Snipshaver
Another month had passed, and the transformation that had started just 8 werks ago was about to reach its finale. Georgia walked toward the Vantage Salon, her boots clicking on the pavement with a newfound confidence. Her hair was currently in slightly a chaotic transition; the platinum on top had grown into a messy, textured fringe, while a fuzzy shadow of her natural blonde roots bristled along the skin-faded sides and back.
When she stepped inside, the air felt different—thicker with the scent of chemicals. Mary was waiting, but she was barely recognizable. Georgia gasped, her hand flying to her mouth. Mary had completely shaved her head, her scalp a velvety, bleached-blonde stubble that made her intricate neck tattoos and silver bridge piercing pop with a fierce intensity.
“Mary? Wow.” Georgia breathed, strangely entranced by the raw, bold beauty of the stylist’s bare scalp.
“I had to match the energy of the day, diva” Mary beamed, ushering Georgia toward a specialized, long leather chair. Georgia hugged her, and made her way over.
Unlike previous visits, there was no cape. The lack of the heavy satin fabric made Georgia feel exposed, her skin prickling in the salon’s climate-controlled air. “This is our last session. The most important one. Today, you become the face that will define a decade of fashion.”
“Sit back, honey. Relax,” Mary whispered, adjusting the chair until Georgia was lying nearly flat. “Close your eyes and trust me.”
Georgia obeyed. Her heart hammered, but the familiar “sickening thud” had evolved into a rhythmic, adrenaline-fueled pulse.
Then came the sound. The hum.
It was a low, industrial drone. Before Georgia could brace herself, she felt the cold, heavy vibration of the clippers press firmly against the very center of her forehead. Mary didn’t hesitate. She pushed the blades straight back through the center of Georgia’s platinum fringe.
Zip.
Georgia’s eyes flew open. She gasped, a strangled sound catching in her throat as she felt the metal teeth grazing her scalp, leaving a path of raw sensation in their wake. She watched in the mirror’s angle as a thick, messy clump of blonde hair slid down her temple.
“Mary!” she choked out, but the clippers didn’t stop.
The sensation was violent and total. The clippers, fitted with a short number 2 guard, mowed through the hair with a relentless, rhythmic efficiency. Georgia felt the vibration rattling her head as Mary worked from the forehead to the crown, then from the ears to the nape. The weight of her hair—what little was left of it—simply vanished.
Within two minutes, the hair was gone. The fringe was gone. Everything was gone.
Georgia sat up, her hands trembling as they flew to her face. She slowly moved her fingers upward, her palms meeting the prickly, velvet texture of a uniform buzzcut. It felt alien—cold, bristly, and dangerously exposed.
“That’s only part one,” Mary said softly, handing her a small glass of water. “Drink this. You need to be still for what comes next.”
Georgia looked into Mary’s eyes, seeing the shaved stylist rub her own buzzed head in a gesture of solidarity. “Trust me,” Mary repeated. Georgia took a long, hesitant swallow. Within minutes, a heavy, warm numbness began to spread through her limbs. Her eyelids grew heavy; the world became a soft-focus blur of white lights and muffled music.
“Jumper off, Georgia. Lay flat,” Mary’s voice sounded like it was coming from underwater. Georgia complied, her muscles feeling like lead as she stripped down to her black tank top and settled back into the chair.
Through the haze, Georgia saw the door open. Two women entered. One, a slim girl who had a vibrant ginger bob and a body that was a living canvas of dark, gothic ink. She reached out, her black latex glove a cool contrast against Georgia’s arm. The other girl was tall and striking with jet-black micro-bangs and a piercing gaze.
“Time to finish the masterpiece,” Mary told them.
The room filled with a new sound: the high-pitched, electric buzz of tattoo needles.
Georgia felt the first sting on her left shoulder. It was a sharp, biting sensation, like a series of hot scratches, but the sedation turned the pain into the distance. She felt Mary working on her shoulder, needles dancing across her left forearm, and a steady hand on her right arm etching into her skin.
As the hours drifted, Georgia floated in a dream-like state. She felt the scratch of the needles etching intricate lines up and down her body, that stretched from her knuckles up to her wrists, around her arms, and onto her shoulders.
Mary gently pushed Georgia’s chin up, and began extending the ink up onto her neck.
She felt the pressure on her chest as the artists joined their designs, creating a tapestry of sharp, needle-thin lines and abstract artwork. She imagined the ink blooming under her skin like dark flowers, permanently marking her body.
On her back, she felt the heavy, sweeping motions of the needles tracing large, jagged curves. The needles seemed to trace almost every inch of skin on her body.
Somehow, Georgia wasn’t afraid. She thought of her career, the runways, and the “new Georgia.” The hair would grow, but this—this was her new soul being etched onto her skin. She totally submitted to what she would become.
“Steady now,” thr ginger tattoist murmured, leaning over Georgia’s face. The tattooing had stopped, replaced by the clinical scent of antiseptic.
Georgia felt the pinch of clamps on her bottom lip, pulling it out into a pout.
A sharp, localized sting rippled ger lip as the needle pierced the left side, quickly followed by another on the right. Georgia’s lip remained clamped in place as two new studs were screwed in each side. Snakebites.
She felt the weight of the metal, heavy against her skin, but the stylist lined ul the needle once more between Georgia’s eyes.
The needle slipped through the flesh at the bridge of Georgia’s nose, locking in place a small bar between her eyes.
Finally, Georgia’s septum was pierced, and a ring now adorned her nose, hanging just above her top lip.
While the piercings were finalized, Mary applied a thick, cool paste to Georgia’s newly buzzed scalp. The familiar scent of ammonia flared, but Georgia was too far gone to wince. After what felt like an eternity, her head was tilted back into the sink. The warm water was a blissful, rushing roar, washing away the bleach and the remnants of the day’s toil.
“Sleep now, Georgia,” Mary whispered.
When Georgia finally woke, the salon was quiet. She felt a strange, tight itchiness across her arms and torso. Her lip felt swollen, and her tongue instinctively flicked against the new metal studs
inside her mouth.
She was wearing a soft, oversized black jumper that hid her body.
Mary was there, smiling. “Ready to see?”
Georgia stood, her legs slightly wobbly, and began to walk to the mirror.
She would never tilt belive what she saw next. She didn’t scream. She didn’t sob. She simply stared.
The girl in the mirror was a showstopper. Her head was a perfect, platinum-blonde number 2 buzzcut that shimmered like a halo under the lights.
New bridge and septum piercings drew a vertical line of silver down her face, locking the viewer’s eyes to hers. The silver bar between her eyes glinted in the light as she leaned in for a closer look.
The snakebites gave her mouth a dangerous, pouty edge.
“It’s so dramatic,” Georgia whispered, her voice raspy. “I can’t believe it’s me.”
She ran her hands acrosd her head, feeling the soft bristles of her buzzcut. All that beautiful blonde hair that defined her was gone entirely, shaved away to leave just the raw beauty of her facial features.
She pressed sher tongue against the metal pins inside her bottom lip, they still felt almost as alien as she looked to herself. But, Georgia couldn’t help but feel they complimented the shape of her lips.
“Look at the rest,” Mary encouraged, gesturing to the mirror and looking down at Georgia’s body.
Georgia slowly pulled the turtleneck over her head, revealing just a black bikini that left almost nothing to the imagination.
As she looked up, her breath hitched. Her skin was no longer hers; it was a masterpiece of black ink. Cybersigilistic vines raced up her neck like black lightning. Intricate gothic flowers and symbols crowded her arms, and large roman numerals adorned her belly. She touched the lines on her hands, feeling the slight raised texture of the fresh ink. She traced vines of holly leaves from her fingers up to her neck, that split into intricate patterns across her shoulders and collarbones.
She took a deep breath, observing the contrast between her naturally delicate, feminine features and the aggressive, high-fashion armor she now wore. Only weeks ago, she was a pretty girl with honey-blonde waves. Now, she was an icon.
The exposed skin of her neck and ears tingled as she turned her head. She looked powerful. This felt permanent. It was permanent.
“This is it,” Georgia said, a slow, genuine smile spreading across her pierced lips. “This is me.”
She turned away from the mirror, and hugged Mary. Their shaved heads pressed on eachers shoulders, and Georgia felt as rush as Mary rubbed her shaved head.
As Georgia pulled away, she locked eyes with Mary, who seemed to be staring into her soul. Without thinking, she leaned closer and pressed her lips against Mary’s.
Georgia had never kissed a girl before, but she felt a fire ignite deep inside her stomach. They kissed passionately, each pair of tattooed hands tracing up to the others neck, their lip piercings occasionally tapping against each other.
For a brief second, Mary pulled away and they locked eyes again.
“Weclome to my world, babe” she whispered, smiling.
Georgia bit her lip and smiled.
“it’s so good to be here.”
