The Paper Guillotine – The Blades Edge

The Rhythm of the Guillotine

Gracie and Charlie were hunched over the heavy-duty paper guillotine, their arms sore and their eyes tired from cutting stacks of forms and documents. The rhythmic snick-snack of the blade biting through the paper was oddly satisfying, even if their hands ached from the repetitive motion.

Tangled Strands

Gracie, 29 years old, had always worn her long, thick, brunette hair as a symbol of pride. It cascaded in shiny waves all the way down to her knees, and when tied up, it had a commanding presence that was hard to ignore. Today, she had let it fall down her back like a thick dense cloak, that rippled and swayed with every movement.

Charlie, 30 years old, was beside her, her own chin-length, thick, natural, red hair swished back and forth as she focused on her task. Her hair had never grown much past her shoulders. In truth, it never would. Her mother, an absolute stickler for appearances, had always thought long hair on women looked “unprofessional.” And so, every time Charlie tried to let her hair grow, she ended up getting it cut back to chin length, to placate her mother’s jibes.

It was easy to lose themselves in their work. The guillotine seemed so simple, so dependable, as they fed paper after paper into the sharp blade. But time and repetitive motion had a way of dulling concentration, and before long, Gracie found herself tugging her hair from her face.

“It’s getting in the way again,” she muttered, reaching up to tie her hair up into two pigtails. She secured them quickly with elastic hair ties , the twin ponytail sized pigtails, swaying behind her like a pair of dark silk curtains.

The Unseen Friction

Charlie didn’t say anything. Her eyes lingered on Gracie’s hair, more out of habit than anything else. She tried not to let the envy creep in. After all, it wasn’t Gracie’s fault that her own hair wasn’t allowed to grow long. Still, there was something about the effortless beauty of those long thick pigtails that set Charlie’s teeth on edge.

“Looks like we’re about ready for a break,” Gracie said, pushing a stack of paper to the side. She reached down toward the guillotine, only to find that the blade had jammed open.

The Moment of Distraction

“Hold on,” she said, leaning forward to peer into the mechanism where the paper was caught. She wasn’t even thinking as she shifted her head back and forth looking for the blockage, unconsciously letting one of her pigtails fall toward the sharp, gleaming metal cutting edge.

Charlie froze. She saw it—Gracie’s long, thick, sleek, brunette pigtail laying on the cutting table, perilously laying through the gap under the open blade—and her pulse spiked. Before she could stop herself, she reached toward the guillotine to help.

“Wait, let me hel….”

The Fatal Slip

Reaching to help, she had over balanced, preventing herself from falling she reached out for anything to stop herself.

Charlie’s flailing hand came down in a swift, unsteady motion. She hadn’t meant for her fingers to brush the lever. But now free from the obstruction the razor-sharp blade was coming down, slow, steady but inevitable in its movement.

The Cut

The moment felt as if time had stopped.

Gracie’s eyes widened as she sensed the cold, unyielding, merciless metal blade approach. Her heartbeat was pounding in her chest, each beat slow and heavy, like the sound of a distant drum. She could feel the pressure, the sharp sound of metal sliding into place. THWACK.

The sound came first. A sharp, bone-crushing CRUNCH as the guillotine blade bit into the dense, thick strands of her pigtail. The sensation was immediate and shocking—sharp, final. Her body jolted, but she could barely move, her entire being consumed by the sound, the sensation, the pull, the feeling of individual strands of her beloved hair slowly being severed.

The sound was deafening in her head: a dull CRUNCH followed by a sickening SHRRRICK. It felt like a series of seconds that dragged on for hours. Her senses were filled with the sound of the hair severing under pressure, the sharp SNAP-SLICE of the blade finishing the job. Her hands clawed at her head as if trying to stop it, but it was too late.

Gracie could feel the strands of her hair being pulled, the sharp bite of the blade severing them completely, SHRRRRICK. Cruelly slicing them down to chin-length. The sensation was sharp and surreal, like an electric shock that tugged at every nerve in her body. A flood of shock and grief washed over her.

The Aftermath

The severed pigtail came loose from Gracie’s head, it slowly slid off the cutting table under its own immense weight, and fell into the wastepaper basket at the base of the guillotine with a final THUD. Gracie’s breath came in gasps, and time seemed to rush back into motion as she stared at the heavy, glistening huge pigtail lying in the bin.

She reached up, her hand trembling, her fingers shaking as she felt the uneven ends of her hair where the blade had left them, the tips of her hair gently caressing her chin on one side of her face, almost mockingly. It felt shorter—so much shorter than she’d ever had her hair in her entire life.

The Unravelling

Her hands clung to her freshly cropped chin length hair on one side of her head as she struggled to process what had just happened.

“No… no, no, no…” she whispered, her voice hoarse, broken.

Charlie froze beside her, her face pale, her hand hovering near the lever. She looked at Gracie, horrified, unsure of how to undo the damage.

“I-I didn’t mean to—Gracie, I—” Charlie stammered, her voice shaking.

The Betrayal

But Gracie’s voice cut through her, sharp and clear as the blade itself.

“What did you do?” Gracie hissed, her voice breaking, her eyes wide and growing with tears.

Gracie could feel her hair, now uneven, no longer fully trailing behind her like it used to. Her breath came in heavy gasps as her hand clutched the remaining half of her knee length hair. A cold breeze hit her half-exposed nape and face, sending shivers through her. It felt bare, vulnerable, like a piece of her had been stripped away and left in the bin behind the guillotine, leaving her with the sharp blunt contrast of half a head of chin length hair.

“I—I thought I was helping, I didn’t—” Charlie tried again, but the words couldn’t escape her. The weight of what had just happened hung between them.

Gracie stared at her friend, the betrayal, the grief, the shock clear in her eyes. She took a shaky breath, struggling to maintain composure as her hands grasped her head again.

“I need… I need some air,” she whispered, her voice trembling.

The Escape

Without waiting for a response, Gracie turned away from the guillotine, grabbing her once beloved severed pigtail before attempting to leave, her steps shaky, her body trembling. She didn’t look back as she stumbled toward the door, half of her remaining hair uneven and short, brushing against her chin and nape, while the other half in stark contrast, remained flowing and untouched behind her back and legs, her mind racing with the sounds and feeling of the CRUNCH and tugging of the guillotine blade as it severed her hair, the heavy pigtail now swinging limply while tightly gripped in her hand.

The severed hair dragging on the floor. The sound of her own breathing felt too loud as she pushed through the door and out into the cold, empty hallway.

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