooka. She was your average young adult Pooka, red rubbery skin , a clean visor, an expert in all matters of pacing back and forth underground, and a tail-like stubby air nozzle squarely above her butt-cheeks. At a distance, one could mistake her for a human in an odd bodysuit. Poke was rather frustrated at the moment; she had to endure her ten hour shift in one of the watchtunnels today.