The first part:
Barely finished with the first row of worthless junk being passed ownership from one savvy haggler to the
next, Angie’s phone rang. The name was familiar, the reason it was in her phone not. “How does Frank
have my number?”
Nathan left his current barter mid-stream. “Pick it up. We gave him both of ours in case of an emergency
when we moved in,”
“Hello? This is Angie…” she hooked her hair behind her ear. “Beth? No, you must be mistaken.”
An anxious Nathan tried to get his wife’s attention. “What is he saying? Is she OK?”
“She’s at her friend’s house? Oh, come on. Neither one is going to end up bald. It must be Abby’s new
boyfriend,” Angie rolled her eyes.
“Angie! We have to go. I told you not to touch those clippers,” Nathan was half way to their car before
he went back to get his wife, and the keys.
Standing over her kitchen chair, Abby could sense something wasn’t quite right with her current situation.
Contradicting feelings competed for dominance. Her soft loose waist engulfing curls both incomprehensible
to lose, and impossibly urgent to be gone forever.
“We should get your sister,” Beth unzipped her purse, bringing the master of ceremonies into the full
white light of the kitchen.
This suggestion came as an unexpected affront to Abby. It was her turn to be rid of the burden she had carried
since childhood. This was her time with the clippers, and was not to be interrupted by anyone. No matter
how much they themselves needed to be freed from the same curse.
New clarity returned to her now concordant thoughts. Happily, she sat, throwing her offensive length behind her. “Let her play her game. She can have her
turn when I’m done.”
Behind her, Beth mumbled to the beautiful antique as she plugged it in. Continuing a conversation that irritated
Abby. Her voluminous hair was suffocating, heavy, in need of the most immediate attention. And it was extremely
impolite of her friend to keep her waiting. A sentiment she shared with the clippers, which mirrored her thoughts
by nuzzling snug into her delectable citrus scented silk, a bounty of gold that disappeared over the horizon.
Whirring echoed through the house.
Sheared strands poured over their still whole brethren. Down they slid, feebly gripping to their friends.
Some succeeding in stalling their descents, loosely held in the length of the copious curls that remained.
A hollow victory, quickly to be undone by the procession of steel.
“It’s bliss,” the majestic vibrations soothed Abby as her locks took their rightful place around her chair.
Smiling wide as a lovely stoke finally dislodged a particularly large amount of the shorn hangers-on she brushed
them off the chair. Their time being pampered was at an end.
This is how things should be. A clean scalp was her future. Never would she go back to being a long haired
girl. Never would she go back to being a girl with hair at all. She would spread the gospel far and wide.
Her life filled with purpose, as her fingers filled her with pleasure.
Gold curls pulled into waves by their weight hung over Danielle’s shoulder. Their length shining in the mid-morning
sun on its way to their coiled ends in her lap. “I’ll be right back,” she promised her friends in voice chat. Their
next adventure put on hold. “Something’s going on down stairs. I have no idea what the hell it could be,” She pushed
her chair back, carefully removed her headset, and went to find out what that alluring whirring was.
Her recently trimmed ends played against her upper thigh as she descended into the alien noise. A well earned
respite from her college studies, and something had to break. Just her luck. “Abby?!” she called, how could her
sister not care what was going on? “What’s that -” she stopped in her tracks, stupefied by her bald sister holding
Beth’s head between her legs.
No rational answer was forth coming. The duo just waved her over to a pair of clippers on the counter. As if losing
their long locks was the most routine weekend activity. But, wasn’t it? How had she gone so many weekends without
doing so? What procrastination allowed her thick mane to get so far? Yes, this was a mistake long overdue for being
rectified. “I need to clean up this mess,” she stepped over her sisters curls ready to be rid of her own.
Once more the whirring echoed through the house. Sweeping swipes hummed across her overburdened scalp. Melting the
stress of its follicles anchoring her Rapunzel-like strands. And how that gold melted, flowing like a molten river
down into the ocean her sister started.
Lesser clippers would have choked on such a thing. Overtaken by such abundance. Not so for the blades fixing her
decade of regrettable growth. In fact, their pace quickened, engorging themselves on her greatest mistake. Ever
hungry they found their way into her nape. Releasing glorious deluge between her legs.
Danielle moaned in relief at the weight she would no longer bare. Sheets of gold that dwarfed her sisters coiled
into a mountain. A mess of gold she no longer had to worry about. Bald felt good. It felt like a gift that needed
to be given to every girl she knew. Yes, it would be spread, and she would spread it. She would have her own
clippers, and they would carry on this what these clippers had started.
“Yes!” she yelled, near completion in more ways than one. Her knees shook at the building climax. The last of her
silk yielded to the machine. “F-f-FUCK!” She caught herself on the counter, her breath in spasms. Her hair
finally the perfect length.
Their heads beacons for the future, the trio left the house behind. The shining truth needed to be spread to all who
Yelling, a woman in her mid-thirties rushed to her long time clients. Concerned their monthly appointments would not
be standard trims. “What happened to your hair?!”
The girls smiled in unison. “The most wonderful thing,” they said in unison, holding out the clippers.
“You did this to yourselves?” Bridgette cautiously took the steel hair cutting tool. In a flash her sadness became
happiness. “A damn good job, girls,”
“They helped,” Abby replied. The other two girls nodded their smooth heads in agreement.
Bridget hefted the mass of steel. The perfect replacement for her salons weak plastic knockoffs. “Can I bring these to
work?” she asked, already knowing the answer.
Beth nodded approval. “Use them well.”