Harvest of Hair: Part 3 (Sam)

*This is the conclusion to a recent commission where I was asked to write a series of short stories (no more than 10 pages before photos) about a group of women TRYING to save their hair. Many will fail to do so. Some will succeed. Read on to find out who walks away with their hair intact*

 

SAMANTHA

For a brief moment, I froze in mid-step as the man in front of me reached into his coat. I was certain he was reaching for his dart gun, which he would then use to deprive me of all my beautiful hair. I had a brief moment of levity where I began to wonder how I would spend my final moments with my magnificent mane, would I watch in a mirror as it fell out around me like Laura had? Would I run my fingers through it frantically and kiss it, trying desperately to commit the feeling of it to memory like Katie had? I didn’t know… but I prepared to say my farewells to my gorgeous locks which had served me so well for the last 15 years.

But then I let out a wavering and extremely loud sigh of relief as the man pulled out his phone and began dialing a number, my hand clutching my chest, which held a heart that was now beating so heavily that I thought it was going to burst out of my chest. Apparently this wasn’t the end of the road for my gorgeous fall of chestnut colored silk, but if I wanted to keep it that way, I needed to keep moving, and head to my next location. I was currently on Main Street, using the crowds to try and blend in as much as possible, looking down at the sidewalk to avoid facial recognition. I looked at my watch and saw that it was 7:57 PM, perfect time to make hop into a taxi and relocate to another part of the city.

I walked to the edge of the sidewalk and began flagging down a Taxi, but as I felt my anxiety rise with the realization that I was now a vulnerable target, I took a moment to look at myself in the reflection of a nearby car’s window. There was still a good chance my hair would be nothing but a memory by the end of the night, so I wanted to appreciate my looks as much as possible before the end.

And boy oh boy, did I have it in the looks department!

I had struggled with confidence issues my whole life, having been a gangly, plain child, and the same through most of high school. But I could admit that when I finally bloomed in junior year, I had REALLY bloomed!

I stood short at 5’4”, with a fit, well-trimmed body from years of Soccer, Volleyball, and Swimming, soul-piercing deep brown eyes which were no longer hidden behind glasses, and a lovely face with perfect, feminine, soft features. I was gifted in the “proper proportions” department, with healthy Ds placed on top of a trim waist, and of course, lush, thick brown hair that spilled down my back in a glistening waterfall of soft, shining silk that gently fell to where the bottom of my butt reached my thighs.

I had finished growing my hair out to this length my freshman year of high school, and while I was made fun of for having such overly long hair when I was still in my ugly duckling phase, my abrupt transformation into model-quality material had seemed to bring out the best in my hair as well. It shimmered and shined with a life of its own, seeming to dance in the wind or breeze without provocation, and falling beautifully under any situation. My hair, which had been with me even in the low-confidence phase of my life, was now like a security blanket to me, and boys who had grown up with me making fun of it were now suddenly asking me out, hoping to get the chance to dig their hands into it. I loved every shining, silky strand, and it went beautifully with my current outfit, black heels and a red top tucked into a pair of stretchy, faux leather trousers, and a shiny faux leather moto jacket.

In college I had been tapped to partake in the “Harvest of Hair” challenge, and had been immediately picked as a potential candidate due to my remarkable mane. I hated the idea of risking my hair for this game, but I desperately needed the money. My parents had fallen on hard times, and I put it upon myself to find a way to make money to help with tuition. Shortly after agreeing to the terms of the agreement, I had been discovered in a mall by a modeling agency, and had worked as a hair model through college, making more money than I needed, and making me regret my decision to put these treasured locks on the line, but it was too late to take it all back, and now at 24, just five short years after agreeing to the challenge, my number had been called.

I saw my watch flick to 8 PM right as a Taxi pulled up, perfect timing, so I climbed in and instructed the driver to take me to the boardwalk for my next stretch of the competition. As we pulled into traffic, I slipped out of my leather jacket and slid off my leather pants, revealing that my red top was actually a knee-length red dress that I would wear for the rest of the hunt. I paused briefly to motion to the driver to look away in his rearview mirror, and he chuckled as he obliged.

“Sorry ma’am,” he said cheerfully, “don’t get many people trying to change clothes during a 4-minute drive. You trying to avoid someone?”

“You could say that,” I said as I laid my jacket on top of my pants on the seat next to me, then smoothed the fabric of my red dress, remembering the night Katie and Laura had recommended that I wear it for the hunt.

11 DAYS EARLIER …

“No, no, NO!” Laura said as Katie had suggested I wear the red dress I was currently wearing during the three legs of the hunt, “it’s WAY too bright and obvious, she’ll be spotted in it in no time!”

“Exactly,” Laura’s friend Katie had replied, had replied, “the stalker will have had eyes on her by that point, and they will expect her to change every stop. By wearing it during the final three legs, it will break his expectations if she can make it through the first of three legs.”

I had shown up to Laura’s house a couple hours ago, but in that short time I could tell that Katie was a very nice woman, with beautiful, wavy brown hair that fell to her bra-strap. I had tracked down Laura due to rumors from the grapevine on who the last participant had been, as well as some sleuthing on my side to track her down. I had found her, and then been pleasantly surprise when she not only agreed to help me without hesitation, but introduced me to Katie, who I had learned had also been part of the Harvest. As I watched Katie talk to her friend, I secretly admired the way her long, silky curls danced around her head, and shuddered at the thought of such lovely hair falling from her head just two years ago. 

“That’s a big IF, but you made it longer than I did, so I suppose you’re right about this,” Laura said, then turned to look at me with kindness in her eyes where I was sitting meekly with my hands in my lap, her chin-length bob swishing gently with the movement, “are you hungry dear? I think we should order some Chinese and go over the game plan from start to finish.”

“If we do that, I’m buying,” I piped up, “it’s the least I can do for you two helping me.”

“Don’t even THINK about it,” Katie had said as stood up and walked behind me and began to casually brush out my long hair, “I’m honestly having fun, and we’re going to do everything to save that beautiful hair of yours Samantha, the two of us have lost our mane to the stalkers, we aren’t going to let them get ahold hair like THIS and make you three.”

I smiled as Katie slid the brush effortlessly through my hair, not hitting a single snag or knot. Her and Laura had apparently both lost during their runs, Katie less than an hour from the finish line, and I wondered how awful it had been for Katie to see those bouncing, glistening waves fall from her head. While Laura was currently sporting a rather cute chin-length bob, she had shown me a picture of how her hair had looked the day before she had lost it, and it too had been absolutely beautiful. Long, blond, and done up in thick, gorgeous barrel curls (which she told me she didn’t typically do), it was a testament to all the beautiful hair that must have been lost during this barbaric contest, a contest I had agreed to partake in for some reason.

But as gorgeous as their hair had been, it couldn’t hold a torch to mine.

And I had NO desire to have my head look like theirs had.

“Can I ask you a question?” I asked Katie as she continued to brush my hair.

“You just did,” she said with a small smile, “but I’ll give you another one.”

“Very funny,” I said, closing my eyes and taking a moment to enjoy the brush sliding through it so effortlessly, how many more days did I have left to enjoy this sensation? 

“Sorry, it’s the smartass in me,” Katie said, “what was your question honey?”

“What was it like to… you know… lose all your hair?” I asked, not really sure I wanted to know the answer, “what was it like when you realized what happened? And what was it like being bald?”

“It definitely wasn’t pleasant at first,” Katie said as she reached up and gently pulled one of her soft curls straight, smiling as she let it go and it sprang perfectly back into place, “when I got hit, it was the worst feeling in the world. My hair wasn’t as nice or as long then as it is now, but I still loved it, and it was still horrible looking at those wonderful waves and knowing that soon it was all going to be gone. But once it fell out, and the anticipation faded, it actually wasn’t as horrible as I thought, and after a while, I even kinda started to enjoy the look while I was growing it back out.”

“That’s… not what I was expecting to hear,” I replied honestly, “but it’s good to know that if I lose, maybe it won’t be as horrible as I thought.”

“But you won’t have to worry about that Sam,” Katie said as she turned her attention back to my shimmering locks, “Laura and I are NOT going to let anything happen to this hair. You’re going to keep it if it’s the last thing we do. I plan on spending many days brushing out this golden treasure.”

I chuckled at that, turning back to enjoying the feeling of having my hair played with.

“If you enjoyed it… do you ever think about shaving it again?” I asked curiously.

“Oh God no!” Katie said, her face going from a look of nostalgic remembrance to something nearing revulsion, “there were some things that were fun about it, sure, but I love my hair. On top of that, I’m still recovering from losing it, if I hadn’t, then maybe it would be as long as yours by now. I’m just saying that even though I wouldn’t dream of ever shaving my head… I’m glad I was able to experience it at least once in my life.”

“OK, so…” Laura said as she walked back into the room and laid down a legal pad and pen, “this is to write down two things: the first is the plan for Samantha, from start to finish. Every stop, every wardrobe change, every time stamp… every single detail from beginning to end.”

“And the second thing?” Katie asked as she picked up the pad.

“The most important thing of all,” Laura said as she sat down, “our order.”

PRESENT DAY

And now here I was, 11 days later and smack dab in the middle of my own hunt. I hadn’t encountered or even suspected to have seen my stalker yet, which put me ahead of both Katie and Laura’s experiences, but I still had 6 hours to go. I texted them an update and told them I was headed to the next location, the Boardwalk. The way we had planned it, this would be the prime time for tourists to gather there, making it easy for me to blend in with them.

“Here we are ma’am, your net stop,” the driver said, and I began to collect my things, “you sure you don’t want to go to the police station if you’re trying to avoid someone?”

“Oh, no, that’s OK,” I said as I tipped him generously and opened the door, “it’s a weird situation.”

“Wow! Hey! What a tip! Thank lady!” the guy said, “I’ll have to keep an eye out for you! Won’t be hard with a head of hair like THAT!”

“Well, if things don’t go well tonight, that might not be an option for very long,” I said as I reached for my discarded jacket and pants, “take care.”

I picked up my pants and jacket… paused… then set them back down and planned to pick them up later. I had been planning to mail them to myself at a nearby post office, but doing so would keep me stationary for several precious minutes. The pants had cost me only 30 dollars and the jacket 60, so if 90 dollars helped me keep my hair then it was worth it. When this was over I would swing back here and grab them, hopefully with my hair still on my head.

I got out and smoothed the skirts of my dress, put my hair into a tight bun to try and disguise it, then slipped into the crowd to try and disappear for the next 2 hours.

You can do this, I told myself as I looked around discreetly, but nervously, my fingers reflexively reaching up to fondle my massive, thick bun of plentiful, soft hair, just six more hours and you’re home free.

ALMOST 6 HOURS LATER

I ran through the streets in the early morning, whimpering in terror, hearing the steady clunk of boots behind me catching up. My hair, now long and loose, was flowing behind me as I ran, as if it was aware that it only had moments left on this Earth.

I turned a corner, then saw that two options awaited me. One was an open door to a bar that was surely having its last call, the other was an alley right next door. The logical choice would be the bar, a well-lit area where there would hopefully be a back door, but the stalker following me into the bar would likely seal the fate of my hair. I took a wild risk and ran an extra 10 feet to the alley, hoping to cut through it and risking it all on the chance that the alley was open and I could pass through to the other side easily, or at the very least, a wall I could hop over.

As I made it into the alley I was greeted by the sight of a brick wall about 10 feet tall, with a dumpster nearby to climb, I had lucked out! I quieted my frantic breathing and listened to the bootfalls coming closer… and closer… and then turning to go into the bar, he had fallen for it! Now was the time to make my move, so I jumped on the dumpster and began to scale the wall.

My golden-brown hair swirled around me as I climbed, almost like it was trying to encourage me that I could do this, and I took a moment to appreciate the whiffs of my sweet, soft, vanilla-scented hair as it brushed into my face as I climbed, a wonderful deterrent to the smell coming out of the dumpster. I reached the top of the wall, and began to mount it…

And then I let out a cry when I saw an identical wall 10 feet in front of me, with a small walkway between businesses at the bottom of the wall and two doors between them that were surely locked right now. If I dropped down, I would be trapped, and it was only a matter of time before the stalked realized he had been fooled and came this way.

I hopped back onto the dumpster and dropped to the ground as quietly as I could, then began sneaking my way to the entrance of the alley. If I could get by him while he was still in the bar, then maybe… just maybe… my hair still stood a chance of making it to see the sunrise.

But just as I reached the entrance to the alley, a large shape in a trench coat and a fedora swung into it in front of me, looking at me with determined but apologetic eyes. He pulled out a dart gun and raised it.

“Wait! Stop!” I said with my hands held up, desperate to save my hair, “please, don’t! I’ll pay back all the money that’s already been paid to me! Just please let me keep my hair!”

“Sorry,” he said as he aimed down the sight, which was pointed right at me, “if it makes you feel better, your hair really is quite gorgeous, but so was the hair of my last target.”

He squeezed the trigger… and all that came out of the gun was a small “click”.

I stood there, panting, unable to move as he reached down to fix the jam. I couldn’t get past him, the alley was too narrow, and he would be able to easily grab me whichever way I went. I was trying to figure out what to do, and debating going back to the wall to try and make the impossible jump, when suddenly a beeping sound emanated from the stalker.

He looked down at his watch, then back up at me, the apologetic eyes turning to bright, warm ones at some piece of information I was missing, a resigned smile spreading over his face.

“Saved by the bell,” he said, putting away his dart gun, “looks like your hair lives to shine another day.”

I didn’t understand, and then it hit me what had just happened.

“Was that… was that what I think it was?” I asked nervously.

He nodded and held up his watch, which now read “2:00:18 AM.”

“Indeed it was,” he said happily, and I had never been happier to lose track of time, “and the best part was that since it was an equipment malfunction that prevented me from getting you, I still get paid, and you still get to keep your hair. Unfortunately, you won’t get your payout, since technically I should have gotten you.”

“Are you KIDDING?” I exclaimed happily as I reached back and grabbed two massive handfuls of my hair to hold up to him, “I’d PAY that payout if it meant getting to keep this!”

“Well I’m glad things worked out for both of us,” he said with a wider smile, then he tipped his hat to me and turned to leave, “ma’am.”

He left… and I was left alone with my head of gorgeous, odds-defying hair still to myself. I looked down at the mounds of it that I was still holding in my hands, and I laughed as I dug my face into the warm, soft silk like a dog digging into his food bull, kissing it and stroking the silken lengths without a single shred of dignity.

“Oh my god, you made it!” I exclaimed to my hair, “WE made it, and now you’re safe.”

I stood there for several minutes before pulling out my phone and ordering an Uber, then headed home, running my fingers through my hair lovingly as I did.

I had been certain that my hair wasn’t going to make it through the night, but somehow, it had, and I was wondering what came next.

It was three in the morning when I got back home, but I was so wired I couldn’t even begin to think about sleeping. I called Katie and Laura on the way home, who were both waiting up to hear how things went. They screamed ecstatically when they heard that I still had my hair, and congratulated me on being the first person in almost ten years to make it through the hunt with my hair still intact. As I walked through the door I pulled my hair out of its massive ponytail, feeling it spill down my back with its effortless perfection.

I sat at my vanity, still wearing my red dress that I had spent the final leg of the hunt in. I couldn’t wait to change out of this dress and into my nice, warm pajamas, but for now my wonderful, shining locks needed some much deserved attention, so I grabbed my hairbrush and spent some time brushing it lovingly and gently. As I did so I watched the way the strands shined brilliantly in the lights, danced playfully around my head, slid effortlessly through the brushes. It was wonderful, and I cherished every moment of it. It may have been the best 10 minutes of my life.

 

EPILOGUE

“This is unacceptable,” one of the council members for the council (a woman he had nicknamed “The Bird”, even from the sound of her altered voice) said from her seat as John stood in front of the Council of Strands… the ringleaders of the Harvest of Hair, “that girl should have lost her hair from the sound of things. YOU should have finished the job Mr Locke!”

John looked around at the 7 chairs sat at the elaborate bench. He had been doing this for nearly two decades, and had still yet to see a single face of the council, since the only called him in with the room in complete darkness, a backlight keeping their heads rim-lit, their faces in shadow, and their voices heavily modulated. John didn’t care, he wasn’t paid to know the identities of his employers, he was paid to hunt down hair, and he was exceptionally good at it.

“Hey, don’t blame me for your shitty equipment,” John said, pointing his finger at the speaker, whose face was completely obscured in shadow, “that girl played by the rules to a T, and she won fair and square. I did my job perfectly, just like I have for the last 16 years, and it would have been a perfect record if your little dart gun hadn’t jammed like that! I’ve been telling you for years to stop skimping on the equipment, and now it finally bit you in the ass. Maybe next time don’t get your gear from Toys R Us.”

“Yes Mr Locke, a perfect record indeed,” growled the deep voice of another council member, a male that John had nicknamed “The Pompadour”, since even in the near complete darkness John could still make out that hilarious, over-the-top style, “a perfect record, despite your… indiscretions… of the last hunt.”

“You leave Laura out of this!” John said, pointing an accusing finger at the Pompadour, “you’ve done enough to her, her hair fell at my hands just like the rest.”

“Yes, it certainly did,” another voice said, the only council member John found himself afraid of, and the leader of the council, the hulking man he referred to as “The Gorilla”, “however your success does not detract from the fact that you broke protocol and actually SPOKE to her. We showed immense forgiveness by letting that slide, and now we have this indiscretion.”

“The point is, Mr Locke,” another female on the council piped up, that our clients pay great deals of money to watch these women get hunted down and lose their hair on a live feed, which is what funds this operation and keeps you employed, our clients have been requesting for this… what was her name?”

“Samantha Clay…” another council member answered.

“Yes,” the female council member continued, “our clients have been requesting Miss Clay for years now, have practically been salivating to see her bald, and now they are screaming for blood because they don’t get to see it due to your equipment malfunction.”

“YOUR… equipment malfunction,” John corrected with a scowl. The female sighed, but relinquished.

“Our… equipment malfunction, yes,” she corrected, “regardless, steps must be taken to correct this.”

“What do you mean ‘steps’,” John said, raising his eyebrow.

“It’s simple,” the Gorilla growled, “we inform Miss Clay that since circumstances beyond our control were what led to her victory, she will need to complete the trial again next year.”

“No! Absolutely not!” John said, shaking his head, “I will NOT have you drag this girl back into the field to torture her a second time.”

“Your morality is commendable Mr Locke, if not misplaced,” The Pompadour said, “but obviously such a unique situation would bring with it… special rewards. Should you finish the job next year, the council is prepared to offer you a reward of one million dollars for a job well done.”

The shadows all nodded in approval, but John stood there… unable to speak for a moment. A million dollars… for a single night’s work. Not only that, but he now knew this Samantha girl’s MO, her gait, the way she thought, everything he was trained to learn as he stalked his prey… and he would have it all from the start, she would be lucky if she lasted two hours. John thought for a moment… then raised his head to the council.

“My services may be for sale… but my values aren’t,” he said quietly, and he saw several council members cock their heads in disbelief, “I won’t do it.”

“Don’t be such a fool John!” the Gorilla exclaimed amid the outcry from the council, slamming down his fist to bring them back to order, “don’t forget, this girl agreed to this contest!”

“A contest with rules,” John said, “rules which seem to simple for you to disregard. You can find yourself another Stalker.”

With that, John turned and walked out of the chamber, letting the door slam behind him as he did. Once he was gone, the lights came back on in the room, the need for anonymity having passed.

“That was… unexpected,” Stephanie Maxwell, AKA “The Bird” said as she put out her cigarette, “now what do we do?”

Jared Kruger, the man John had called “The Gorilla”, contemplated for a moment, then waved his hands toward the door.

“Mr Locke’s services will be missed, but his departure is certainly nor much of a problem,” he said as he looked down at the file in front of him, “his protege has already shown even more promise than Mr Locke had, and should be ready for his first and most important mission. Rest assured ladies and gentleman, Miss Clay turned out to be exceptionally lucky last night, but her luck will not extend to next year.”

He pulled a photo from the file and looked at it with a cruel smile, the photo was of Samantha walking to her job, her long, golden hair flowing behind her in the wind, a mane to be exceptionally proud of.

“Miss Clay doesn’t stand a chance come next year,” he said, still looking at that hair, “her hair is merely living on borrowed time…”

THE END… for now…

 

I am currently working on a fourth part to this story, and it will be available in my subscription area located at the link below. Please subscribe for a dollar and see how this ends, complete with photos of the before and after looks for each of the girls.

 https://www.deviantart.com/writer4hire0316/gallery

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