My prompt for this was to include the words hair, flower, and mail and write a piece of flat fiction of 300 words or fewer. This is the result. I must point out this hairdresser is in no way based on any hairdresser I’ve ever used!
A Haircut To Die For
I should have known there was something odd about Darren when I caught him licking the scissors before he started to cut. I assumed it was simply an eccentricity. My friend Lola told me he was different. “Different, but brilliant,” she said.
Hairdressers have a tendency to chat while they are performing their art. They dissect the state of the weather, which celebrities are sleeping together, the frivolities of life that nobody really cares about. Not Darren. I watched his face as he snipped at my hair. It was like he was on another plane. One which he seemed to inhabit alone.
“How’s it looking? Not too many split ends, I hope?” I had to say something; the silence stifled me.
“What’s that?” Scissors crashed to the floor, making me jump out of the chair.
“I . . . I just asked if I have many split ends. Sorry.” My heart thudded, and a rash of fear spread across my chest.
Darren’s face twisted, and I didn’t dare move. When he spoke, his voice was tight. “It’s okay. Not too many split ends. Sit back in the chair, my pretty flower, and I’ll continue.”
My pretty flower? I gulped as I sat back. It took forever for him to finish my cut. I peeked in the mirror, with one eye closed, and was surprised to see he’d made my listless, brown hair radiant.
“Wow. I love it.” I beamed. “How much do I owe you?”
“Ahh, let me see. If you give me your address, and I promise not to send you anything strange in the mail, £10.” He was serious. No trace of a smile.
“What if I don’t give you my address?”
He tipped his head back and guffawed. “Oh, my dear, it’s best you do!”