Harvest of Hair: Part 1 (Katie)

*This is a recent commission where I was asked to write a series of short stories (no more than 10 pages before adding 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*

 

Katie

“Hey, you look cute,” my husband Pete said from the couch as I trotted down the stairs and smiled at him, “you heading out?”

“Yep,” I said, trying not to let my voice crack at the panic I was feeling, not just from lying to my husband, but at what lay ahead of me, “I should be back tomorrow afternoon, not sure what this spa trip entails.”

“Well, have fun sweetheart,” he said as I bent down to plant a kiss on his lips “don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”

As I kissed him my soft hair spilled over my shoulders and tickled his face, and he reflexively reached up and gently squeezed my gentle, glistening curls for good luck. I loved when he did that, plus my hair was going to need all the luck it could get for the near future.

I went into the bathroom and took a long look at myself in the mirror. All things considered, Pete was right, I DID look cute, SUPER cute. At 28 and a mother of two, I had softened a bit from the knockout bombshell I had been in college, but I definitely still had it in the looks department with my deep blue eyes, beautiful, porcelain complexion, and magnificent D breasts which still bounced perkily as I walked, even after 2 bouts of breastfeeding. I looked good dressed up in a pair of tight black leggings under black leather boots, and a white turtleneck. It was going to be a nice day, mid 70s with a light breeze, a day where you could literally wear anything. I debated grabbing a hat, but decided against it, instead taking a moment to fluff up my soft, bouncy, brown curls.

My hair was naturally thick and shiny, and I had worn it in every style imaginable over the last 7 years of marriage, from long and blond, to chin-length and red, but it hadn’t been until just over five months ago when I had finally discovered the style I was born to wear. After rolling the dice and going back to my natural, shiny, warm, chocolate-brown tone, I had discovered how magnificent my hair was when I wore it loose and simple. When I let it dry naturally, added few sprays of my leave-in conditioner and favorite “beach spray”, and spent about 10 minutes doing a little bit of fluffing, my hair came out in beautiful, natural, gentle waves of shining silk that fell to my shoulder blades, which I called my “beach waves”.

 

It took little-to-no-work to get it to look perfect, and five months of not using heat on it and using nothing but leave-in conditioners and gentle hold products had made it the healthiest, shiniest, and softest it’s ever been. I finished fluffing it up and looked at it in the mirror from several angles, smiling at the final product. It looked as fluffy and as thick as ever, shining beautifully and swishing playfully with every movement. It was gorgeous, and I was happy that it looked so good right now.

Because there was a chance… a very GOOD chance… that I might lose it all by the end of the day.

It had all started in college.

I had been a sophomore in Alpha Delta Pi when we received a strange offer from a mysterious benefactor. Apparently, an anonymous group of former sorority sisters partook in an event called “The Harvest of Hair” that members were free to join should they wish, and if selected, they would be given $2000 every year for the next 20 years, but at a risk.

Essentially, every girl in the chapter was free to apply. If selected, they would be put on a list of possible “candidates” and stay on that list for up to 20 years. The list of candidates was never less than 80 since the list was refreshed every 20 years. Staying on the list (even if you were never selected) would net 2000 dollars being deposited into your bank account every January 1st at midnight. Once a year, at any given time of the year, a name was drawn from the list of candidates, and a professional private eye (called “The Stalker”) would be tasked with locating them in the city and shooting them with a dart containing a very potent, fast-acting depilatory. The hunt would last from 10 AM to midnight, and should you make it to midnight, not only would you get to keep your hair, but an additional 20,000 dollars would be added to your account.

I had found the concept strange, but exciting at 19, and had signed up. At the time my hair had been in a pixie-length, strawberry blond style, so I didn’t care as much about it as I did now, and I thought how great that money would be over time, especially if I never spent it and saved it up. Surprisingly, I had been put on the list, as well as my best friend Laura, who wore her thick blond hair in a chin-length bob at the time.

Over the next 9 years I would find the love of my life, get married, and have 2 amazing kids. I would also grow out my hair to my waist, cut it back to my chin, grow it back out to my bra-strap, and finally cut it back to the length it was now at my shoulder blades and start wearing it in my new “beach waves” style.

The rules of the Harvest stated you would be notified at least 30 days in advance, and would be required to take the day off of work if necessary. One day nearly a month ago, we had just come back from vacation when I found a letter in my mailbox. It had no address, no return address, and no postage, and as soon as I saw it I knew what it was. I opened it and all that was written on the page was “NOVEMBER 15TH”, just 35 days to prepare for the most terrifying day of my life.

I had dropped the letter and allowed myself to slide down the wall, my soft, thick hair doing excellent work of cushioning my head from the bump against the wall. I couldn’t believe it! A 1.6 percent chance of my being picked this year, and somehow it had happened! What was I going to do? How was I going to explain what happened to Pete and the kids if I came back home and my gorgeous, silky curls were all gone?

I had called Laura when I had gotten the letter and she had been flabbergasted, but thankful that it wasn’t her number that had come up.

“If anyone can get through this, it’s you Katie,” she had told me, “but I can’t imagine how nervous you must be right now. I’d be terrified if I had been called, especially after spending years getting to where it is now.”

I had chuckled at that. After college, Laura had grown out her hair from a chin-length bob to her waist, with thick bangs cut in the front. She had said she wanted to grow it out to her butt. It was certainly a lot more hair than my own, but I still loved my hair enough to do anything to try and save it when the time of the hunt arrived. Laura was older than I was. She had gone back to school to get her degree at 29, which was when I met her in college. She was 38 now, so I always appreciated her older, sage advice.

“Well, luckily this isn’t your time Laura… yet,” I said with a slightly mischievous tone of voice, “have you… I don’t know… heard anything through the grapevine about how to handle this?”

“A little actually,” she replied, and my interest piqued, “always be moving, even if you don’t have a plan of where to go. Standing still is a death sentence. Take your public transportation trips as soon as you can and keep doing them, they basically reset the stalker’s ability to track you to square one.”

“That’s actually really helpful,” I said, “do you know how often the prey manages to win?”

“From what I’ve heard, not often,” she said honestly, “I think 3 of the last 35 hunts managed to evade them the entire night, and that number may be too high.”

“So less than ten percent, great,” I said, “anything else?”

There was an awkward silence on the other line, and I could tell Laura was debating telling me something.

“I’ve… heard what it feels like when you get jabbed with a dart,” she said, “but I’m not sure if you want to hear it.”

I sighed loudly and thought about it, then figured I may as well listen, even though it wouldn’t help me in the slightest.

“Go ahead,” I said as I reached up and began nervously twirling one of my long, springy curls around my finger nervously, “I may as well hear it.”

“OK, so, if they manage to get you, your head starts to itch,” Laura explained, “and a few seconds after that, there’s a strange tingling in your head. All of this happens very quickly apparently, like not even 30 seconds, and then… a few seconds after the tingling begins, your hair just sort of falls out.”

“Like slowly, or quickly?” I asked, still twirling my curl.

“Like instantly,” she replied, “one second your hair is perfectly fine, the next second it all falls out and hits the floor, they say it’s unreal.”

“I’d imagine,” I said, finally letting go of my curl, which sprang perfectly back into place as always, “any last words of advice?”

“Not really hun,” Laura said sadly, “just… do me a favor, and enjoy your hair as much as you can this next month.”

It was now November 15th, the day of the hunt. I checked my watch as I pulled my car into the parking lot in the middle of the city, the area I would be stalked through. It was 9:53 AM, seven more minutes until the game began.

The rules of the game were numerous, but straight forward and simple:

1. You must remain in the city at all times during the hunt

2. You must be on foot at all times during the hunt

3. You were allowed to take public transportation every 2 hours to another part of the city

4. You were not allowed to assault the stalkers in any way, doing so would result in an immediate loss

5. You could go into buildings to hide or blend in during the hunt

6. No bodyguards allowed, the prey must be alone at all times (this had apparently happened a few years ago by a woman desperate to keep her hair)

7. The stalkers had three shots to get you, if they all missed, the hunt is over, the prey wins

8. If the stalker accidentally hits a random passerby instead of the intended target, both parties are to leave immediately and the prey wins (this has never happened)

If 2 AM rolled around and the stalker still hasn’t hit his prey, the game was over, and the prey got to keep their hair AND the additional $20,000. But if the person on the run violated the rules, they would be forced to lose their hair regardless, as well as pay back at least 5 years-worth of payments.

I went over the rules several more times in my head before an alarm on my phone went off letting me know it was now 10 AM. I slipped on a pair of leather gloves, took a deep breath, snuck in one last look at my beautiful, wavy hair in the rearview mirror, and stepped out of the car, then slipped into a nearby crowd to try and hide within their ranks as I walked briskly down the road.

Things started off well enough. The rest of the morning passed without me ever getting the sense that something was off. As soon as noon hit I hopped into a taxi to take me into the shopping district, then stayed there weaving in and out of shops until about 2:30, at which point I hopped onto a bus and rode it into the business district. It wasn’t until about 4:40 that I began to feel something in the back of my neck warning me that I needed to get out of here, and fast.

I hailed a taxi, and a after a minute or so one pulled over to the sidewalk for me. I lowered my hand to open the door and get in…

TINK!

“Huh?” I said out loud as I looked down next to where I had just heard a small metallic sound ring out, and my eyes grew wide. There, right where my hand had been a split second ago, was a small dart filled with a sinister looking blue fluid. My stalker had just taken a shot at me, and missed by a micrometer!

I let out a panicked cry as I threw myself into the taxi as fast as I could, my soft, glistening curls bouncing wildly around my head in a storm as I did so, then told the driver to take me to the other side of the city as fast as he could. He obliged, and as we left the area, I felt my heart-rate return to normal.

That had been close… WAY too close. If my hand had lingered a little longer, just a spilt second longer, my hair would have been nothing but a memory now. I had gotten careless, allowed myself to slip up somehow, stayed in one place for way too long. Or maybe… maybe the stalker was getting better at detecting me, and it was only going to get harder from here. Either option was problematic, and I needed to adapt if I wanted to stay ahead of the game.

I reached into my bag and pulled out a pair of expensive strappy shoes and a baby blue satin bomber jacket. I slipped both of them on, then pulled the black tape off the sides of my leggings, revealing white lines running up the sides. I was hoping I wouldn’t need to make the fast change until later today, but I needed to do whatever I could to change my looks in order to make it to 2 AM. I directed the driver to head to the nearby post office, where I would mail my boots back to my house.

As he made his way towards the post office I pulled out a small compact and opened it up. I reached up with both hands and wildly tussled my warm, soft, fluffy hair, shaking it out wildly and letting it fall back into place a little poofier and wilder than it normally did. My hair was remarkable in that it would settle back into its beautiful, normal waves in a short time, but for now the extra volume would hopefully throw off my appearance. As we pulled up to my destination, I took a brief moment to appreciate my hair in the mirror, reaching up and softly squeezing the wild, gentle curls between my fingers, feeling them bounce back to life as I let go, and twirling one of the silken waves around my finger lovingly.

I had managed to save my hair… but for how long?

From that moment on I quickened my pace, checked my 6 more frequently, and changed my paths every few minutes to keep potential pursuers off my tail. My quicker pace caused my soft curls to bounce more playfully with each step, and as I trotted through the crowds on the streets I could feel them dancing lightly around my face with their usual, wonderful springiness. I wanted nothing more than to be able to feel that feeling tomorrow… and prayed that my daughter and husband would get to play with my wonderful, silky waves tomorrow when this was over.

I made it through the day, and the night, and into the wee hours of the morning. The whole time my hair still adorned my head and gave me that warm, soft reassurance of its presence. By the time 12:30 rolled around I still had one more trip across the city to use. I would get on the 12:40 train and take it to downtown, which would let me off around 1. After that, I only needed to hide for about an hour, something I knew I could very easily do. I had promised myself that if I managed to make it back home with my hair intact, I was going to tell my husband to make mad, passionate love to me that night, and tell him to dig his hands roughly and deeply into my soft curls and never let them go.

I made my way down the stairs into the subway tunnel and swiped my card for entry, then waited by the tracks as quietly as I could, my satin jacket pulled tight around me and a pillar between me and the stairs to block anyone from seeing me. I was alone on the platform, which was spooky, the only sounds were the occasional roar from the tunnel and a small shuffle of a nearby discarded newspaper in the breeze. A small gust of wind made my curls flutter, so I reached up and smoothed them, taking a moment to appreciate the warm, soft feel of my hair again.

 

“Come on… come onnnnnnnn…” I whispered quietly, praying for the subtle horn and roaring sound coming down the tunnel which always signaled the subway’s approach. I twirled on of my curls around my finger nervously as I continued to silently will the subway to arrive faster.

I heard a CLINK from the stairs above me, and my breath caught in my chest. I didn’t move for a moment, afraid that the noise was the sound of a turnstile letting someone in. A fellow commuter? My stalker? I didn’t know, but after a minute I began breathing again when no further sounds followed. I looked down at my watch and saw that the train was a few minutes late, and while I felt my heart-rate begin to climb, I reminded myself that this just meant once I was at my final stop, I would just need to evade the stalker for less than an hour now, so maybe this was a good thing?

Finally, I heard that familiar rumbling noise in the tunnel that signaled my trains arrival, so I moved away from the platform out towards the edge. As I waited I noticed that a lone, loose curl was fluttering in front of my eyes. I couldn’t figure out why until I realized that I was trembling, growing anxious as I waited for the car to slow and the doors to open. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, they did, and I slipped in and sat opposite the doors facing the stairway onto the platform.

I was sitting there, waiting, when I suddenly saw a man in a fedora and trench-coat quickly descend down the stairs and look around. My eyes grew wide in fear, but relief quickly flooded back in as the doors began to shut. There was no way he was going to make it onto the train. Then he turned and saw me, and somehow… impossibly… his hand became a blur as he pulled out a small object and pointed it at me right as the doors shut.

I screamed and threw my arms up… only lowering them as I realized the subway was moving and I was alone in the car. I looked around and breathed a sigh of relief when I realized he hadn’t made it in after all, and I was alone in the car. But… that thing he had pulled out, what was it?

Suddenly a wave of horrible realization swarmed over me, and I quickly looked down at my body for a hint of anything on me. It only took a couple seconds for me to find the dart sticking to the side of my calf, and when I saw it I let out a loud gasp of pure terror.

“Oh no,” I said quietly as I plucked it out and examined it, unlike the one in the Taxi, this one didn’t have a trace of the blue liquid still left inside of it… because it was now inside of ME, “no, no no no no NOOOOOOO!”

I dropped the dart to the ground, where it made a clinking sound and disappeared from the story forever, but right then something much more awful, much more insidious and horrible was taking place. As I pleaded for this to be some kind of mistake, I felt a small, dull itching sensation quickly beginning to build in my head and begin spreading over it. That was the moment I knew that these were the final moments I had left with my beautiful, soft waves, and that soon they would be gone forever.

“Oh God, please no,” I said as I buried my hands deep into my lush, thick curls, trying to relish the reassuring feeling of their soft, playful bounciness for what I knew would be their last moments. I tried to think what I could do to enjoy them in their final seconds, but I was at a complete loss. After nearly six months of wearing my hair in this wonderful, beautiful look, of figuring out how to perfectly fluff it up and style it, of loving the way my husband and daughter would play with it, and now less than 15 seconds remained with it before we were parted forever. What could you possibly do in such a short time?

My hands were still buried deep in my mane as I felt that strange itching turn to a tingling, and I knew my time left with my hair was rapidly coming to an end. I grabbed two fistfuls and squeezed… HARD, making my head burn wildly as I did so. I did it for two reasons, the first was to distract myself from that awful tingling that signaled my hair was seconds away from its complete annihilation, and the second was sort of a self-punishment for allowing this to happen to my hair in the first place after swearing to keep it safe.

After squeezing so hard to the point that I felt I was going to yank it out right then and there, I let go of my beloved waves and just held them gently in my hands, the bright pain giving way to a dull throb that completely drowned out the tingling that had been there a few seconds ago. That was how I wanted it, my final moments with my hair uninterrupted, no outside feelings to remind me of its impending end, which was rapidly approaching. I thought of the way my daughter would gently pull my waves straight and release them, laughing as they bounced and sprang back into place. “Bee twaves!” she would call them as she did so, making me laugh every time. I thought of the way I would always wear them to bed in a messy bun, and how when my husband and I would begin to make love he would slowly, delicately, pull my silk hair-tie loose and release them, sending those beautiful curls spilling over the pillow in a deep shadow of silk, his hands always quickly digging into those thick locks and squeezing them with various degrees of harshness as we both edged towards climax. He loved the feeling of my soft curls on his fingers, and now… he would never be able to enjoy them again.

Almost unconsciously, I let go of the hair I was holding in my left hand, but pulled the hair in my right hand to my face and kissed it, then pressed it against my cheek lovingly in a final symbol of love and appreciation for it. I was still shocked after all these months at just how wonderful it felt, so clean and warm and soft and silky, smelling richly of the expensive shampoos and conditioners I had lavished upon it, almost in defiance of what was about to happen to it My hair felt so rich and healthy that I almost managed to trick myself into thinking I would be able to keep these beautiful, thick, shining waves forever, that I would be allowed to grow them back out to my bra-strap like my goal had been before my number had been called. But I knew otherwise. I knew that my time with my hair had run out, that the 30 seconds or so had more or less passed, and that my hair was about to fall out dramatically and suddenly any second now.

“I’m going to miss you so much,” I whispered to my beloved silken waves as I continued to press them against my face, “please come back to me when this is all over.”

I was still holding them against my face when suddenly, the lights flickered and went out in the subway car. The second they did, I felt something in my head and my hand give way, and when the lights came back on, the thick tress I had been holding against my face was now in my hand, severed from my head, but the rest of my gorgeous waves were still attached, I could see them still hanging in my peripheral vision.

I let out a cry as I looked down at the thick lock in my hand, but a split second later the lights flickered once again and went out. It was only for a second or two like last time, but in that time I felt something in my head give way, like a hand letting go of something. I heard a whisper of soft silk, like someone letting go a silk handkerchief and letting it slide down their body, and I felt a surprisingly heavy weight vanish from my head, quickly sliding off of it and landing squarely on my shoulders, before the lights flickered back on in the car.

I looked down and was not surprised to see my thick, lustrous curls spread around me, most of them on the floor in a pool of shining brown, some still clinging to the shoulders of my satin jacket, but not a single one left on my head. I slowly turned to face the nearby window, and in the dim light I saw a stranger with a bare, pale head staring back at me. It was so familiar… but at the same time so alien, the warm, brunette curls no longer delicately framing my face, which made it stand out in a way that I both hated and found intriguing.

 

I looked down and saw that I was still holding the loose sheaf of hair I had been holding when it had fallen out, and despite a brief desire to keep it, I let out a sigh and dropped it to the floor to rejoin the rest of its fallen comrades. I looked down at the pile, shocked at just how much hair I had recently had on my head, then was shocked out of the trance by the sound of the doors opening.

I stepped off the subway, abandoning the massive pile of silken curls as I began walking towards the parking lot where I was parked. There was no sense staying out, the game was over, and I had lost. As I made my way to my car I reflected on how a pretty brunette with gorgeous, shining waves had left the car, but a strange, alien-looking woman with a bare head would be entering it and driving home. I would drive to a Waffle House tonight, have a very unhealthy breakfast and several cups of coffee, then return in the morning to explain to my husband what had happened. The whole truth… from beginning to end.

No matter how hard or well he took it though, I knew I would win him over when I explained that our children’s college was nearly already paid for.

2 YEARS LATER

“Honestly Laura, you need to see it,” I said as I walked through the front door to my home, “I loved my hair before the contest, but it’s somehow even BETTER now. Healthier, thicker. Another year or so and it should be back to its former length.”

“Well you’ve been working at getting it back for over two years now Katie,” Laura told me as I placed my purse on the counter and slipped out of my jacket, “and the way you’ve been doting on it, I’m sure it looks amazing.”

“Not as amazing as yours though?” I asked playfully and Laura laughed.

“Well, come on now, you’ve seen MY hair,” she replied, “you have some stiff competition.”

I chuckled at that as I realized nobody was home yet, so I made my way to the bathroom.

Laura had finally reached her goal of growing her hair to her butt, and even at 40 it was as thick, shiny, and lovely as it had been when we were in our twenties. It was lovely to say the least, but as I made my way to the mirror to look at my newest trim, I realized that I was even more in love with my own hair now than the day I had lost it.

After I had gotten home and gotten my family over the shock of bald me, I had begun working at growing my hair back the right way. I knew what I wanted this time, so no colorings, no processing, just deep conditionings and expensive treatments during the growing out phase. The work had paid off, and my hair had returned to its former glory in all its magnificent, splendorous, wavy beauty. It wasn’t quite yet at the length it had been before the harvest of hair, now falling to the top of my shoulders rather than my shoulder blades, but it was close. Another few inches and I would be back to that length, and by this time in a couple years, it may even be down to my bra-strap, the length I had wanted before losing it all. Best of all, my number was up, so I didn’t need to worry about being picked ever again.

As I looked at my beautiful, silken curls in the mirror I tossed my hair to and fro, marveling at the condition and sheen of those amazing beach waves. It was glorious, somehow even more beautiful than it had been when I had lost it due to the fact that I hadn’t colored it, and I had used nothing on it except the occasional deep condition treatment.

“God I missed you,” I said to my hair as I reached a hand up and began to lightly fluff up my curls.

“What was that?” Laura asked on the other end.

“Oh nothing,” I said, “I was just talking to myself. You know, you need to come out and pay us a visit. The kids haven’t seen you since…”

But I was cut off by a gasp on the other line, followed by dead silence.

“Laura?” I asked nervously, “Laura, are you OK?”

“Um… not really, I just…” there were several moments of silence, and then I realized what had happened, and I knew what she was going to say even before she said it, “Katie… I got a letter. THE letter.”

“Oh my God Laura,” I had said, not quite believing that all of Laura’s luscious, beautiful, long blond hair was now on the chopping block, “what does it say?”

“It just says ‘February 15’, that’s just 40 days away Katie!” Laura said in a panic, and I knew on the other side of the line she was sinking into a chair or slouching onto her bed, probably looking lovingly at her hair, “Katie… what do I do?”

I thought about it for a while. I would give her all the advice I could, what had worked for me, what hadn’t worked, but at the end of the day I had lost… so I wasn’t sure exactly how useful my advice would be for her. But I thought back to when I had spoken to her over three years ago about my own hunt. She had given me one piece of advice that I had followed, and it was good advice, so I had to share it with her now.

“I have one bit of advice I really need to share with you Laura,” I said, thinking about how to say it without scaring her too much, ““just… enjoy your hair as much as you can.”

TO BE CONTINUED…

 

As I mentioned previously, I have a massive collection of haircutting and shaving commissions on my DeviantArt page, most of them commissions, including this story, complete with photos of the before and after of the shaves. They can be viewed here: https://www.deviantart.com/writer4hire0316/gallery

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