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Charity (The Church of Seasons)

By Rhodopsera

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Views: 3,396 | Likes: +19

Charity could feel the others’ disdainful eyes on her as she was dragged into the front of the church, just below the pulpit. She took a deep breath, already shaking, as her eyes moved fearfully to the speaker above her. The speaker, a severely-dressed middle-aged woman, leered down at her before beginning her speech. “Look at this girl. Her pride is beyond measure.” Charity clenched her jaw, holding back her outburst, as the woman leaned over and grabbed a handful of her blonde hair, letting it run through her fingers like silk threads. “Look how she preens over her outward appearance like a sinful peacock.” What she was saying wasn’t exactly false, Charity thought, but what did they expect? It was her way of giving herself self-confidence, and making it so that she felt comfortable in her own skin. Every time she took care of her hair, she felt as if she was taking control, as if she was shaping other people’s perception of herself. Steeling herself, she raised her posture and tried to look straight forward. She wasn’t going to be cowed by this pretentious bitch. The speaker narrowed her eyes and scowled, grabbing a larger handful of Charity’s hair and dragging her closer. “She is wilful, spirited, and out of control.” She gestured towards Charity’s clothing, jean shorts and a t-shirt, not skimpy by any means but still alarmingly modern to the members of the Church. Her parents, in the front row of the pews, looked on, shocked at this public humiliation of their child but equally ashamed of her sinful appearance.

Charity would have glared up at the speaker, but she couldn’t turn her head far enough with her hand fisted in her hair. She settled for looking sullenly at the floor, and would have crossed her arms if there hadn’t been a burly Church member holding them behind her back. But despite her bravado, internally she was terrified. Being made an example of so publicly, and in front of all these people… she squeezed her eyes shut for a second and hoped whatever was happening wouldn’t turn out too badly.

The speaker seemed to come to a decision there and then, and announced, “This child’s vanity cannot be allowed to go on any longer.” Child? She was eighteen! She glared at the speaker’s feet. “You, there…” She leaned over to whisper a few words in the guard’s ear. He nodded, and let go of her arms, heading into the back of the church. Was Charity free to go? She made to leave, but the speaker’s firm and on her shoulder stopped her. She should feel her fingers digging into her flash. She didn’t want to look back and see her face. All there was to do was stand silently and wait for the guard to come back. So she waited. One agonizing moment after another passed, and she finally heard heavy footsteps coming from behind her. The guard was back, carrying a wide, shallow bowl, with something metal clinking inside it. The speaker looked over, peering inside. “Ah. Good.” She motioned, and the guard placed it on her pulpit, where she immediately took it, and tipped the contents out. Charity was getting increasingly confused. Was this going to be part of her punishment? What did a bowl have to do with it?

She saw the motion of a hand out of the corner of her eye, and the guards dragged her up a step, so she was beside the pulpit, facing away from the speaker. Now she couldn’t see anything, besides a few pews and a part of the whitewashed wall. “This girl was God-gifted with natural beauty.” She felt a hand running through her hair, and lifting up a lock. “But she has flaunted it, and used it for sin.” She heard the scrape of porcelain against wood, and the bowl was placed on her head. Though it was wide enough to fit around the whole thing comfortably, it was very shallow, maybe three or four inches deep. “Therefore–” she heard the blades of scissors separating. She knew where this was going. She tried to move away, but the guards kept her still– “she must lose it.” She heard the soft sawing noise of metal biting into hair, and felt the movement of hair high up on the back of her head. Snip. It fell to the ground, running down the back of her calf. She let out a cry of surprise, struggling harder, but it was no use.

The speaker lifted her scissors again, and snipped off another lock of hair, just next to her ear. Her other hand kept the bowl steady atop Charity’s head. She could hear the blades coming together. Was this… was she… “Stop, please! Why are you doing this?”
“See how this disobedient whelp refuses to accept her penance. All of you, look on what is happening, and make sure it does not happen to you. Guard your hearts from vanity!” She was haphazardly chopping off lock after lock of wavy cornsilk hair. Charity stopped struggling. It was no use now. Most of her hair was already gone, and what was left was much too short. If she stopped now, she would look like a madwoman. Silent tears started to drip down her cheeks as the speaker cut along the edge of the bowl, then close to the scalp around the back and sides of her head, clearing up any stray tufts. After one final snip, she leaned back, and then nodded. The bowl came off Charity’s head with the flourish of someone very proud of their work.

Without the bowl in the way, Charity’s head was much lighter than before, which was terrifying to think about. She couldn’t be sure, but it felt like everything under the bowl had been left, but the rest had been cut close to her head. She had a bowl cut? She would look like her kid brother after this was over, wouldn’t she? Turning away for a moment, the speaker reached back into the pulpit, and brought out clippers, with no guard attached. Charity let out a shaky exhale and struggled weakly, but she already had an idea of what was going to happen to her. The speaker menacingly flicked them on, and a whiny hum started to permeate though the otherwise silent church. Without giving her time to react, she dug into the hair at Charity’s nape, efficiently buzzing a wide stripe of fuzz straight up to the edge of the bowlcut. She worked in strips to the right, paring away most of the hair on Charity’s head. Charity didn’t dare move as she neared her ear. The left side was shaved just as quickly as the first, leaving the bare skin of her scalp on display.

Charity almost wished she’d shaved her whole head. Shaved heads could be edgy, cool, counter-culture. This? This was just humiliating. She looked at her parents out of the corner of her eye, but they refused to meet her gaze. The speaker, done with her, gestured to the guards, and they let her go as they roughly pushed her down the steps of the altar. She barely managed to stay standing as she stumbled down, back towards the pews. “Get her something sensible to wear.” One of them left again, disappearing into a back room. She put a hand to the back of her head, choking on her breath when she felt hard stubble. She felt higher and higher, moving her hand toward her ear, and only felt hair of any length three or four inches above the tip of it. She shoot her head in disbelief, and felt the short strands brush against her head. She must look ridiculous. She heard the clatter of wood, and looked over to find that a broom had been thrown on the ground next to her. She heard the speaker’s voice once more. “You’ve started paying your penance. Now take that and clean your mess up.”

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