The shop two stories up

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Fiona married Tyrone 5 years ago and she thought she made a good choice, she was wrong.
Ty comes home drunk almost every day and when he’s tipsy, he gets abusive if his wants aren’t met.

Scrapes and bruises lined her body and he would impair her vision now and then.She felt trapped in her own home and her love wavered.

Morning of the meeting between us came when I heard her prayers of secret revenge.

When Fiona opened the PO box, she found a neon letter addressed to her by a mister I.

Unfolding the invite, it read of directions to a “thing that could solve her ails”, photos of Tyrone at bars and drinking spots, sexing a female patron were also in the box.

She felt someone heard her and decided to meet the mister I., that night, as the bastard slept, Fiona left the house and went into the city.

The letter’s mapped path led the abused girl to a skyscraper of apartments. She paid her fare and bid the cabby farewell before entering the lit building.

A lone clerk stood behind the desk, looking like a flight attendant but off… in a way. She looked way too happy and what struck Fiona as oddly queer, was that the mistress of the desk had barely any hair on the sides of her scalp, her top chopped tight in a flattop hairdo.

After conversations of direction, the clerkess told of the second floor inviter.

“He is wonderful man, he cared for me in time of poverty and gave me this nifty post”

Fiona asked what made the woman get such a hairstyle, the clerk yield.

“Why, the second floor man. Do you like it?”

“It’s progressive”

The clerk blushed as her coco-skinned admirer entered the lift.

Fiona flubbed her lips as the lift ascended to the second floor. If this man severed that woman’s hair, would he do the same to her.

The thought wracked her fro thinking of it but she soon came to the second floor, she would have to see.

At the far end of the hall, a glossy door beckoned the young woman and on she went, a rap on the door resulted in a man’s appearance.

“May I be of assistance?”he asked

All Fiona could do was produce the letter, he smirked,”(so you got my letter) come in”

The black abused woman followed the man to a parlor of silver and white.

“So, I hear your man ain’t treating you right”

“How did you know!”

“Oh, please, that man was scum the day he lent a hand on you. The slaps, the slander, you just took it. I don’t stand for evil men. I offer a deal to (neutralize) the bastard and set you free”

“And do I have to do in return, blow you?”

The man looked with disgust,”No! I’m not a lustful swallowtail but a chastity of pleasure”

“So what do I owe you”

With that, the man went onto a stage like area and kicked his heel on a black tile.

From the mechanism, a barber chair unfolded from the ground and stood shining.

He look hither,”Your hair, my dear”

Fiona was aghast at the words,”No, how about cash”

“I’m afraid not, my dear, I have no need for materialism but something personal, a trophy, if you will”

Fiona stroked her Afro,”How much?”

“All of it”

The phrase burst her to fear, but the man understood,”He will find you if I don’t deal with him, what about the times he pulled you by the hair in the fits”

He had a point, Tyrone idolized her fro and abused it as much as her, if this man didn’t take it, her husband might snap on day, drag her by her scalp to the bathroom, and shave her himself.

‘It will grow back’,she consoled herself.

Defiantly, she rose and went to the man, looked him dead in the eye as if to say “you better be right about this”, and slammed her butt on the comfy cushion.

Pleased, the man produced a cape and snapped it on the black goddess’ neck.

The velvet fluttered on the body of the reluctant client and rested with a satisfying cover.

Next, came the clippers, guard less and steely silver, ready go shear her down and reap the benefits.

“I promise your sacrifice won’t be in vain”

Tilting Fiona’s head down, the clippers started up and slid its blades side to side.

With a comb, the man flattened the nape and slid the tool up through the black coils of hair all the way up to the half point of the backside of Fiona’s head, revealing a smooth brown scalp.

It felt weird to lose so much hair in a single strip and even weirder to feel the draft.

Again and again, the back was buzzed with care, as was the left and right sides.

Looking like a literal mop top, Fiona’s head was raised to the backrest, the chair was soon relaxed to a laying position.

The two eyes’ met as the clippers came down on the fragile crown and soon, her cranium lay smooth as could be.


The chair’s position was reversed and Fiona sat there, wide-eyed as the man removed the cape.

“I advise you to not go home, do you have a place to stay”

Fiona wasn’t listening, she was just feeling.


“Do you have a place to stay for the night besides home”

She nodded:

“Good, stay there until you hear from me”

Fiona observed the sheer amount of fluff that lay on the floor.

She left the apartment and went to a close friend of hers to stay.

“Did he do this to you?”

Fiona denied that Tyrone was responsible for the sudden hair change.

Fiona chilled on the couch when a text came in.

Tyrone: Hey, bitch. Come make me a sandwich

Fiona was fearful but then another text came.


Then another: It’s done

In the morning, Tyrone was found dead.

The man, at his desk, weaved a wig out of Fiona’s dead hair, it was then displayed on the head of a manikin bust.

A little alopecic girl saw it and begged her mother for it.

As she sat caped and shaved, the Afro wig was placed atop her head and she looked gorgeous in her new do.

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