EllaRazor
I wasn’t supposed to be here.
I had only wandered into the barbershop out of curiosity—just to watch. That was it. I hadn’t signed up, hadn’t planned anything.
And yet, here I was, standing in the middle of a buzzing barbershop where dozens of people were getting their heads shaved.
For charity.
For a good cause.
For St. Baldrick’s.
The energy in the air was infectious—clippers roaring, cheers erupting as long hair hit the floor, cameras flashing. A girl my age sat in one of the chairs, her ponytail severed in seconds and held up like a trophy before the barber buzzed her down to the skin.
I felt lightheaded.
I should have left. I should have turned around and walked right back out the door.
Instead, I stood there, my stomach twisting, fingers tightening around the ends of my own long, blonde hair.
“Thinking about it?”
The voice snapped me out of my trance.
I turned, heart hammering.
A barber—a guy in his late twenties with a rolled-up button-down and a neatly trimmed beard—stood beside me, looking at me with a knowing smirk.
“Uh—” My voice came out hoarse. “I don’t… I mean, I just—”
He nodded toward the open chair in front of us. “It’s for a good cause.”
I swallowed, my throat dry.
I could feel the heat of every single eye in the room.
I had no excuse.
No way to say no without looking like a coward.
So I laughed—too high-pitched, too nervous—and lied through my teeth.
“Maybe just… something short for summer?”
The words tumbled out before I could stop them.
The barber grinned, clapping a hand on my shoulder. “That’s the spirit. Take a seat.”
My stomach dropped.
Oh. No.
No, no, no—
But somehow, I found myself sinking into the chair, the vinyl cold beneath me.
What was I doing?
The cape swirled around my shoulders, snapping tight at the neck.
I caught my reflection in the mirror—blonde, wide-eyed, panicked. Still me.
“Glasses off,” the barber said, holding out his hand.
I hesitated.
The moment I took them off, I could pretend this wasn’t real.
That I wasn’t really doing this.
That I wasn’t about to—
I slid them off, placed them in his palm, and the world blurred.
Then—
BZZZZZT.
The clippers roared to life.
A cold sweat prickled my skin.
Oh my god.
I opened my mouth—to stop him, to say something—
And then I felt it.
The clippers pressed against my forehead.
And pushed back.
A sharp inhale stuck in my throat.
The vibration rattled through my skull as the metal blades plowed through my hair.
I felt it before I saw it—the sudden rush of cold air against bare skin.
And then—
A massive chunk of blonde tumbled past my vision.
My breath hitched.
My hair.
My hair.
I barely had time to process before the clippers rushed back in, carving away more.
Every pass sent more of me falling.
More silky, golden strands sliding down my shoulders, piling onto the cape, slipping onto the floor in soft, lifeless waves.
It felt wrong.
Like I had made a mistake.
Like I was being peeled away.
I wanted to scream.
To grab his wrist, to say stop, I changed my mind, I didn’t mean it—
But I sat there. Frozen.
The clippers moved ruthlessly, stripping me down to nearly nothing.
The sound was deafening, drowning out every frantic thought in my head.
And then, as quickly as it had started—
It stopped.
Silence.
I swallowed, breath shaky.
It was over.
Wasn’t it?
Then—
A new sound.
Shhhhhk.
I stiffened.
Oh no.
The unmistakable shake of a can.
No.
No, no, no.
A second later, warm shaving cream hit my scalp.
I flinched.
Oh god.
It wasn’t just short.
It was gone.
A hot towel pressed against my skin, sealing my fate.
I felt a lump rise in my throat.
This isn’t happening. This isn’t happening. This isn’t happening.
The towel lifted—
And the razor touched my scalp.
A slow, deliberate shhkt.
A shiver shot down my spine.
The razor scraped away the last of my hair, gliding over my skin with quiet, terrifying precision.
Stroke by stroke, he erased me.
But nothing—not the clippers, not the towel, not even the blade—prepared me for what happened next.
The barber tilted my head back.
My stomach plummeted.
I knew what was next.
My eyebrows.
I had clung to them like a lifeline, the last shred of familiarity I had left.
I tried to speak. To protest.
But the razor was already there.
One smooth shhkt.
I barely had time to process the loss before—
Shhkt.
The second was gone.
A shaky exhale slipped past my lips.
It was done.
The barber wiped my head down with a cool towel, soothing the freshly shaved skin.
Then—my glasses were placed back in my hands.
I didn’t move.
Didn’t breathe.
Then, slowly, I slid them on.
The blurred world sharpened into painful clarity.
And I saw myself.
Bald.
My scalp gleamed under the harsh lights, smooth, bare, unrecognizable.
I lifted a trembling hand, fingertips grazing the unfamiliar nothingness.
I had told myself I wouldn’t do it.
That I wasn’t ready.
That I’d never have the nerve.
And yet—
It had happened.
