A while ago I was in a library and the girl next to me got out a pair of scissors and began cutting her hair. I was so curious as to why, but I didn’t want to ask. I haven’t been able to get the image out of my head, so I decided to write a story about it today.
Plain. The word had been planted in her mind years ago. It had taken root and spread through every cell of her brain. She’d grown her hair to hide her face. But hiding was lonely. Sitting in the library she imagined her bad thoughts being pushed out of her skull like one of those toys you push playdough out of. Terrible insulting words pouring out of her mind and spilling onto her shoulders. The scissors in her bag whispered to her. They could fix this. She could get rid of the thoughts. Snip. Her mind lightened. Snip. The words fell to the floor. For the first time she bared her naked face. Looking around the library, she could feel eyes on her from every direction. They peeped from shelves and computer booths, inquisitive and confused. Goodbye plain.
freyawrightbrough 