I’ve been working in the hair industry for a decade and although I’ve had the pleasure of making some amazing people feel beautiful there have been some trying times. While this story isn’t based off of a particular guest-a hairstylist does feel under appreciated at least once in their career. This story is for them, and for anyone who’s ever had their haircut.
You can read the beginning of this award-winning tale here but to find out how it all ends pick up a copy of ‘Everyone Dies: Tales from a Morbid Author’ which includes 21 pieces of short fiction in which someone either physically, emotionally, or spiritually dies including never before published pieces like ‘After The Fire’ and fan favorites like ‘The Silencer’. The collection is available on Amazon and Kindle.
by Melissa Algood
I rubbed my hands together, but the blood wouldn’t come off.
Maybe it was because the girl was so young and her plasma had more vigor. In my mind’s eye I could still see her brassy highlighted hair tied up in a bun atop her head. She wore boots, skinny jeans, and a baggy t-shirt that hung off her left shoulder. The sixteen-year-old’s outfit reminded me of what I used to wear in high school, only my pants were baggy and my tank top was skintight. Her boyfriend was in my chair finishing his transition into a full-fledged hipster. His bangs covered most of his face, unless he flipped his head to the side, letting his dark brown, layered hair cascade in the air like a waterfall. It reminded me of a certain pop star that teenagers hated being compared to.
I’d just finished texturizing his thick hair with a razor, fraying the edges like a wide-angle lens when his girlfriend started in on me.
She stood up and moved next to me. She stopped behind the chair her beloved sat in and leaned to the left. As I looked in the full-length mirror that was flanked by particleboard drawers that made up my station, her body appeared to form a question mark. Her hand rested under her hip and her whole face puckered as if I’d given her a lemon to eat, rather than being stupid enough to allow her to give an opinion on the last half hour of labor I’d performed.
“Dunno. Seems messy.” She circled around her boyfriend and tugged on random locks of hair. “I mean, my Mom does my hair, for like years, and she’s got really high standards.”
Through gritted teeth I asked, “Which cosmetology school did she attend?”
The girl laughed. “Oh, she didn’t go to school. You don’t need to go to school because it’s super easy to do hair. I mean, any idiot can do it.”
My whole body tensed. Usually I’d hold my tongue, but I’d dreamt of this moment for years. “You’re right, it’s super easy to carve shapes out of something that’s constantly moving, like hair. And I’d trust anyone to put caustic chemicals on my scalp. It’s not like people get chemical burns or anything.”
I took my razor and slid it across her throat.
This story isn’t over yet-to read the rest of ‘Hair Dying’ download ‘Everyone Dies: Tales from a Morbid Author’ on Amazon here