The tattooed Goth girl came at me with a pair of scissors. She grabbed a fist full of my hair, then went for a razor and hacked at it. I felt tugging and could hear the sound of hair being ripped away from my head. It was sickening, like a bird of prey attacking me.
I kept unusually quiet - I didn't want to antagonize the girl holding the weapon.
"How many haircuts do you do in a day?" I finally ventured.
"Up to thirty-five." she responded. "You have thick hair."
("Had" I thought.)
"I put a lot of layers in it so it will lay nice."
When she was finished, she whipped off the black cape and was clearly proud of herself. After I put my glasses on she looked at me again. Then she put the cape back on and whacked at my hair some more. Finally satisfied, she let me escape. I thanked her (I did mention that she was holding a razor, right?) and as I got out of the chair, glanced at myself in her mirror.
Where I once had hair, I now have feathers. Lots of them.
2 comments:
No picture? I'd love to see you with feathers. Do you resemble Henrietta?
I think we need pictures!
Post a Comment