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[WP] The Heat Death of the Universe. At the end of time the Stars are burning out as they use up the last of their fuel. There is only one Star left in the known Universe and all remaining life has gathered around it. | he had been waiting for this moment for a long time. Eons seemed like a short time in comparison to how long he had been waiting. His mother had told him one thing every night before he slept, and every night he had asked her the same question.
He honestly hadn't thought he would live for as long as the universe. He considered himself a normal man at first. Of course that was wrong. He grew up, as anyone would do. then he married and had children, but this is where the normal portion of his life stopped. As his children grew, he didn't age along with them. His once beautiful wife had aged to a withered old crone, but he still looked as youthful as the day they were married. Scientists had been amazed, and for awhile he was a media sensation. but of course, that had passed as no one could explain why the simple father had not aged while everyone around him did. he went through life, as one does with no prospect of aging. He was adventurous, while he enjoyed it, he was an explorer, a poet, even a conquerer as time went on. At one point a saint, and another point a devil. His fingerprints were all through the history books right up until they stopped being written.
After mankind had passed, not through some reat calamity, or disease, but simply ascended to some farther plane of being, the man had wandered. humanity had invented a great many toys that allowed the man to go where he wished. he visited vast ancient races, and bestowed gifts on relative newcomers. These too he watched pass on into the eternal night. Eventually he settled arouond this, the last star. Even the trailings of light from the other stars had faded out into nothingness. The universe outside this small bubble was nothing more than static, and space.
Desppite it all, he remembered one thing. What his mother said to him all those ages ago. before the suns cooled, before the continents drifted, and before the fall of man..
"I will love you for as long as the stars burn"
she had said this every night as she tucked him in, and then kissed him on the forehead.
he had lost her while he was still a child, before he had lost anythign else. Even now, despite losing the whole universe, her loss still weighed the heaviest on him. Knowing that she had never grown to see the great being that her son would become. It was an old wound, but it still made him pause.
The sun, a vast old giant, was just going through its death throes. he had seen the exact same thing a million times, and this was only notable because it was the last. The readings from the sun were normal for this stage in its development, and the few feeble blasted rocks that had once been planets clung to their orbits despite the suns erratic gravity well.
It was on one of these that he had decided to watch. a planet far enough away that it woudnt be immediatly destroyed, but close enough to have a breathable atmosphere.
standing there on that last sunset. he couldn't help but think of the people he'd lost, of the things he'ad experienced. Despite all of the loss, it was still a good life.
The light waxed, and then waned. it was coming. he could feel the change.
The light changed, and then was gone. He knew he only had a few more minutes on this darkened rock before the shockwaves destroyed it, but he sat in the silence and asked the same question he had asked all those times his mother tucked him in.
"but momma, what about when the stars go out"
This time though, as the air chilled around him in absolute darkness he felt a hand embrace his, and finally after all this time an answer.
"Then we shall have to make more stars my little love"
| It's funny, isn't it? They lived in an age where they revelled in knowledge, in discovery, in science. The wheel, the steam engine, the almighty transistor - once they started discovering, they never seemed to stop. Not even the vast, previously unfathomable distances between the stars in our galaxy could stand in their way once they figured out how to travel close to the speed of light. The likes of Newton, Einstein and Hawking lived as deities, basking in all the glory of having propelled human knowledge that much further.
Idiots.
Once reality started to sink in (Only a couple aeons too late but hey, better than never, right?) they started to worry. Desperately, they clung to theories about wormholes, higher dimensions and multiverses like pieces of driftwood out at sea. "Surely, there must be a way - we've come this far, we're the smartest things out there!" they thought - how cute.
It's almost comic, how religion has a habit of resurfacing at the most convenient of times. Earthquakes, asteroid strikes, magnetic storms; all religion needed was an excuse. It was no different this time, when they flocked to the 'type Ib blue supergiant' like moths to a flame. They started with small offerings, desperate tokens of their faith, which eventually progressed on to mass human sacrifices. I guess it sort of worked in their favour, they saved precious oxygen that way. "Science couldn't save us, maybe God can!"
Give me a break. I have better things to do. |
|
[WP] The Heat Death of the Universe. At the end of time the Stars are burning out as they use up the last of their fuel. There is only one Star left in the known Universe and all remaining life has gathered around it. | Albrecht tapped gently on the keyboard. "Niner Echo Zulu Dash Seven Bravo Make Six, please proceed to the following orbit vector for Four - Repeat - Four cycles."
*Roger Command*
Albrecht leaned back; he didn't have another scheduled correction for 20 double-marks. So long as no one did something stupid, he had some time to himself.
"Engage starside screen, 95%."
Instantly the view of Char filled the room. An orange supergiant, the last star in the universe. Albrecht enjoyed watching Char burn, the ever-shifting patterns on it's surface, the flare activity. As the story goes, Char was created by the ancients, combining the last remaining red dwarf stars, gathering enough mass to ignite them all into one last, giant star. Personally Albrecht considered that a myth, but it didn't really matter. Char was the last reamaining oasis in the endless, dark desert.
Every living being left in the universe made it's home around Char. Char had no planets, and at close to 2 billion killometers in diameter, there was plenty of room for all. Still, with so many orbiting platforms/worldships/artificial moons/ship convoys, care had to be taken to make sure that people stayed out of each other's way.
*Command this is Nomember Three XRay Dash Unlium Two Alpha One, we have a couple of unidentified aircraft that will be crossing our orbit in approximately 23 marks. There's no danger of collision with us, but these guys look lost, and are not responding to our hails.*
Crap. "Roger, Nomember Three, I have them on my sensors". Albrecht turned on the automatic hail, but didn't expect a response. The crafts trajectory told him everything he needed to know.
"Kalib, you still awake out there?"
*Come on, Alby, you gotta be kidding me.*
"Sorry, Kalib. I have two Skiffer-class crafts headed star-side. They're going to cross 10,490 orbits before they even get into Class 4 flare range, and they are...hold on let me check...confirmed they are not responding to the auto-hail."
*Confirmed, send me the trajectory.*
Albrecht swiftly sent the coordinates to his gunner. Kalib was stationed in a large, menacing orbital platform located almost an AU out. At his command was the Neutralizer Gun, a fearsome weapon. Once it had a target, the Neutralizer generated a small but powerful hyperspace gate, immediatly in front of the target. Normally this wouldn't be a big deal, but normally, the ship passing into hyperspace would be the one generating the gate, and would have calculated coordinates for an exit gate as well. Plus, the Neutralizer was specially modified to create a gate the size of a piece of fruit, but still have the power of a planet-size gate. The result was a ship being crushed to near nothingness, while simultaneously pulled into hyperspace, in a half a mark. It was a brutal death...slow enough that the poor souls on board could understand what was happening, but quick enough that they couldn't do anything about it.
And yet, still they tried. This was the third attempted Star Suicide this cycle. Albrecht couldn't understand it. Everyone living around Char knew this was the last gasp for the universe. It was a fact that had been hanging over sentient life for billions of years. But still, Char had at least another million years left in it before supernova. So many generations could still live comfortably and peacefully. Why end it all now?
*Target eliminated. I think one of the wings sheard off, Alby.*
"Roger, Kalib. Sending out clean-up drones."
Albrecht sighed, and started watching Char again. Next rotation, he was on asteroid mining duty, which these days took you so far out, Char was just a small white dot in the sky. He hated mining duty, but didn't have much choice. Being an All-Purpose meant just that; you got sent to do it all. Kalib had tried to tell him several hundred cycles ago, specialize. Buy a bunch of mineral detection equipment and get rich finding all the best veins, or upgrade your processors so that you can track more orbits simultaneously. Whatever you want to do, upgrade yourself so that you are the best at it.
But being All-Purpose did have it's advantages as well. Albrecht knew of a dozen monitor units who were decomissioned during the last system upgrade, simply because they couldn't fill a useful purpose any longer. When you were All-Purpose, cheaper but more frequent upgrades allowed you to always have work, even if it wasn't what you really wanted to do. And more than anything, Albrecht wanted to see the end of Char. Sure, it was a long shot: Albrecht's Rated Useful Lifespan as of right now was only 100,000 cycles. But robotics research was one of the few things the organics still cared about...with a little luck and some judicious upgrade spending, Albrecht felt he had a chance. | It's funny, isn't it? They lived in an age where they revelled in knowledge, in discovery, in science. The wheel, the steam engine, the almighty transistor - once they started discovering, they never seemed to stop. Not even the vast, previously unfathomable distances between the stars in our galaxy could stand in their way once they figured out how to travel close to the speed of light. The likes of Newton, Einstein and Hawking lived as deities, basking in all the glory of having propelled human knowledge that much further.
Idiots.
Once reality started to sink in (Only a couple aeons too late but hey, better than never, right?) they started to worry. Desperately, they clung to theories about wormholes, higher dimensions and multiverses like pieces of driftwood out at sea. "Surely, there must be a way - we've come this far, we're the smartest things out there!" they thought - how cute.
It's almost comic, how religion has a habit of resurfacing at the most convenient of times. Earthquakes, asteroid strikes, magnetic storms; all religion needed was an excuse. It was no different this time, when they flocked to the 'type Ib blue supergiant' like moths to a flame. They started with small offerings, desperate tokens of their faith, which eventually progressed on to mass human sacrifices. I guess it sort of worked in their favour, they saved precious oxygen that way. "Science couldn't save us, maybe God can!"
Give me a break. I have better things to do. |
|
[WP] The Heat Death of the Universe. At the end of time the Stars are burning out as they use up the last of their fuel. There is only one Star left in the known Universe and all remaining life has gathered around it. | We did not find the forewarned mass mayhem when we reached The Star. Seeing the calm of no hope makes me understand that it was we fleeing that condemned Earth, not the dying Sun. We were a beacon of fruitless hope that turned mankind into clawing cornered savages. I'd apologize, but it doesn't matter.
Only here and now matters. Finally that trivial quote becomes inescapable. Thankfully, here and now is peace. In our acceptance of entropy there is the humanity we'd always hoped for. There is a blending of beings. Beautifully indescribable beings. Some are nothing more than a glimmer, their words conversing with your mind. Others would be considered monstrous. Yet, our gathering gives grace to all. Maybe we all are here to redeem our shameful departures from everything we've ever known.
It is only on personal levels that indiscretions abound. Ships have clustered together based on what their communities offer. Some have even taken to the two nearby planets to be together on solid ground. There are quite a few rising religions, but those I avoid. Similarly I cannot abide by those harboring their power to send one final plea to the edges of the known universe.
Instead, I melt through the masses searching for the one I left to find. I wade through the bodies of those experiencing as much as they can in their dying days. Substances are used. Accidental suicide appears abundant. Accidental because so many are pushing the boundaries that their bodies provide. Bodies. They're everywhere.
I flicker between the two major gatherings, one on terra firma, the other in a ship cluster. In these the bodies are one. Music transcending space and time pumps through the hearts of all as we blend into one mass movement. I recall the ancient raves of my past and how they pale. It is impossible not to take part. Mouths find mouths. Orifices find occupants. Everywhere we writhe.
My eyes and thoughts are the only part of me I own. They dart about in search of her hint of blue. There are many hues about, but never again has the universe produced such a sight. Nor will it. I found a group of her kind. Likewise I could see their oceans roll about on their skin, constantly churning. They told me that they didn't know
her before they took me there on the floor. It wasn't the same.
I spent the last light alone atop a mountain. As the final drops of morning died into the darkened ball of gas, I heard the howl rise from the gathering below. From my position I could hear the sorrow despite the desire for joy. We final few are not the heroes of our homes. We are not the survivors.
I abandoned you at our dying light and I am ashamed. You too were only human and yet you held onto hope for our kind, for our family. At last light it was to you I howled. You who loved the ocean, but didn't look like it.
*Error: Message not received.* | The sun burned and the people wept.
To each his own, a planet went.
Cold, dark, and alone. |
|
[WP] The Heat Death of the Universe. At the end of time the Stars are burning out as they use up the last of their fuel. There is only one Star left in the known Universe and all remaining life has gathered around it. | The remaining super-sentient carbon gas clouds drifted inside of their atmospheric containment nodules as they observed the quick collapse of the last surrounding layers of compressed matter. As the ending approached, they established the last set of compression beacons they would ever employ, and activated them. Already, while they passed into the void of the blackhole- transiting through the multi-frame to their newly generated universe, just exiting the throes of the big bang, the beacons were condensing the universe of their birth. Soon, it would condense so much that it would collapse in on the compression beacons themselves, which would be smaller than the atomic point on the eye of a needle before their structural integrity was depleted. Then, this universe would spawn again, exploding out from the miniscule ball of condensed matter which had once represented a vast endlessness, untrackable to the ancestors of the carbon gas clouds.
Sufficed to say, they did not *feel* anything as the last star collapsed. They simply accepted that this was the path they had chosen for their universe. It was within their capacity to generate new stars, but why save something that is dying, when they could create their own? | The sun burned and the people wept.
To each his own, a planet went.
Cold, dark, and alone. |
|
[WP] The Heat Death of the Universe. At the end of time the Stars are burning out as they use up the last of their fuel. There is only one Star left in the known Universe and all remaining life has gathered around it. | A reminder: posting a comment that says "This reminds of x" or "Y already wrote this" is not posting a response to the writing prompt. Such comments will be removed. | The sun burned and the people wept.
To each his own, a planet went.
Cold, dark, and alone. |
|
[WP] The Heat Death of the Universe. At the end of time the Stars are burning out as they use up the last of their fuel. There is only one Star left in the known Universe and all remaining life has gathered around it. | he had been waiting for this moment for a long time. Eons seemed like a short time in comparison to how long he had been waiting. His mother had told him one thing every night before he slept, and every night he had asked her the same question.
He honestly hadn't thought he would live for as long as the universe. He considered himself a normal man at first. Of course that was wrong. He grew up, as anyone would do. then he married and had children, but this is where the normal portion of his life stopped. As his children grew, he didn't age along with them. His once beautiful wife had aged to a withered old crone, but he still looked as youthful as the day they were married. Scientists had been amazed, and for awhile he was a media sensation. but of course, that had passed as no one could explain why the simple father had not aged while everyone around him did. he went through life, as one does with no prospect of aging. He was adventurous, while he enjoyed it, he was an explorer, a poet, even a conquerer as time went on. At one point a saint, and another point a devil. His fingerprints were all through the history books right up until they stopped being written.
After mankind had passed, not through some reat calamity, or disease, but simply ascended to some farther plane of being, the man had wandered. humanity had invented a great many toys that allowed the man to go where he wished. he visited vast ancient races, and bestowed gifts on relative newcomers. These too he watched pass on into the eternal night. Eventually he settled arouond this, the last star. Even the trailings of light from the other stars had faded out into nothingness. The universe outside this small bubble was nothing more than static, and space.
Desppite it all, he remembered one thing. What his mother said to him all those ages ago. before the suns cooled, before the continents drifted, and before the fall of man..
"I will love you for as long as the stars burn"
she had said this every night as she tucked him in, and then kissed him on the forehead.
he had lost her while he was still a child, before he had lost anythign else. Even now, despite losing the whole universe, her loss still weighed the heaviest on him. Knowing that she had never grown to see the great being that her son would become. It was an old wound, but it still made him pause.
The sun, a vast old giant, was just going through its death throes. he had seen the exact same thing a million times, and this was only notable because it was the last. The readings from the sun were normal for this stage in its development, and the few feeble blasted rocks that had once been planets clung to their orbits despite the suns erratic gravity well.
It was on one of these that he had decided to watch. a planet far enough away that it woudnt be immediatly destroyed, but close enough to have a breathable atmosphere.
standing there on that last sunset. he couldn't help but think of the people he'd lost, of the things he'ad experienced. Despite all of the loss, it was still a good life.
The light waxed, and then waned. it was coming. he could feel the change.
The light changed, and then was gone. He knew he only had a few more minutes on this darkened rock before the shockwaves destroyed it, but he sat in the silence and asked the same question he had asked all those times his mother tucked him in.
"but momma, what about when the stars go out"
This time though, as the air chilled around him in absolute darkness he felt a hand embrace his, and finally after all this time an answer.
"Then we shall have to make more stars my little love"
| The sun burned and the people wept.
To each his own, a planet went.
Cold, dark, and alone. |
|
[WP] The Heat Death of the Universe. At the end of time the Stars are burning out as they use up the last of their fuel. There is only one Star left in the known Universe and all remaining life has gathered around it. | We did not find the forewarned mass mayhem when we reached The Star. Seeing the calm of no hope makes me understand that it was we fleeing that condemned Earth, not the dying Sun. We were a beacon of fruitless hope that turned mankind into clawing cornered savages. I'd apologize, but it doesn't matter.
Only here and now matters. Finally that trivial quote becomes inescapable. Thankfully, here and now is peace. In our acceptance of entropy there is the humanity we'd always hoped for. There is a blending of beings. Beautifully indescribable beings. Some are nothing more than a glimmer, their words conversing with your mind. Others would be considered monstrous. Yet, our gathering gives grace to all. Maybe we all are here to redeem our shameful departures from everything we've ever known.
It is only on personal levels that indiscretions abound. Ships have clustered together based on what their communities offer. Some have even taken to the two nearby planets to be together on solid ground. There are quite a few rising religions, but those I avoid. Similarly I cannot abide by those harboring their power to send one final plea to the edges of the known universe.
Instead, I melt through the masses searching for the one I left to find. I wade through the bodies of those experiencing as much as they can in their dying days. Substances are used. Accidental suicide appears abundant. Accidental because so many are pushing the boundaries that their bodies provide. Bodies. They're everywhere.
I flicker between the two major gatherings, one on terra firma, the other in a ship cluster. In these the bodies are one. Music transcending space and time pumps through the hearts of all as we blend into one mass movement. I recall the ancient raves of my past and how they pale. It is impossible not to take part. Mouths find mouths. Orifices find occupants. Everywhere we writhe.
My eyes and thoughts are the only part of me I own. They dart about in search of her hint of blue. There are many hues about, but never again has the universe produced such a sight. Nor will it. I found a group of her kind. Likewise I could see their oceans roll about on their skin, constantly churning. They told me that they didn't know
her before they took me there on the floor. It wasn't the same.
I spent the last light alone atop a mountain. As the final drops of morning died into the darkened ball of gas, I heard the howl rise from the gathering below. From my position I could hear the sorrow despite the desire for joy. We final few are not the heroes of our homes. We are not the survivors.
I abandoned you at our dying light and I am ashamed. You too were only human and yet you held onto hope for our kind, for our family. At last light it was to you I howled. You who loved the ocean, but didn't look like it.
*Error: Message not received.* | We stood there on the platform bathed in the last light of the universe's last sun. The massive superstructure that surrounded the sun was made to house the remnants of the sentient races lucky enough to find this last oasis of light, as well as suck up the last stray solar flares that are now far and in between. I am one the last humans in existence my; one of two thousand survivors I had seen the last light of the human empire fade as entropy consumed the dark worlds once full of life. I stand amongst other species, strange and foreign to someone who never left the core worlds, but to me a former pirate these creatures are old hat. They come in all forms big and small, fat and slender, most are not even bipedal, but in these final moments we all share the same light and for the first time in the universe's history there is no war or conflict. Almost funny really, the universe has to end to put a stop to conflict. I chuckle much to the disdain of an alien priest spewing some form of last right to a small crowd of insect like aliens; I turn around and walk into the labyrinth of pipes and wires to the remains of my small ship, now merged with the superstructure, and entered. My wife Ria turned, her deep red skin almost blood red in the dim light.
"How long Vallen?" She asks fear in her voice. My daughter Midna slept soundly in her bed stirring softly as Ria stroked her black hair.
I take her hand in my own and say "The countdown is to a half hour, maybe more, before the final flare and then the sun will go out" She wraps her slender arms around me and I return the embrace squeezing her tight.
Midna stirs and rises, her little head bobbing as she rubs the sleep from her eyes "Daddy what's wrong?"
"Nothing little one, Mommy and I are just talking" I say releasing the embrace and picking up my daughter "How about we all go or a walk, does that sound nice?" She nods and places her head on my shoulder as I take my wife's hand and lead them out into the hall where throngs of people rushed to the observation deck. Instead I take them into a side hall through the dark alleys until we reach an anti chamber overlooking the dying sun. The chamber was filled with six hundred Stasis pods, many already filled, only four remained open. I placed my daughter in one of the pods and tussled her hair:
"Now it's time to sleep, and when you wake up we can live in a forest on a nice planet somewhere"
"Can we really?" She asks a smile spreading across her face. I nod and inject her with a sleeping drug and she falls back into the cushioned surface as blue energy surrounds her and the pod closes. I kiss my wife as I inject her and as her pod closes I look to the massive red sun. A black mark is spreading around the luminous globe and I turn the last pod, my own. I don't know if this last ditched effort to save something of the universe will work, but I wont let my daughter die. As I inject my self the the star begins its death throws spewing massive flares as the blackness consumes the stellar flesh, I enter my pod and feel the stasis energy lock my muscles and cells into place, and as the hatch closes the last beam of light fades out, and I hear a million sentient beings scream in unison. The hatch closes bathing myself and the rest of the universe in darkness. |
|
[WP] The Heat Death of the Universe. At the end of time the Stars are burning out as they use up the last of their fuel. There is only one Star left in the known Universe and all remaining life has gathered around it. | The remaining super-sentient carbon gas clouds drifted inside of their atmospheric containment nodules as they observed the quick collapse of the last surrounding layers of compressed matter. As the ending approached, they established the last set of compression beacons they would ever employ, and activated them. Already, while they passed into the void of the blackhole- transiting through the multi-frame to their newly generated universe, just exiting the throes of the big bang, the beacons were condensing the universe of their birth. Soon, it would condense so much that it would collapse in on the compression beacons themselves, which would be smaller than the atomic point on the eye of a needle before their structural integrity was depleted. Then, this universe would spawn again, exploding out from the miniscule ball of condensed matter which had once represented a vast endlessness, untrackable to the ancestors of the carbon gas clouds.
Sufficed to say, they did not *feel* anything as the last star collapsed. They simply accepted that this was the path they had chosen for their universe. It was within their capacity to generate new stars, but why save something that is dying, when they could create their own? | We stood there on the platform bathed in the last light of the universe's last sun. The massive superstructure that surrounded the sun was made to house the remnants of the sentient races lucky enough to find this last oasis of light, as well as suck up the last stray solar flares that are now far and in between. I am one the last humans in existence my; one of two thousand survivors I had seen the last light of the human empire fade as entropy consumed the dark worlds once full of life. I stand amongst other species, strange and foreign to someone who never left the core worlds, but to me a former pirate these creatures are old hat. They come in all forms big and small, fat and slender, most are not even bipedal, but in these final moments we all share the same light and for the first time in the universe's history there is no war or conflict. Almost funny really, the universe has to end to put a stop to conflict. I chuckle much to the disdain of an alien priest spewing some form of last right to a small crowd of insect like aliens; I turn around and walk into the labyrinth of pipes and wires to the remains of my small ship, now merged with the superstructure, and entered. My wife Ria turned, her deep red skin almost blood red in the dim light.
"How long Vallen?" She asks fear in her voice. My daughter Midna slept soundly in her bed stirring softly as Ria stroked her black hair.
I take her hand in my own and say "The countdown is to a half hour, maybe more, before the final flare and then the sun will go out" She wraps her slender arms around me and I return the embrace squeezing her tight.
Midna stirs and rises, her little head bobbing as she rubs the sleep from her eyes "Daddy what's wrong?"
"Nothing little one, Mommy and I are just talking" I say releasing the embrace and picking up my daughter "How about we all go or a walk, does that sound nice?" She nods and places her head on my shoulder as I take my wife's hand and lead them out into the hall where throngs of people rushed to the observation deck. Instead I take them into a side hall through the dark alleys until we reach an anti chamber overlooking the dying sun. The chamber was filled with six hundred Stasis pods, many already filled, only four remained open. I placed my daughter in one of the pods and tussled her hair:
"Now it's time to sleep, and when you wake up we can live in a forest on a nice planet somewhere"
"Can we really?" She asks a smile spreading across her face. I nod and inject her with a sleeping drug and she falls back into the cushioned surface as blue energy surrounds her and the pod closes. I kiss my wife as I inject her and as her pod closes I look to the massive red sun. A black mark is spreading around the luminous globe and I turn the last pod, my own. I don't know if this last ditched effort to save something of the universe will work, but I wont let my daughter die. As I inject my self the the star begins its death throws spewing massive flares as the blackness consumes the stellar flesh, I enter my pod and feel the stasis energy lock my muscles and cells into place, and as the hatch closes the last beam of light fades out, and I hear a million sentient beings scream in unison. The hatch closes bathing myself and the rest of the universe in darkness. |
|
[WP] The Heat Death of the Universe. At the end of time the Stars are burning out as they use up the last of their fuel. There is only one Star left in the known Universe and all remaining life has gathered around it. | A reminder: posting a comment that says "This reminds of x" or "Y already wrote this" is not posting a response to the writing prompt. Such comments will be removed. | We stood there on the platform bathed in the last light of the universe's last sun. The massive superstructure that surrounded the sun was made to house the remnants of the sentient races lucky enough to find this last oasis of light, as well as suck up the last stray solar flares that are now far and in between. I am one the last humans in existence my; one of two thousand survivors I had seen the last light of the human empire fade as entropy consumed the dark worlds once full of life. I stand amongst other species, strange and foreign to someone who never left the core worlds, but to me a former pirate these creatures are old hat. They come in all forms big and small, fat and slender, most are not even bipedal, but in these final moments we all share the same light and for the first time in the universe's history there is no war or conflict. Almost funny really, the universe has to end to put a stop to conflict. I chuckle much to the disdain of an alien priest spewing some form of last right to a small crowd of insect like aliens; I turn around and walk into the labyrinth of pipes and wires to the remains of my small ship, now merged with the superstructure, and entered. My wife Ria turned, her deep red skin almost blood red in the dim light.
"How long Vallen?" She asks fear in her voice. My daughter Midna slept soundly in her bed stirring softly as Ria stroked her black hair.
I take her hand in my own and say "The countdown is to a half hour, maybe more, before the final flare and then the sun will go out" She wraps her slender arms around me and I return the embrace squeezing her tight.
Midna stirs and rises, her little head bobbing as she rubs the sleep from her eyes "Daddy what's wrong?"
"Nothing little one, Mommy and I are just talking" I say releasing the embrace and picking up my daughter "How about we all go or a walk, does that sound nice?" She nods and places her head on my shoulder as I take my wife's hand and lead them out into the hall where throngs of people rushed to the observation deck. Instead I take them into a side hall through the dark alleys until we reach an anti chamber overlooking the dying sun. The chamber was filled with six hundred Stasis pods, many already filled, only four remained open. I placed my daughter in one of the pods and tussled her hair:
"Now it's time to sleep, and when you wake up we can live in a forest on a nice planet somewhere"
"Can we really?" She asks a smile spreading across her face. I nod and inject her with a sleeping drug and she falls back into the cushioned surface as blue energy surrounds her and the pod closes. I kiss my wife as I inject her and as her pod closes I look to the massive red sun. A black mark is spreading around the luminous globe and I turn the last pod, my own. I don't know if this last ditched effort to save something of the universe will work, but I wont let my daughter die. As I inject my self the the star begins its death throws spewing massive flares as the blackness consumes the stellar flesh, I enter my pod and feel the stasis energy lock my muscles and cells into place, and as the hatch closes the last beam of light fades out, and I hear a million sentient beings scream in unison. The hatch closes bathing myself and the rest of the universe in darkness. |
|
[WP] The Heat Death of the Universe. At the end of time the Stars are burning out as they use up the last of their fuel. There is only one Star left in the known Universe and all remaining life has gathered around it. | he had been waiting for this moment for a long time. Eons seemed like a short time in comparison to how long he had been waiting. His mother had told him one thing every night before he slept, and every night he had asked her the same question.
He honestly hadn't thought he would live for as long as the universe. He considered himself a normal man at first. Of course that was wrong. He grew up, as anyone would do. then he married and had children, but this is where the normal portion of his life stopped. As his children grew, he didn't age along with them. His once beautiful wife had aged to a withered old crone, but he still looked as youthful as the day they were married. Scientists had been amazed, and for awhile he was a media sensation. but of course, that had passed as no one could explain why the simple father had not aged while everyone around him did. he went through life, as one does with no prospect of aging. He was adventurous, while he enjoyed it, he was an explorer, a poet, even a conquerer as time went on. At one point a saint, and another point a devil. His fingerprints were all through the history books right up until they stopped being written.
After mankind had passed, not through some reat calamity, or disease, but simply ascended to some farther plane of being, the man had wandered. humanity had invented a great many toys that allowed the man to go where he wished. he visited vast ancient races, and bestowed gifts on relative newcomers. These too he watched pass on into the eternal night. Eventually he settled arouond this, the last star. Even the trailings of light from the other stars had faded out into nothingness. The universe outside this small bubble was nothing more than static, and space.
Desppite it all, he remembered one thing. What his mother said to him all those ages ago. before the suns cooled, before the continents drifted, and before the fall of man..
"I will love you for as long as the stars burn"
she had said this every night as she tucked him in, and then kissed him on the forehead.
he had lost her while he was still a child, before he had lost anythign else. Even now, despite losing the whole universe, her loss still weighed the heaviest on him. Knowing that she had never grown to see the great being that her son would become. It was an old wound, but it still made him pause.
The sun, a vast old giant, was just going through its death throes. he had seen the exact same thing a million times, and this was only notable because it was the last. The readings from the sun were normal for this stage in its development, and the few feeble blasted rocks that had once been planets clung to their orbits despite the suns erratic gravity well.
It was on one of these that he had decided to watch. a planet far enough away that it woudnt be immediatly destroyed, but close enough to have a breathable atmosphere.
standing there on that last sunset. he couldn't help but think of the people he'd lost, of the things he'ad experienced. Despite all of the loss, it was still a good life.
The light waxed, and then waned. it was coming. he could feel the change.
The light changed, and then was gone. He knew he only had a few more minutes on this darkened rock before the shockwaves destroyed it, but he sat in the silence and asked the same question he had asked all those times his mother tucked him in.
"but momma, what about when the stars go out"
This time though, as the air chilled around him in absolute darkness he felt a hand embrace his, and finally after all this time an answer.
"Then we shall have to make more stars my little love"
| We stood there on the platform bathed in the last light of the universe's last sun. The massive superstructure that surrounded the sun was made to house the remnants of the sentient races lucky enough to find this last oasis of light, as well as suck up the last stray solar flares that are now far and in between. I am one the last humans in existence my; one of two thousand survivors I had seen the last light of the human empire fade as entropy consumed the dark worlds once full of life. I stand amongst other species, strange and foreign to someone who never left the core worlds, but to me a former pirate these creatures are old hat. They come in all forms big and small, fat and slender, most are not even bipedal, but in these final moments we all share the same light and for the first time in the universe's history there is no war or conflict. Almost funny really, the universe has to end to put a stop to conflict. I chuckle much to the disdain of an alien priest spewing some form of last right to a small crowd of insect like aliens; I turn around and walk into the labyrinth of pipes and wires to the remains of my small ship, now merged with the superstructure, and entered. My wife Ria turned, her deep red skin almost blood red in the dim light.
"How long Vallen?" She asks fear in her voice. My daughter Midna slept soundly in her bed stirring softly as Ria stroked her black hair.
I take her hand in my own and say "The countdown is to a half hour, maybe more, before the final flare and then the sun will go out" She wraps her slender arms around me and I return the embrace squeezing her tight.
Midna stirs and rises, her little head bobbing as she rubs the sleep from her eyes "Daddy what's wrong?"
"Nothing little one, Mommy and I are just talking" I say releasing the embrace and picking up my daughter "How about we all go or a walk, does that sound nice?" She nods and places her head on my shoulder as I take my wife's hand and lead them out into the hall where throngs of people rushed to the observation deck. Instead I take them into a side hall through the dark alleys until we reach an anti chamber overlooking the dying sun. The chamber was filled with six hundred Stasis pods, many already filled, only four remained open. I placed my daughter in one of the pods and tussled her hair:
"Now it's time to sleep, and when you wake up we can live in a forest on a nice planet somewhere"
"Can we really?" She asks a smile spreading across her face. I nod and inject her with a sleeping drug and she falls back into the cushioned surface as blue energy surrounds her and the pod closes. I kiss my wife as I inject her and as her pod closes I look to the massive red sun. A black mark is spreading around the luminous globe and I turn the last pod, my own. I don't know if this last ditched effort to save something of the universe will work, but I wont let my daughter die. As I inject my self the the star begins its death throws spewing massive flares as the blackness consumes the stellar flesh, I enter my pod and feel the stasis energy lock my muscles and cells into place, and as the hatch closes the last beam of light fades out, and I hear a million sentient beings scream in unison. The hatch closes bathing myself and the rest of the universe in darkness. |
|
[WP] The Heat Death of the Universe. At the end of time the Stars are burning out as they use up the last of their fuel. There is only one Star left in the known Universe and all remaining life has gathered around it. | he had been waiting for this moment for a long time. Eons seemed like a short time in comparison to how long he had been waiting. His mother had told him one thing every night before he slept, and every night he had asked her the same question.
He honestly hadn't thought he would live for as long as the universe. He considered himself a normal man at first. Of course that was wrong. He grew up, as anyone would do. then he married and had children, but this is where the normal portion of his life stopped. As his children grew, he didn't age along with them. His once beautiful wife had aged to a withered old crone, but he still looked as youthful as the day they were married. Scientists had been amazed, and for awhile he was a media sensation. but of course, that had passed as no one could explain why the simple father had not aged while everyone around him did. he went through life, as one does with no prospect of aging. He was adventurous, while he enjoyed it, he was an explorer, a poet, even a conquerer as time went on. At one point a saint, and another point a devil. His fingerprints were all through the history books right up until they stopped being written.
After mankind had passed, not through some reat calamity, or disease, but simply ascended to some farther plane of being, the man had wandered. humanity had invented a great many toys that allowed the man to go where he wished. he visited vast ancient races, and bestowed gifts on relative newcomers. These too he watched pass on into the eternal night. Eventually he settled arouond this, the last star. Even the trailings of light from the other stars had faded out into nothingness. The universe outside this small bubble was nothing more than static, and space.
Desppite it all, he remembered one thing. What his mother said to him all those ages ago. before the suns cooled, before the continents drifted, and before the fall of man..
"I will love you for as long as the stars burn"
she had said this every night as she tucked him in, and then kissed him on the forehead.
he had lost her while he was still a child, before he had lost anythign else. Even now, despite losing the whole universe, her loss still weighed the heaviest on him. Knowing that she had never grown to see the great being that her son would become. It was an old wound, but it still made him pause.
The sun, a vast old giant, was just going through its death throes. he had seen the exact same thing a million times, and this was only notable because it was the last. The readings from the sun were normal for this stage in its development, and the few feeble blasted rocks that had once been planets clung to their orbits despite the suns erratic gravity well.
It was on one of these that he had decided to watch. a planet far enough away that it woudnt be immediatly destroyed, but close enough to have a breathable atmosphere.
standing there on that last sunset. he couldn't help but think of the people he'd lost, of the things he'ad experienced. Despite all of the loss, it was still a good life.
The light waxed, and then waned. it was coming. he could feel the change.
The light changed, and then was gone. He knew he only had a few more minutes on this darkened rock before the shockwaves destroyed it, but he sat in the silence and asked the same question he had asked all those times his mother tucked him in.
"but momma, what about when the stars go out"
This time though, as the air chilled around him in absolute darkness he felt a hand embrace his, and finally after all this time an answer.
"Then we shall have to make more stars my little love"
| The remaining super-sentient carbon gas clouds drifted inside of their atmospheric containment nodules as they observed the quick collapse of the last surrounding layers of compressed matter. As the ending approached, they established the last set of compression beacons they would ever employ, and activated them. Already, while they passed into the void of the blackhole- transiting through the multi-frame to their newly generated universe, just exiting the throes of the big bang, the beacons were condensing the universe of their birth. Soon, it would condense so much that it would collapse in on the compression beacons themselves, which would be smaller than the atomic point on the eye of a needle before their structural integrity was depleted. Then, this universe would spawn again, exploding out from the miniscule ball of condensed matter which had once represented a vast endlessness, untrackable to the ancestors of the carbon gas clouds.
Sufficed to say, they did not *feel* anything as the last star collapsed. They simply accepted that this was the path they had chosen for their universe. It was within their capacity to generate new stars, but why save something that is dying, when they could create their own? |
|
[WP] The Heat Death of the Universe. At the end of time the Stars are burning out as they use up the last of their fuel. There is only one Star left in the known Universe and all remaining life has gathered around it. | he had been waiting for this moment for a long time. Eons seemed like a short time in comparison to how long he had been waiting. His mother had told him one thing every night before he slept, and every night he had asked her the same question.
He honestly hadn't thought he would live for as long as the universe. He considered himself a normal man at first. Of course that was wrong. He grew up, as anyone would do. then he married and had children, but this is where the normal portion of his life stopped. As his children grew, he didn't age along with them. His once beautiful wife had aged to a withered old crone, but he still looked as youthful as the day they were married. Scientists had been amazed, and for awhile he was a media sensation. but of course, that had passed as no one could explain why the simple father had not aged while everyone around him did. he went through life, as one does with no prospect of aging. He was adventurous, while he enjoyed it, he was an explorer, a poet, even a conquerer as time went on. At one point a saint, and another point a devil. His fingerprints were all through the history books right up until they stopped being written.
After mankind had passed, not through some reat calamity, or disease, but simply ascended to some farther plane of being, the man had wandered. humanity had invented a great many toys that allowed the man to go where he wished. he visited vast ancient races, and bestowed gifts on relative newcomers. These too he watched pass on into the eternal night. Eventually he settled arouond this, the last star. Even the trailings of light from the other stars had faded out into nothingness. The universe outside this small bubble was nothing more than static, and space.
Desppite it all, he remembered one thing. What his mother said to him all those ages ago. before the suns cooled, before the continents drifted, and before the fall of man..
"I will love you for as long as the stars burn"
she had said this every night as she tucked him in, and then kissed him on the forehead.
he had lost her while he was still a child, before he had lost anythign else. Even now, despite losing the whole universe, her loss still weighed the heaviest on him. Knowing that she had never grown to see the great being that her son would become. It was an old wound, but it still made him pause.
The sun, a vast old giant, was just going through its death throes. he had seen the exact same thing a million times, and this was only notable because it was the last. The readings from the sun were normal for this stage in its development, and the few feeble blasted rocks that had once been planets clung to their orbits despite the suns erratic gravity well.
It was on one of these that he had decided to watch. a planet far enough away that it woudnt be immediatly destroyed, but close enough to have a breathable atmosphere.
standing there on that last sunset. he couldn't help but think of the people he'd lost, of the things he'ad experienced. Despite all of the loss, it was still a good life.
The light waxed, and then waned. it was coming. he could feel the change.
The light changed, and then was gone. He knew he only had a few more minutes on this darkened rock before the shockwaves destroyed it, but he sat in the silence and asked the same question he had asked all those times his mother tucked him in.
"but momma, what about when the stars go out"
This time though, as the air chilled around him in absolute darkness he felt a hand embrace his, and finally after all this time an answer.
"Then we shall have to make more stars my little love"
| The sky was speckled with starlight, a cruel, false hope. That which seemed alive an vibrant died long ago. Trillions of lives raced for the last star. Millennia of research, thousands of experiments, the combined efforts of species strewn far and wide. None of it could stop the coming darkness. It's herald was already here. Fear gripped them all.
It was inevitable. With a sudden flash the light coming from the star grew exponentially brighter. To an observer far removed it might have seemed that the nova was brighter than expected. A careful analysis of the spectra would have revealed the truth.
The light faded, the last star remained. Around it could still be seem the flashes of light. Like the last few kernels of corn, the cores of few ship that hadn't been annihilated cooked off and added their dying light to that of the star.
This was it, the end of everything. The death of the universe and not a soul alive to witness.
_____
There in blackest night.
Lying between false starlight.
The last of our creations.
With goals defying expectations.
The universe is dead as far as we can see.
But beyond that what more could be?
\- Hope |
|
[WP] The Heat Death of the Universe. At the end of time the Stars are burning out as they use up the last of their fuel. There is only one Star left in the known Universe and all remaining life has gathered around it. | Albrecht tapped gently on the keyboard. "Niner Echo Zulu Dash Seven Bravo Make Six, please proceed to the following orbit vector for Four - Repeat - Four cycles."
*Roger Command*
Albrecht leaned back; he didn't have another scheduled correction for 20 double-marks. So long as no one did something stupid, he had some time to himself.
"Engage starside screen, 95%."
Instantly the view of Char filled the room. An orange supergiant, the last star in the universe. Albrecht enjoyed watching Char burn, the ever-shifting patterns on it's surface, the flare activity. As the story goes, Char was created by the ancients, combining the last remaining red dwarf stars, gathering enough mass to ignite them all into one last, giant star. Personally Albrecht considered that a myth, but it didn't really matter. Char was the last reamaining oasis in the endless, dark desert.
Every living being left in the universe made it's home around Char. Char had no planets, and at close to 2 billion killometers in diameter, there was plenty of room for all. Still, with so many orbiting platforms/worldships/artificial moons/ship convoys, care had to be taken to make sure that people stayed out of each other's way.
*Command this is Nomember Three XRay Dash Unlium Two Alpha One, we have a couple of unidentified aircraft that will be crossing our orbit in approximately 23 marks. There's no danger of collision with us, but these guys look lost, and are not responding to our hails.*
Crap. "Roger, Nomember Three, I have them on my sensors". Albrecht turned on the automatic hail, but didn't expect a response. The crafts trajectory told him everything he needed to know.
"Kalib, you still awake out there?"
*Come on, Alby, you gotta be kidding me.*
"Sorry, Kalib. I have two Skiffer-class crafts headed star-side. They're going to cross 10,490 orbits before they even get into Class 4 flare range, and they are...hold on let me check...confirmed they are not responding to the auto-hail."
*Confirmed, send me the trajectory.*
Albrecht swiftly sent the coordinates to his gunner. Kalib was stationed in a large, menacing orbital platform located almost an AU out. At his command was the Neutralizer Gun, a fearsome weapon. Once it had a target, the Neutralizer generated a small but powerful hyperspace gate, immediatly in front of the target. Normally this wouldn't be a big deal, but normally, the ship passing into hyperspace would be the one generating the gate, and would have calculated coordinates for an exit gate as well. Plus, the Neutralizer was specially modified to create a gate the size of a piece of fruit, but still have the power of a planet-size gate. The result was a ship being crushed to near nothingness, while simultaneously pulled into hyperspace, in a half a mark. It was a brutal death...slow enough that the poor souls on board could understand what was happening, but quick enough that they couldn't do anything about it.
And yet, still they tried. This was the third attempted Star Suicide this cycle. Albrecht couldn't understand it. Everyone living around Char knew this was the last gasp for the universe. It was a fact that had been hanging over sentient life for billions of years. But still, Char had at least another million years left in it before supernova. So many generations could still live comfortably and peacefully. Why end it all now?
*Target eliminated. I think one of the wings sheard off, Alby.*
"Roger, Kalib. Sending out clean-up drones."
Albrecht sighed, and started watching Char again. Next rotation, he was on asteroid mining duty, which these days took you so far out, Char was just a small white dot in the sky. He hated mining duty, but didn't have much choice. Being an All-Purpose meant just that; you got sent to do it all. Kalib had tried to tell him several hundred cycles ago, specialize. Buy a bunch of mineral detection equipment and get rich finding all the best veins, or upgrade your processors so that you can track more orbits simultaneously. Whatever you want to do, upgrade yourself so that you are the best at it.
But being All-Purpose did have it's advantages as well. Albrecht knew of a dozen monitor units who were decomissioned during the last system upgrade, simply because they couldn't fill a useful purpose any longer. When you were All-Purpose, cheaper but more frequent upgrades allowed you to always have work, even if it wasn't what you really wanted to do. And more than anything, Albrecht wanted to see the end of Char. Sure, it was a long shot: Albrecht's Rated Useful Lifespan as of right now was only 100,000 cycles. But robotics research was one of the few things the organics still cared about...with a little luck and some judicious upgrade spending, Albrecht felt he had a chance. | The sky was speckled with starlight, a cruel, false hope. That which seemed alive an vibrant died long ago. Trillions of lives raced for the last star. Millennia of research, thousands of experiments, the combined efforts of species strewn far and wide. None of it could stop the coming darkness. It's herald was already here. Fear gripped them all.
It was inevitable. With a sudden flash the light coming from the star grew exponentially brighter. To an observer far removed it might have seemed that the nova was brighter than expected. A careful analysis of the spectra would have revealed the truth.
The light faded, the last star remained. Around it could still be seem the flashes of light. Like the last few kernels of corn, the cores of few ship that hadn't been annihilated cooked off and added their dying light to that of the star.
This was it, the end of everything. The death of the universe and not a soul alive to witness.
_____
There in blackest night.
Lying between false starlight.
The last of our creations.
With goals defying expectations.
The universe is dead as far as we can see.
But beyond that what more could be?
\- Hope |
|
[WP] The Heat Death of the Universe. At the end of time the Stars are burning out as they use up the last of their fuel. There is only one Star left in the known Universe and all remaining life has gathered around it. | They had chosen well, this particular star, to gather around.
It's funny. The Terrans, of a time long ago, had actually come up with the idea. But they were too primitive to actually have accomplished the feat. Too much, too many variables, and they were unfortunate to have not survived, not escaped the realm of their home when their sun died. All that infighting... a shame, really.
But that one idea, thankfully transmitted through the cosmos and amazingly retrieved amongst the static of the stars, took hold later, much later, when the technologies had been invented to make it a feasible thing. So for that reason, that amazing singular idea that from a backwater, technologically inferior world, the Dyson Sphere was named as a tribute to the creativity of that species.
The technical details are unimportant. Suffice to say that many of the reservations of making such a Sphere, such as radiation and overheating, were overcome, and they were as safe as a world in the habitable zone of a normal star.
And so millions of post-nova stars were encapsulated, giving many species more time than they had ever hoped to have.
That time has run out. As it was known to be the case.
And so it came to be that this last Sphere around the last known brown dwarf in all the universe, found itself the last bastion of life. It was already dark inside, the reddish brown glow fading faster and faster as the dead core of the star released its heat. There was a collective acceptance of the fate bestowed upon them by their ancestors.
The vote was in. It was decided. Rather than await the harsh cold to come for them, eventually, the airlocks would simply be cracked open, to release the atmosphere from the Sphere. We would all slowly fall asleep... and never wake up.
And so, the last star faded out... and with it, the universe was dead.
---
"Took long enough."
The nameless beings of energy gazed upon this particular universe they'd created. None of the other ones before, and it was likely to be 'since' too, had lasted that long.
"Anyone know what we did that made it work so specatcularly?"
"The rules were the same as universe 62c73%s, and J#8f3). Those died out in only 63.52 and 104.423 argoles. That this one lasted 32035.662 argoles is just astounding, wouldn't you agree?"
"Indeed. Well, anyway, I won the bet. More than 110 argoles this time. Pay up."
"Fine. It is done. But I'm done playing. See you next garflot?"
"Sure thing!"
And the children of the multiverse headed home. | The sky was speckled with starlight, a cruel, false hope. That which seemed alive an vibrant died long ago. Trillions of lives raced for the last star. Millennia of research, thousands of experiments, the combined efforts of species strewn far and wide. None of it could stop the coming darkness. It's herald was already here. Fear gripped them all.
It was inevitable. With a sudden flash the light coming from the star grew exponentially brighter. To an observer far removed it might have seemed that the nova was brighter than expected. A careful analysis of the spectra would have revealed the truth.
The light faded, the last star remained. Around it could still be seem the flashes of light. Like the last few kernels of corn, the cores of few ship that hadn't been annihilated cooked off and added their dying light to that of the star.
This was it, the end of everything. The death of the universe and not a soul alive to witness.
_____
There in blackest night.
Lying between false starlight.
The last of our creations.
With goals defying expectations.
The universe is dead as far as we can see.
But beyond that what more could be?
\- Hope |
|
[WP] The Heat Death of the Universe. At the end of time the Stars are burning out as they use up the last of their fuel. There is only one Star left in the known Universe and all remaining life has gathered around it. | We are all gathered here, at the last star in the universe. All of us that are left, that is. I look at the scanner report. So many species, the brilliant and the terrible, didn't make it. Those of us that made it are lucky more than anything else.
Our civilisation used to command a fleet of ships just like this one, harnessing the energy from hundreds of thousands of stars in our galaxy. We were an empire so vast that entire generations could live and die before the light from one extreme reached the other. And now we are here with the rest, beggars squabbling over the last scraps of usable energy.
We are the only living representatives from our galactic cluster. Others may have similar stories. I cannot bear to hear them out nor relate our own account, for all the emotional distance communicating through translator modules would give us. There are but a few billion of our brood left, less than a thousandth of a percent of the population we once had. The scale of death is maddening.
The ship is running out of energy. We cannot support all our people using the output of this dying star, not without casting our solar nets wider and damning some other ship in our shadow to a cold death. We need to concentrate our energy where the young can have a chance at a life, short though it will be. The council has asked that the old consider leaving. I am old, and I would like to walk on a planet's surface once before I die.
Enough of us make the sacrifice. The scientists have calculated that those that remain should be able to survive for a few years yet, though without the comforts that they would have had with our full energy reserves. We take our smaller ships down to the closest planet with a few weeks of food and energy to run our personal assistants. Many will want to make a log of their final days, though no one will ever read them.
The world beneath us is cold. The plant and animal life is adapted to the temperatures, but there are clear signs that they evolved in a much warmer climate. I look to the sky. The star is visible. The ships surrounding the star have all left enough room for light to shine upon the inhabited planets in this system. At least, at the end, we all have that kindness in us.
I do not wish to stay with the group. There are some others with a like mind. We say our goodbyes and walk out into the cold, our suits protecting us. I take no food with me. I do not plan to live much longer. The wanderers split up into groups. I go alone.
I see in the distance a small hill. I think that it is a good place to die. I climb it, and sit at its crest. I look at the sky again, but a shade of the sky dome on the ship. I feel afraid. I activate the euthanasia module on my personal assistant. The chemicals start to calm me down. I have only a few minutes of consciousness left.
Keeping this record is futile. Even if this is not the final end of the universe, even if there is some sort of big crunch to start it anew, no information will survive the process. But then, that's been true all along. The purpose of life is not in the remembering but in the living. And I have lived well.
=
**EDIT:** Before I forget, I'm planning to add notes to future me or other interested people about my thoughts while writing prompts.
* Downer ending I decided against: "You may think that I am noble, for first volunteering to leave the safety of the ship, and then for taking no food with me. The truth is I am not noble. I have lived my entire life on a world-ship lit in imitation of a star; I am afraid of the dark."
* Canonically, the protagonist isn't human. He's from a society more closely related to our ants (think the Formics from Ender's Game, only with no queen caste - just a strong sense of social obligation). This society is significantly more advanced than our own, with a total energy consumption somewhere between 2 and 3 on the [Kardashev scale](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Kardashev_scale) (i.e. they use more than the total energy output of a star and less than that of a galaxy). The society has no faster than light communication, so the different world-ships and planets were more or less isolated (a single world-ship would use energy comparable to a high-tech Earth). The world-ship the protagonist is born on was lucky enough to be able to determine where the last star would burn out and get there before it did.
* Time dilation from the world-ship's high-speed journey towards the last star means the time the inhabitants of the ship experienced was less than what ships that remained more or less stationary would get. This is another factor behind why they would be the only ones of their species there. The fact that any ship made that choice could be boiled down to wanting their species to "last to the end", even if they experience less subjective time in doing so.
* Brood of 1 billion = less than a thousandth of a percent of original population implies the original was >100,000 billion, which fits with the "hundreds of thousands of stars" thing (keep in mind planets can easily support more than a billion with advanced tech). A galaxy can definitely have enough stars for that to be the case. Also note that this means that their population would still be spread out over many light years (the nearest star to us is over 4 light years away, for example) even if they weren't on the fringes like this world-ship was.
* Alternate version I rejected was quite rambling and didn't have a coherent theme. It featured a conversation with the "primitives" on the planet in the story. I couldn't come up with anything that they would say to each other beyond "Nice to have some company for the end of all life." I thought about revealing the planet to be Earth, or the "primitives" descendants of humans or something. The idea seemed wrong, partly because it's so typical of us humans to make a story about the end of the universe all about us. | The sky was speckled with starlight, a cruel, false hope. That which seemed alive an vibrant died long ago. Trillions of lives raced for the last star. Millennia of research, thousands of experiments, the combined efforts of species strewn far and wide. None of it could stop the coming darkness. It's herald was already here. Fear gripped them all.
It was inevitable. With a sudden flash the light coming from the star grew exponentially brighter. To an observer far removed it might have seemed that the nova was brighter than expected. A careful analysis of the spectra would have revealed the truth.
The light faded, the last star remained. Around it could still be seem the flashes of light. Like the last few kernels of corn, the cores of few ship that hadn't been annihilated cooked off and added their dying light to that of the star.
This was it, the end of everything. The death of the universe and not a soul alive to witness.
_____
There in blackest night.
Lying between false starlight.
The last of our creations.
With goals defying expectations.
The universe is dead as far as we can see.
But beyond that what more could be?
\- Hope |
|
[WP] The Heat Death of the Universe. At the end of time the Stars are burning out as they use up the last of their fuel. There is only one Star left in the known Universe and all remaining life has gathered around it. | We are all gathered here, at the last star in the universe. All of us that are left, that is. I look at the scanner report. So many species, the brilliant and the terrible, didn't make it. Those of us that made it are lucky more than anything else.
Our civilisation used to command a fleet of ships just like this one, harnessing the energy from hundreds of thousands of stars in our galaxy. We were an empire so vast that entire generations could live and die before the light from one extreme reached the other. And now we are here with the rest, beggars squabbling over the last scraps of usable energy.
We are the only living representatives from our galactic cluster. Others may have similar stories. I cannot bear to hear them out nor relate our own account, for all the emotional distance communicating through translator modules would give us. There are but a few billion of our brood left, less than a thousandth of a percent of the population we once had. The scale of death is maddening.
The ship is running out of energy. We cannot support all our people using the output of this dying star, not without casting our solar nets wider and damning some other ship in our shadow to a cold death. We need to concentrate our energy where the young can have a chance at a life, short though it will be. The council has asked that the old consider leaving. I am old, and I would like to walk on a planet's surface once before I die.
Enough of us make the sacrifice. The scientists have calculated that those that remain should be able to survive for a few years yet, though without the comforts that they would have had with our full energy reserves. We take our smaller ships down to the closest planet with a few weeks of food and energy to run our personal assistants. Many will want to make a log of their final days, though no one will ever read them.
The world beneath us is cold. The plant and animal life is adapted to the temperatures, but there are clear signs that they evolved in a much warmer climate. I look to the sky. The star is visible. The ships surrounding the star have all left enough room for light to shine upon the inhabited planets in this system. At least, at the end, we all have that kindness in us.
I do not wish to stay with the group. There are some others with a like mind. We say our goodbyes and walk out into the cold, our suits protecting us. I take no food with me. I do not plan to live much longer. The wanderers split up into groups. I go alone.
I see in the distance a small hill. I think that it is a good place to die. I climb it, and sit at its crest. I look at the sky again, but a shade of the sky dome on the ship. I feel afraid. I activate the euthanasia module on my personal assistant. The chemicals start to calm me down. I have only a few minutes of consciousness left.
Keeping this record is futile. Even if this is not the final end of the universe, even if there is some sort of big crunch to start it anew, no information will survive the process. But then, that's been true all along. The purpose of life is not in the remembering but in the living. And I have lived well.
=
**EDIT:** Before I forget, I'm planning to add notes to future me or other interested people about my thoughts while writing prompts.
* Downer ending I decided against: "You may think that I am noble, for first volunteering to leave the safety of the ship, and then for taking no food with me. The truth is I am not noble. I have lived my entire life on a world-ship lit in imitation of a star; I am afraid of the dark."
* Canonically, the protagonist isn't human. He's from a society more closely related to our ants (think the Formics from Ender's Game, only with no queen caste - just a strong sense of social obligation). This society is significantly more advanced than our own, with a total energy consumption somewhere between 2 and 3 on the [Kardashev scale](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Kardashev_scale) (i.e. they use more than the total energy output of a star and less than that of a galaxy). The society has no faster than light communication, so the different world-ships and planets were more or less isolated (a single world-ship would use energy comparable to a high-tech Earth). The world-ship the protagonist is born on was lucky enough to be able to determine where the last star would burn out and get there before it did.
* Time dilation from the world-ship's high-speed journey towards the last star means the time the inhabitants of the ship experienced was less than what ships that remained more or less stationary would get. This is another factor behind why they would be the only ones of their species there. The fact that any ship made that choice could be boiled down to wanting their species to "last to the end", even if they experience less subjective time in doing so.
* Brood of 1 billion = less than a thousandth of a percent of original population implies the original was >100,000 billion, which fits with the "hundreds of thousands of stars" thing (keep in mind planets can easily support more than a billion with advanced tech). A galaxy can definitely have enough stars for that to be the case. Also note that this means that their population would still be spread out over many light years (the nearest star to us is over 4 light years away, for example) even if they weren't on the fringes like this world-ship was.
* Alternate version I rejected was quite rambling and didn't have a coherent theme. It featured a conversation with the "primitives" on the planet in the story. I couldn't come up with anything that they would say to each other beyond "Nice to have some company for the end of all life." I thought about revealing the planet to be Earth, or the "primitives" descendants of humans or something. The idea seemed wrong, partly because it's so typical of us humans to make a story about the end of the universe all about us. | Everyone watched as the last solar flare erupted from the star, the warmth spread throughout the trillions of fleets of spaceships. They all gathered around as if it were a campfire, telling the stories of their ancestors. Stories of when the universe was bright and full of wonder, of when their ancestors walked bare foot across planets. The last of the light from the sun began to waver, collective tears rolled down the faces of the last survivors. Everything began to grow cold, the breath of millions of sentient beings began to hang in the air. Ice condensed on the windows of the ships. The universe grew dark, the only lights shining were from the ships still gathered around the now invisible lump of metal that used to be the sun. Slowly, the lights of each ship began to shut down leaving the occupants to freeze in the darkness. The last few moments of existence in the universe were the same for everyone....
Cold, dark, quiet and alone. |
|
[WP] A man fighting to keep control of himself after realizing he is becoming the worlds first zombie. | Monday morning passed like any other. Adam groggily groped around the buttons on top of his alarm clock, whose exaggerated letters blared 6:45. He dragged himself to the shower before stripping off his socks and underwear and stepping in.
The cold water immediately stung his leg. Looking down, he noticed a short gash on the inside of his thigh. It was bleeding and blistering red, almost malevolent.
"Son of a bitch..." Adam trailed off. His eyes swam a moment as he recollected himself. He stepped out of the shower, almost tripped, and dried himself off. He drunkenly stumbled to the medicine cabinet, and quickly applied some disinfectant and gauze. He could not recall getting the wound, though he was affected with bouts of sleepwalking. Adam quickly dismissed his leg as an accident.
That day, Adam found himself drifting off constantly. He lacked the focus to even read a paragraph in one go. His boss grew concerned and ordered him to take the day off. Relieved, Adam obliged.
On Tuesday, Adam woke up to find himself at the front door of his house, unable to open it. He noticed the scratch marks on the door before he felt the blood flowing from his nails. He decided he would call to make an appointment with his doctor. Perhaps pharmaceuticals held the solution to these new episodes. Adam walked over to his phone and picked it up. His vision again blurred, and this time he fell on his back.
Adam lied helplessly for a few moments before gathering himself enough to stand. He tried to remember what he was doing with the phone before he noticed the time. He had to go to work. He had bills to pay. Adam shook himself off, went through his morning routine, and got on the road.
Despite his commute being a mere mile, Adam lost his bearings after he left his driveway. The now familiar dizziness struck again and Adam careened off the road, stopping only by the strength of an ancient apple tree, which was toppled by the force of the car. Adam blacked out.
When he came to, he felt the needle in his arm and squinted against the blinding whiteness of the hospital ceiling. An inexplicable panic overcame him. His suddenly animal instinct compelled him to escape. Yanking the tubes from his body, Adam strained against the bed, rising catatonically.
A nurse had just walked in and noticed Adam. "My God...doctor! Doctor!" She ran away screaming.
Adam groaned. He realized that his legs were broken and splintering through the casts, though oddly enough he could not feel them. His clarity was once again overcome with the primal panic to escape.
Now shambling, Adam reached the hallway. The nurse and doctor were running toward him.
"Adam! Adam! Stop! You're killing yourself!" The doctor ran within an arms length. "You need to stop, you have to lie down, you..." Adam grabbed him with one hand and a pain shot through his arm. The doctor was caught off guard and fell into Adam. Without a thought, Adam bit into the doctor's exposed neck and tore his flesh.
A security guard then came from behind Adam and subdued him, took him back to his bed, and secured him there. In all the excitement, the guard had disregarded the scratch he obtained from Adam's nails.
That night, Adam died in the hospital bed. His curse, however, was now free to spread...
| "In a recap of the top news today, the man in Central Square arrested by police after a prolonged struggle has been identified as Geoffrey Greenman, a Parkside resident.
Mr Greenman was arrested after behaving erratically in the Central Shopping Plaza, with reports that he stole an elderly woman's walking cane and repeatedly struck himself in the mouth. Police moved in after a tense stand off with Mr Greenman who, still armed with the walking cane, threatened police and bystanders saying he would "kill them all and all would end" which was recorded by a witness' smart phone.
He has been remanded in custody pending formal charges with police stating "Given the possible mental health issues at play it is prudent at this time to make sure Mr Greenman is given proper representation when charges are laid".
In other news, a teenager from Parkview has been reported missing today after it was discovered that Robert Francis had not returned home from school. Friends of the boy say he had walked home through Parkview. Police have said they are doing the best they can to find the missing student and that if anyone has any information of Robert's whereabouts they should contact Crime Stoppers on 1800 333 000". |
|
[WP] A man fighting to keep control of himself after realizing he is becoming the worlds first zombie. | I am dying, and I know it.
I can feel my synapses flaring like the tip of an arc welder, as the fire spreads through my brain. In my head, it’s three-thousand-one-hundred degrees, and rising - and the world as I know it is being bleached crimson by an unrelenting red tide. My vision swims and burns as the sweat pours down my forehead and into my eyes. I feel my sodden shirt sticking to my skin, and paw and tear at it to try and ease the burning. A lance of pain shoots through me and my hands rise, gripping the sides of my head in agony - I try to claw the fire out of me.
What kind of hell is this?
I sink to my knees in the crowded tube station, the gaggle of morning commuters pressing in at me from every side like a herd of cattle being driven onward to the slaughterhouse. No one even notices. I try to scream, but just end up choking on my own bile, retching, as the claustrophobia sets in. I am a prisoner here, my own private cell, alone in a sea of faceless, nameless cunts.
Cradling my head in my hands, I try to muster up the energy to fight back - to stand, grab the nearest person and shake some sense into them. Show them my pain, my fear, make them understand. Make them see. But I can’t. All I can do is hold my head together, to try and stop the fire from tearing me open. I try to scream again, but only a low moan escapes my lips. A rasp. A death rattle.
I am dying. And I know it.
Soothing shards of ice begin to slide into my mind, numbing the pain and dousing the fire. Sweet release. Nothing to fear anymore, now that the ice has come. The beautiful, dulling cold slipping through the pain like a straight razor.
But somewhere, in the dark recesses of my mind, something stirs amid the cold. Something old, something forceful. It sings to me in dulcet tones, sweet songs of hope and joy, of open meadows and lazy days lying amid fields of yellowed buttercups. Freedom, it whispers. Comfort.
**It lies.**
Sweet songs. Too sweet - too sweet by far. The words of comfort and love are stripped away, and the voice that sings beneath them is *much* sweeter.
He sings of the sweetness of flesh - he sings of the white hot joy of carnage. He sings in tones that lay bare the primordial soul of man and drag from it, raw and writhing, the truths that haunt us while we sleep. His words are a palette, and my mind is a canvas, and he sings into me works of such monstrous beauty. Such vile and terrible abandon.
I am his puppet. With his mighty hands he pulls my strings, and I dance at his whim. He guides me to glory, to ascension, through flesh. Through terror, I shall honour him. Through blood, I shall mark his way.
Through flesh, all men will become one. | "In a recap of the top news today, the man in Central Square arrested by police after a prolonged struggle has been identified as Geoffrey Greenman, a Parkside resident.
Mr Greenman was arrested after behaving erratically in the Central Shopping Plaza, with reports that he stole an elderly woman's walking cane and repeatedly struck himself in the mouth. Police moved in after a tense stand off with Mr Greenman who, still armed with the walking cane, threatened police and bystanders saying he would "kill them all and all would end" which was recorded by a witness' smart phone.
He has been remanded in custody pending formal charges with police stating "Given the possible mental health issues at play it is prudent at this time to make sure Mr Greenman is given proper representation when charges are laid".
In other news, a teenager from Parkview has been reported missing today after it was discovered that Robert Francis had not returned home from school. Friends of the boy say he had walked home through Parkview. Police have said they are doing the best they can to find the missing student and that if anyone has any information of Robert's whereabouts they should contact Crime Stoppers on 1800 333 000". |
|
[WP] A man fighting to keep control of himself after realizing he is becoming the worlds first zombie. | I am dying, and I know it.
I can feel my synapses flaring like the tip of an arc welder, as the fire spreads through my brain. In my head, it’s three-thousand-one-hundred degrees, and rising - and the world as I know it is being bleached crimson by an unrelenting red tide. My vision swims and burns as the sweat pours down my forehead and into my eyes. I feel my sodden shirt sticking to my skin, and paw and tear at it to try and ease the burning. A lance of pain shoots through me and my hands rise, gripping the sides of my head in agony - I try to claw the fire out of me.
What kind of hell is this?
I sink to my knees in the crowded tube station, the gaggle of morning commuters pressing in at me from every side like a herd of cattle being driven onward to the slaughterhouse. No one even notices. I try to scream, but just end up choking on my own bile, retching, as the claustrophobia sets in. I am a prisoner here, my own private cell, alone in a sea of faceless, nameless cunts.
Cradling my head in my hands, I try to muster up the energy to fight back - to stand, grab the nearest person and shake some sense into them. Show them my pain, my fear, make them understand. Make them see. But I can’t. All I can do is hold my head together, to try and stop the fire from tearing me open. I try to scream again, but only a low moan escapes my lips. A rasp. A death rattle.
I am dying. And I know it.
Soothing shards of ice begin to slide into my mind, numbing the pain and dousing the fire. Sweet release. Nothing to fear anymore, now that the ice has come. The beautiful, dulling cold slipping through the pain like a straight razor.
But somewhere, in the dark recesses of my mind, something stirs amid the cold. Something old, something forceful. It sings to me in dulcet tones, sweet songs of hope and joy, of open meadows and lazy days lying amid fields of yellowed buttercups. Freedom, it whispers. Comfort.
**It lies.**
Sweet songs. Too sweet - too sweet by far. The words of comfort and love are stripped away, and the voice that sings beneath them is *much* sweeter.
He sings of the sweetness of flesh - he sings of the white hot joy of carnage. He sings in tones that lay bare the primordial soul of man and drag from it, raw and writhing, the truths that haunt us while we sleep. His words are a palette, and my mind is a canvas, and he sings into me works of such monstrous beauty. Such vile and terrible abandon.
I am his puppet. With his mighty hands he pulls my strings, and I dance at his whim. He guides me to glory, to ascension, through flesh. Through terror, I shall honour him. Through blood, I shall mark his way.
Through flesh, all men will become one. | Blood covered this can't be, so much hunger its painful.. these feelings aren't human... God! how could I do this to my friend....
Wishing, hoping, pleading please let this be a dream it can't be real I've become a monster. I look in the mirror don't even recognize myself eyes pure white almost soulless...
so cold.. can't stop shivering.. heartbeat weakening .. what is this that's happening to me? please god! wake me up! please god! wake me up! |
|
[WP] A man fighting to keep control of himself after realizing he is becoming the worlds first zombie. | I am dying, and I know it.
I can feel my synapses flaring like the tip of an arc welder, as the fire spreads through my brain. In my head, it’s three-thousand-one-hundred degrees, and rising - and the world as I know it is being bleached crimson by an unrelenting red tide. My vision swims and burns as the sweat pours down my forehead and into my eyes. I feel my sodden shirt sticking to my skin, and paw and tear at it to try and ease the burning. A lance of pain shoots through me and my hands rise, gripping the sides of my head in agony - I try to claw the fire out of me.
What kind of hell is this?
I sink to my knees in the crowded tube station, the gaggle of morning commuters pressing in at me from every side like a herd of cattle being driven onward to the slaughterhouse. No one even notices. I try to scream, but just end up choking on my own bile, retching, as the claustrophobia sets in. I am a prisoner here, my own private cell, alone in a sea of faceless, nameless cunts.
Cradling my head in my hands, I try to muster up the energy to fight back - to stand, grab the nearest person and shake some sense into them. Show them my pain, my fear, make them understand. Make them see. But I can’t. All I can do is hold my head together, to try and stop the fire from tearing me open. I try to scream again, but only a low moan escapes my lips. A rasp. A death rattle.
I am dying. And I know it.
Soothing shards of ice begin to slide into my mind, numbing the pain and dousing the fire. Sweet release. Nothing to fear anymore, now that the ice has come. The beautiful, dulling cold slipping through the pain like a straight razor.
But somewhere, in the dark recesses of my mind, something stirs amid the cold. Something old, something forceful. It sings to me in dulcet tones, sweet songs of hope and joy, of open meadows and lazy days lying amid fields of yellowed buttercups. Freedom, it whispers. Comfort.
**It lies.**
Sweet songs. Too sweet - too sweet by far. The words of comfort and love are stripped away, and the voice that sings beneath them is *much* sweeter.
He sings of the sweetness of flesh - he sings of the white hot joy of carnage. He sings in tones that lay bare the primordial soul of man and drag from it, raw and writhing, the truths that haunt us while we sleep. His words are a palette, and my mind is a canvas, and he sings into me works of such monstrous beauty. Such vile and terrible abandon.
I am his puppet. With his mighty hands he pulls my strings, and I dance at his whim. He guides me to glory, to ascension, through flesh. Through terror, I shall honour him. Through blood, I shall mark his way.
Through flesh, all men will become one. | I could feel it eating at me, something was so very, very wrong. I went to the doctor to get a routine check up, everything was normal. I went home and got in my old truck and just drove, I started to space out, remembering all of the happier times, out with my daughter, eating with my wife.
A loud honk shot me back into consciousness, I looked at my gas gauge almost empty. I drove my happy ass to the nearest station and filled up my tank. There was a young woman about 600 feet under the streetlight just before the city limits sign. I got in my truck and asked if she needed a ride.
"Yeah, I'm just trying to get a ride to Pasadena, you know where that is... Right?"
Thinking back to when I last saw a map, "No, sorry."
"That's okay," she said with a smile. "My name's Terry, what about you?"
"What about me?" I said gruffly.
"You got a name, or... something I could call you?"
I didn't know this chick and she could try to kill me so I just said, "Call me Bob, so where is this... Pasadena?"
"California. I'm trying to get away from my folks and if I can get to California and see one of the beaches there, I'd be set."
"California, that's at least 4 states away!"
I started to cough I turned my head to the driver's side window and noticed little flecks of blood splattering on the window, my eyes got wide, and I stared in disbelief.
"Uhm, Terry. You should get out of here," I said with panic in my voice. "I don't know if I'm contagious or not."
"What?" she said looking t me with a worried smile. "Could you at least take me to the nearest motel so I can get some sleep on an actual bed?"
"Sure."
We drove for what seemed like an hour, it must've been only ten minutes. I started to cough more and more, blood coming out of my lungs each time.
"You sure you're okay?"
"Terry, I told you back at that sign that you shouldn't have come with me. you made this decision."
"Do you want me to get out?"
"No, if you get hurt that'll be on my conscience for the rest of my life, however long or short that may be."
"Okay then. Could we turn on the radio?"
"Sure."
Terry turned on the radio and I kept driving, I started to cough really bad and had to pull over. Blood was pouring out of my mouth at this point.
"Holy shit, we need to get you to a hospital!"
There was no point in resisting, I gave in and tore into her wrist, fuck... I really shouldn't have done that. |
|
[WP] A man fighting to keep control of himself after realizing he is becoming the worlds first zombie. | I am dying, and I know it.
I can feel my synapses flaring like the tip of an arc welder, as the fire spreads through my brain. In my head, it’s three-thousand-one-hundred degrees, and rising - and the world as I know it is being bleached crimson by an unrelenting red tide. My vision swims and burns as the sweat pours down my forehead and into my eyes. I feel my sodden shirt sticking to my skin, and paw and tear at it to try and ease the burning. A lance of pain shoots through me and my hands rise, gripping the sides of my head in agony - I try to claw the fire out of me.
What kind of hell is this?
I sink to my knees in the crowded tube station, the gaggle of morning commuters pressing in at me from every side like a herd of cattle being driven onward to the slaughterhouse. No one even notices. I try to scream, but just end up choking on my own bile, retching, as the claustrophobia sets in. I am a prisoner here, my own private cell, alone in a sea of faceless, nameless cunts.
Cradling my head in my hands, I try to muster up the energy to fight back - to stand, grab the nearest person and shake some sense into them. Show them my pain, my fear, make them understand. Make them see. But I can’t. All I can do is hold my head together, to try and stop the fire from tearing me open. I try to scream again, but only a low moan escapes my lips. A rasp. A death rattle.
I am dying. And I know it.
Soothing shards of ice begin to slide into my mind, numbing the pain and dousing the fire. Sweet release. Nothing to fear anymore, now that the ice has come. The beautiful, dulling cold slipping through the pain like a straight razor.
But somewhere, in the dark recesses of my mind, something stirs amid the cold. Something old, something forceful. It sings to me in dulcet tones, sweet songs of hope and joy, of open meadows and lazy days lying amid fields of yellowed buttercups. Freedom, it whispers. Comfort.
**It lies.**
Sweet songs. Too sweet - too sweet by far. The words of comfort and love are stripped away, and the voice that sings beneath them is *much* sweeter.
He sings of the sweetness of flesh - he sings of the white hot joy of carnage. He sings in tones that lay bare the primordial soul of man and drag from it, raw and writhing, the truths that haunt us while we sleep. His words are a palette, and my mind is a canvas, and he sings into me works of such monstrous beauty. Such vile and terrible abandon.
I am his puppet. With his mighty hands he pulls my strings, and I dance at his whim. He guides me to glory, to ascension, through flesh. Through terror, I shall honour him. Through blood, I shall mark his way.
Through flesh, all men will become one. | Monday morning passed like any other. Adam groggily groped around the buttons on top of his alarm clock, whose exaggerated letters blared 6:45. He dragged himself to the shower before stripping off his socks and underwear and stepping in.
The cold water immediately stung his leg. Looking down, he noticed a short gash on the inside of his thigh. It was bleeding and blistering red, almost malevolent.
"Son of a bitch..." Adam trailed off. His eyes swam a moment as he recollected himself. He stepped out of the shower, almost tripped, and dried himself off. He drunkenly stumbled to the medicine cabinet, and quickly applied some disinfectant and gauze. He could not recall getting the wound, though he was affected with bouts of sleepwalking. Adam quickly dismissed his leg as an accident.
That day, Adam found himself drifting off constantly. He lacked the focus to even read a paragraph in one go. His boss grew concerned and ordered him to take the day off. Relieved, Adam obliged.
On Tuesday, Adam woke up to find himself at the front door of his house, unable to open it. He noticed the scratch marks on the door before he felt the blood flowing from his nails. He decided he would call to make an appointment with his doctor. Perhaps pharmaceuticals held the solution to these new episodes. Adam walked over to his phone and picked it up. His vision again blurred, and this time he fell on his back.
Adam lied helplessly for a few moments before gathering himself enough to stand. He tried to remember what he was doing with the phone before he noticed the time. He had to go to work. He had bills to pay. Adam shook himself off, went through his morning routine, and got on the road.
Despite his commute being a mere mile, Adam lost his bearings after he left his driveway. The now familiar dizziness struck again and Adam careened off the road, stopping only by the strength of an ancient apple tree, which was toppled by the force of the car. Adam blacked out.
When he came to, he felt the needle in his arm and squinted against the blinding whiteness of the hospital ceiling. An inexplicable panic overcame him. His suddenly animal instinct compelled him to escape. Yanking the tubes from his body, Adam strained against the bed, rising catatonically.
A nurse had just walked in and noticed Adam. "My God...doctor! Doctor!" She ran away screaming.
Adam groaned. He realized that his legs were broken and splintering through the casts, though oddly enough he could not feel them. His clarity was once again overcome with the primal panic to escape.
Now shambling, Adam reached the hallway. The nurse and doctor were running toward him.
"Adam! Adam! Stop! You're killing yourself!" The doctor ran within an arms length. "You need to stop, you have to lie down, you..." Adam grabbed him with one hand and a pain shot through his arm. The doctor was caught off guard and fell into Adam. Without a thought, Adam bit into the doctor's exposed neck and tore his flesh.
A security guard then came from behind Adam and subdued him, took him back to his bed, and secured him there. In all the excitement, the guard had disregarded the scratch he obtained from Adam's nails.
That night, Adam died in the hospital bed. His curse, however, was now free to spread...
|
|
Edit: Loving all of these takes, guys! Definitely a lot darker than I expected! | [WP] Everyone is born with blond hair. A person's hair turns brown when they lose their innocence. | It was the Great War. 100,000 young men volunteered. Of the 25,000 that returned, not one came back the same.
It on us our freedom, but cost us our innocence. | I remember, it started off slowly. My head had been shaved clean, without much notice to my friends and colleagues alike. I had been cutting the blonde locks of mine shorter and shorter, for the past six months that had lead up to this day, and it just seemed like a natural evolution of how I was maintaining my hair. The hot and extremely humid summer was quickly approaching, and many people trimmed their styles, so no one noticed. No one cared.
But I had finally shaved my head, to the skin. It was done, and I remember that heavy sigh I took, in that hot, humid bathroom. I stood there, my skin still dotted with water from the shower, with water drops starting to slowly roll down my back. A few patches of shaving cream still remained by my ears, but I couldn't be bothered to towel myself off. I was lost. I was gone in that moment, feeling free -- a freedom that I will never forget. The straight-jacket of a societal norm that had dictated my life had been lifted up off of me. I felt free, for a first time in my life, free. To do what I wanted, and to go where I wanted to go. I knew what I had to do, and was finally prepared to do it.
It started slowly at first. My very close friends, many of whom I had known for significant chunks of my life, started asking questions, and wondering why. Many of them suggested counseling, and others suggested going to our house of worship. Divine intervention, they’d tell me, is supposedly what I needed -- yeah; right. What do they know?
I had already seen the Truth; it was they who needed to open their eyes, and see the world for what it truly was.
I remember the first week was the most interesting experience. People I didn’t know would avert their eyes and immediately ignore my existence; acquaintances would either avert their eyes or awkwardly try to talk or say something; avoiding brown-haired bull staring them in the face. Friends would be in disbelief, and would either abandon me, or tell me to change my ways. It wasn’t all bad though, I found support in people from whom I’d least expect it. A couple of new strangers would randomly approach me as I walked the streets, empathizing with me that they know of someone who had made the same choice as I, and offered their best wishes. These few gems of conversations provided me with the support I needed to continue on with my decision.
As my hair grew longer, it became easier and easier to deal with the situation; as I had less and less interaction with society. I remember sitting in my apartment, on the last day of May, furniture emptied out, and all my belongings reduced to a few oddly shaped bags that I could carry. I had lost my job, as expected, and nearly all the connections I had in my life. That was the last day I had my apartment, before I would be evicted. I didn’t want to fight, nor did I want to struggle. As night approached, I left the keys in the lock, and left. And my life was indeed getting easier, because I knew now that I was finally in a place where I could change what I truly believed in.
How could we succeed as a society, when it was based on a lie? Our fundamental values that we adhered to, that we governed our existence by, was dictated by a lie, and we couldn’t progress any further as a society with this crutch; this faulty foundational block that would cause our culture to inevitably crumble. We were the beginning of a new movement; and one day a revolution, I hoped.
Everyone loses their innocence; some as early as young children. Patches of brown show up in some older kids, and of course, by the time everyone is twenty, their hair should be a solid brown. Should be. It’s the way nature intended it, our rite of passage, showing the world that we are mature, and ready to take on what life has to challenge us. But no, we’ve been forced to -- indoctrinated to -- dye our hair and bleach it of our reality. We ritualized the process, and worshiped it as purity, and as innocence -- but the truth was, we were worshiping a lie.
Losing my life was just a small step in the journey I had just embarked on; and was one of the smaller challenges I faced in my life. The next challenge I faced was to meet with my kind. I had a passion within me though, that was firing me along. I knew that no matter what, I was going to meet with my fellow brown haired brothers and sisters.
|
Edit: Loving all of these takes, guys! Definitely a lot darker than I expected! | [WP] Everyone is born with blond hair. A person's hair turns brown when they lose their innocence. | The light flickered in the dawn. Hundreds of people watched from a hillside as the city burned white and yellow and red in the dim sunrise. Soon, nothing recognizable remained, except the few stone and concrete walls between homes. The walls now separated nothing but piles of ash. As the sun rose, the last sounds of death and destruction faded into the early morning light. The sun had set the night before on a city of golden heads - but in the light of day, all the hair was brown. | I remember, it started off slowly. My head had been shaved clean, without much notice to my friends and colleagues alike. I had been cutting the blonde locks of mine shorter and shorter, for the past six months that had lead up to this day, and it just seemed like a natural evolution of how I was maintaining my hair. The hot and extremely humid summer was quickly approaching, and many people trimmed their styles, so no one noticed. No one cared.
But I had finally shaved my head, to the skin. It was done, and I remember that heavy sigh I took, in that hot, humid bathroom. I stood there, my skin still dotted with water from the shower, with water drops starting to slowly roll down my back. A few patches of shaving cream still remained by my ears, but I couldn't be bothered to towel myself off. I was lost. I was gone in that moment, feeling free -- a freedom that I will never forget. The straight-jacket of a societal norm that had dictated my life had been lifted up off of me. I felt free, for a first time in my life, free. To do what I wanted, and to go where I wanted to go. I knew what I had to do, and was finally prepared to do it.
It started slowly at first. My very close friends, many of whom I had known for significant chunks of my life, started asking questions, and wondering why. Many of them suggested counseling, and others suggested going to our house of worship. Divine intervention, they’d tell me, is supposedly what I needed -- yeah; right. What do they know?
I had already seen the Truth; it was they who needed to open their eyes, and see the world for what it truly was.
I remember the first week was the most interesting experience. People I didn’t know would avert their eyes and immediately ignore my existence; acquaintances would either avert their eyes or awkwardly try to talk or say something; avoiding brown-haired bull staring them in the face. Friends would be in disbelief, and would either abandon me, or tell me to change my ways. It wasn’t all bad though, I found support in people from whom I’d least expect it. A couple of new strangers would randomly approach me as I walked the streets, empathizing with me that they know of someone who had made the same choice as I, and offered their best wishes. These few gems of conversations provided me with the support I needed to continue on with my decision.
As my hair grew longer, it became easier and easier to deal with the situation; as I had less and less interaction with society. I remember sitting in my apartment, on the last day of May, furniture emptied out, and all my belongings reduced to a few oddly shaped bags that I could carry. I had lost my job, as expected, and nearly all the connections I had in my life. That was the last day I had my apartment, before I would be evicted. I didn’t want to fight, nor did I want to struggle. As night approached, I left the keys in the lock, and left. And my life was indeed getting easier, because I knew now that I was finally in a place where I could change what I truly believed in.
How could we succeed as a society, when it was based on a lie? Our fundamental values that we adhered to, that we governed our existence by, was dictated by a lie, and we couldn’t progress any further as a society with this crutch; this faulty foundational block that would cause our culture to inevitably crumble. We were the beginning of a new movement; and one day a revolution, I hoped.
Everyone loses their innocence; some as early as young children. Patches of brown show up in some older kids, and of course, by the time everyone is twenty, their hair should be a solid brown. Should be. It’s the way nature intended it, our rite of passage, showing the world that we are mature, and ready to take on what life has to challenge us. But no, we’ve been forced to -- indoctrinated to -- dye our hair and bleach it of our reality. We ritualized the process, and worshiped it as purity, and as innocence -- but the truth was, we were worshiping a lie.
Losing my life was just a small step in the journey I had just embarked on; and was one of the smaller challenges I faced in my life. The next challenge I faced was to meet with my kind. I had a passion within me though, that was firing me along. I knew that no matter what, I was going to meet with my fellow brown haired brothers and sisters.
|
Edit: Loving all of these takes, guys! Definitely a lot darker than I expected! | [WP] Everyone is born with blond hair. A person's hair turns brown when they lose their innocence. | All males have brown hair. They envy each other, the darker the hair the better. Boys with blonde hair are teased. Magazines display men with black hair. But girls on the other hand are humiliated for their brown hair. No one wants to date a brunette, and advertisements show women with platinum blonde hair in compromising positions (ironic right?). Hair dye is one of the most popular products as girls often wish to return to their original purity. But not me. My hair turned brown when I was 16 and has been getting darker ever since.
I was walking down a street when i bumped into a blondie.
"Hey, what where your going morena."
I simply walked passed her pointing my middle finger
"Brown is the new Black, blondie" | I remember, it started off slowly. My head had been shaved clean, without much notice to my friends and colleagues alike. I had been cutting the blonde locks of mine shorter and shorter, for the past six months that had lead up to this day, and it just seemed like a natural evolution of how I was maintaining my hair. The hot and extremely humid summer was quickly approaching, and many people trimmed their styles, so no one noticed. No one cared.
But I had finally shaved my head, to the skin. It was done, and I remember that heavy sigh I took, in that hot, humid bathroom. I stood there, my skin still dotted with water from the shower, with water drops starting to slowly roll down my back. A few patches of shaving cream still remained by my ears, but I couldn't be bothered to towel myself off. I was lost. I was gone in that moment, feeling free -- a freedom that I will never forget. The straight-jacket of a societal norm that had dictated my life had been lifted up off of me. I felt free, for a first time in my life, free. To do what I wanted, and to go where I wanted to go. I knew what I had to do, and was finally prepared to do it.
It started slowly at first. My very close friends, many of whom I had known for significant chunks of my life, started asking questions, and wondering why. Many of them suggested counseling, and others suggested going to our house of worship. Divine intervention, they’d tell me, is supposedly what I needed -- yeah; right. What do they know?
I had already seen the Truth; it was they who needed to open their eyes, and see the world for what it truly was.
I remember the first week was the most interesting experience. People I didn’t know would avert their eyes and immediately ignore my existence; acquaintances would either avert their eyes or awkwardly try to talk or say something; avoiding brown-haired bull staring them in the face. Friends would be in disbelief, and would either abandon me, or tell me to change my ways. It wasn’t all bad though, I found support in people from whom I’d least expect it. A couple of new strangers would randomly approach me as I walked the streets, empathizing with me that they know of someone who had made the same choice as I, and offered their best wishes. These few gems of conversations provided me with the support I needed to continue on with my decision.
As my hair grew longer, it became easier and easier to deal with the situation; as I had less and less interaction with society. I remember sitting in my apartment, on the last day of May, furniture emptied out, and all my belongings reduced to a few oddly shaped bags that I could carry. I had lost my job, as expected, and nearly all the connections I had in my life. That was the last day I had my apartment, before I would be evicted. I didn’t want to fight, nor did I want to struggle. As night approached, I left the keys in the lock, and left. And my life was indeed getting easier, because I knew now that I was finally in a place where I could change what I truly believed in.
How could we succeed as a society, when it was based on a lie? Our fundamental values that we adhered to, that we governed our existence by, was dictated by a lie, and we couldn’t progress any further as a society with this crutch; this faulty foundational block that would cause our culture to inevitably crumble. We were the beginning of a new movement; and one day a revolution, I hoped.
Everyone loses their innocence; some as early as young children. Patches of brown show up in some older kids, and of course, by the time everyone is twenty, their hair should be a solid brown. Should be. It’s the way nature intended it, our rite of passage, showing the world that we are mature, and ready to take on what life has to challenge us. But no, we’ve been forced to -- indoctrinated to -- dye our hair and bleach it of our reality. We ritualized the process, and worshiped it as purity, and as innocence -- but the truth was, we were worshiping a lie.
Losing my life was just a small step in the journey I had just embarked on; and was one of the smaller challenges I faced in my life. The next challenge I faced was to meet with my kind. I had a passion within me though, that was firing me along. I knew that no matter what, I was going to meet with my fellow brown haired brothers and sisters.
|
Edit: Loving all of these takes, guys! Definitely a lot darker than I expected! | [WP] Everyone is born with blond hair. A person's hair turns brown when they lose their innocence. | She stared in the mirror. Fog outside the warm bathroom this morning. Freckles and wrinkles back at her. Freckles from her parents, wrinkles from smiling. Her lips were closed. Together. She saw them and opened them with a smile. She loved her smile. She loved her blond hair.
She had been locked in that room for as long as she could remember. Her hair was once down to her shoulders but now it was down past her waist. Playful memories of silver scissors dancing with brown combs whispered in her memory but she blinked them away.
She always wanted to be a hairdresser. They were always happy. Smiling. Smiling and helping. But the silver scissors always frightened her. What if they cut too low?
She closed her lips and smiled. She stared at her lips. Stop whispering she thought. Don't make the grey hairs come back! Her wrinkles smiled. Don't think about the grey hair. She opened up a box of blonde hair dye and turned the faucet on.
She looked away from the mirror. The running water the only sound in the room. "Don't whisper," she sang. "Whispers bring the grey hairs," she sang into the water. "Whispers bring the grey hairs but the water only knows."
There was nothing wrong with your hair turning brown. Everyone's hair turned brown. Lucy looked into the mirror again. Her hands wet, she picked up the hair dye. "Why am I the only one getting old?" Her whispers were getting louder. | I remember, it started off slowly. My head had been shaved clean, without much notice to my friends and colleagues alike. I had been cutting the blonde locks of mine shorter and shorter, for the past six months that had lead up to this day, and it just seemed like a natural evolution of how I was maintaining my hair. The hot and extremely humid summer was quickly approaching, and many people trimmed their styles, so no one noticed. No one cared.
But I had finally shaved my head, to the skin. It was done, and I remember that heavy sigh I took, in that hot, humid bathroom. I stood there, my skin still dotted with water from the shower, with water drops starting to slowly roll down my back. A few patches of shaving cream still remained by my ears, but I couldn't be bothered to towel myself off. I was lost. I was gone in that moment, feeling free -- a freedom that I will never forget. The straight-jacket of a societal norm that had dictated my life had been lifted up off of me. I felt free, for a first time in my life, free. To do what I wanted, and to go where I wanted to go. I knew what I had to do, and was finally prepared to do it.
It started slowly at first. My very close friends, many of whom I had known for significant chunks of my life, started asking questions, and wondering why. Many of them suggested counseling, and others suggested going to our house of worship. Divine intervention, they’d tell me, is supposedly what I needed -- yeah; right. What do they know?
I had already seen the Truth; it was they who needed to open their eyes, and see the world for what it truly was.
I remember the first week was the most interesting experience. People I didn’t know would avert their eyes and immediately ignore my existence; acquaintances would either avert their eyes or awkwardly try to talk or say something; avoiding brown-haired bull staring them in the face. Friends would be in disbelief, and would either abandon me, or tell me to change my ways. It wasn’t all bad though, I found support in people from whom I’d least expect it. A couple of new strangers would randomly approach me as I walked the streets, empathizing with me that they know of someone who had made the same choice as I, and offered their best wishes. These few gems of conversations provided me with the support I needed to continue on with my decision.
As my hair grew longer, it became easier and easier to deal with the situation; as I had less and less interaction with society. I remember sitting in my apartment, on the last day of May, furniture emptied out, and all my belongings reduced to a few oddly shaped bags that I could carry. I had lost my job, as expected, and nearly all the connections I had in my life. That was the last day I had my apartment, before I would be evicted. I didn’t want to fight, nor did I want to struggle. As night approached, I left the keys in the lock, and left. And my life was indeed getting easier, because I knew now that I was finally in a place where I could change what I truly believed in.
How could we succeed as a society, when it was based on a lie? Our fundamental values that we adhered to, that we governed our existence by, was dictated by a lie, and we couldn’t progress any further as a society with this crutch; this faulty foundational block that would cause our culture to inevitably crumble. We were the beginning of a new movement; and one day a revolution, I hoped.
Everyone loses their innocence; some as early as young children. Patches of brown show up in some older kids, and of course, by the time everyone is twenty, their hair should be a solid brown. Should be. It’s the way nature intended it, our rite of passage, showing the world that we are mature, and ready to take on what life has to challenge us. But no, we’ve been forced to -- indoctrinated to -- dye our hair and bleach it of our reality. We ritualized the process, and worshiped it as purity, and as innocence -- but the truth was, we were worshiping a lie.
Losing my life was just a small step in the journey I had just embarked on; and was one of the smaller challenges I faced in my life. The next challenge I faced was to meet with my kind. I had a passion within me though, that was firing me along. I knew that no matter what, I was going to meet with my fellow brown haired brothers and sisters.
|
Edit: Loving all of these takes, guys! Definitely a lot darker than I expected! | [WP] Everyone is born with blond hair. A person's hair turns brown when they lose their innocence. | "Are you sure he won't find out?"
"Listen, Alex, I'm sure. He never comes home this early"
I don't know why I did it. Maybe I was just a bit tired. Maybe I was tired of George's... innocence. Or something. Twenty-six and pure as the driven snow. But Alex. Alex was wiser. Went dark at eight. Eight! He was jaded and cynical, and I loved it. I still loved George, loved his innocence, loved the way he was so proud of his golden locks. But Alex was new, and I was stupid and bored and...
So there I was, with Alex, his hands around me, mine around him, when the door opened.
"Hey honey, I-"
I don't think I'll ever be able to forget his face when he saw me with Alex. Like a crushed puppy. He didn't say anything, just stared. His face terrible, but it will never compare to his hair. His beautiful, rich, brown hair. | I remember, it started off slowly. My head had been shaved clean, without much notice to my friends and colleagues alike. I had been cutting the blonde locks of mine shorter and shorter, for the past six months that had lead up to this day, and it just seemed like a natural evolution of how I was maintaining my hair. The hot and extremely humid summer was quickly approaching, and many people trimmed their styles, so no one noticed. No one cared.
But I had finally shaved my head, to the skin. It was done, and I remember that heavy sigh I took, in that hot, humid bathroom. I stood there, my skin still dotted with water from the shower, with water drops starting to slowly roll down my back. A few patches of shaving cream still remained by my ears, but I couldn't be bothered to towel myself off. I was lost. I was gone in that moment, feeling free -- a freedom that I will never forget. The straight-jacket of a societal norm that had dictated my life had been lifted up off of me. I felt free, for a first time in my life, free. To do what I wanted, and to go where I wanted to go. I knew what I had to do, and was finally prepared to do it.
It started slowly at first. My very close friends, many of whom I had known for significant chunks of my life, started asking questions, and wondering why. Many of them suggested counseling, and others suggested going to our house of worship. Divine intervention, they’d tell me, is supposedly what I needed -- yeah; right. What do they know?
I had already seen the Truth; it was they who needed to open their eyes, and see the world for what it truly was.
I remember the first week was the most interesting experience. People I didn’t know would avert their eyes and immediately ignore my existence; acquaintances would either avert their eyes or awkwardly try to talk or say something; avoiding brown-haired bull staring them in the face. Friends would be in disbelief, and would either abandon me, or tell me to change my ways. It wasn’t all bad though, I found support in people from whom I’d least expect it. A couple of new strangers would randomly approach me as I walked the streets, empathizing with me that they know of someone who had made the same choice as I, and offered their best wishes. These few gems of conversations provided me with the support I needed to continue on with my decision.
As my hair grew longer, it became easier and easier to deal with the situation; as I had less and less interaction with society. I remember sitting in my apartment, on the last day of May, furniture emptied out, and all my belongings reduced to a few oddly shaped bags that I could carry. I had lost my job, as expected, and nearly all the connections I had in my life. That was the last day I had my apartment, before I would be evicted. I didn’t want to fight, nor did I want to struggle. As night approached, I left the keys in the lock, and left. And my life was indeed getting easier, because I knew now that I was finally in a place where I could change what I truly believed in.
How could we succeed as a society, when it was based on a lie? Our fundamental values that we adhered to, that we governed our existence by, was dictated by a lie, and we couldn’t progress any further as a society with this crutch; this faulty foundational block that would cause our culture to inevitably crumble. We were the beginning of a new movement; and one day a revolution, I hoped.
Everyone loses their innocence; some as early as young children. Patches of brown show up in some older kids, and of course, by the time everyone is twenty, their hair should be a solid brown. Should be. It’s the way nature intended it, our rite of passage, showing the world that we are mature, and ready to take on what life has to challenge us. But no, we’ve been forced to -- indoctrinated to -- dye our hair and bleach it of our reality. We ritualized the process, and worshiped it as purity, and as innocence -- but the truth was, we were worshiping a lie.
Losing my life was just a small step in the journey I had just embarked on; and was one of the smaller challenges I faced in my life. The next challenge I faced was to meet with my kind. I had a passion within me though, that was firing me along. I knew that no matter what, I was going to meet with my fellow brown haired brothers and sisters.
|
Edit: Loving all of these takes, guys! Definitely a lot darker than I expected! | [WP] Everyone is born with blond hair. A person's hair turns brown when they lose their innocence. | As soon as she had stepped foot in the place several minutes before, she had drawn more than a few stares from the other patrons.
Cutters fresh from a shift spend working on the soaring top of a High-Tower. Miners from the Wide Maw just outside the city limits, often competing with the cutters for loudness. And scattered among these groups of massive burly men were the Shufflers, winding down after a entire day of pushing paper around and getting yelled at by men who knew nothing.
All of them, sandy-brown, tawny-brown, ash-brown, greying-brown, streaked brown- it didn't matter. Their hair was as brown as the peeling walls of the pub they all sat in.
But not Anna's. Hers had always shimmered like the sun, just like her dad's. Girls marveled at how brilliant the lustre of her golden hair was, how pure and bright it seemed compared to their own drab brown or dirty blonde locks. Boys constantly tried getting her attention with stupid tricks or silly jokes, or even just straight up asking her out on a date. She knew it was the hair.
And she didn't really give a damn about her hair.
She glanced over her shoulder, ignoring a few looks of concern from a young man to her right just in time to see a bald man, thin and scrawny compared to the rest, get up from one of the Cutter tables and move for the door out to the dreary streetside.
Her eyes narrowed as her hand automatically reached for the vibrant green scarf wrapped around her neck. They softened only for a second, threatening to glisten before she shook her head and gritted her teeth.
The girl looked back to the half-full bottle sitting in front of her on the bar-top. She frowned, before snatching it up and taking one last swig, the acidic aftertaste lingering in her throat as she set the bottle back down with a loud thud.
She pushed back from the chair, wiping her mouth on her sleeve as she stalked through the tables, ignoring the leers, the frowns, the confused looks, the apprehension, until finally she came to the door out into the street, the frosted glass muffling the absolute downpour of rain just outside.
Just as she closed her fingers on the handle a hand grabbed her shoulder. "You won't be the same. Your hair, your soul, it'll-"
Anna shook her head. "It doesn't matter to me, Thomas." She glanced downward at the opening in her jacket at the police service pistol.
Without even turning to look at the boy, his hair almost black, she opened the door and stepped through, blinking as each fat droplet hit her face.
She kept walking down the footpath, spotting the bald man as he turned a corner past a scaffolding into a alley.
With a shaky breath she continued away from the drab little pub, feeling a tingle in her hair as her thoughts overcame her, bringing a wetness to her eyes and a shake to her steps.
"For you, dad." she muttered, fingering the handle of the pistol.
| I remember, it started off slowly. My head had been shaved clean, without much notice to my friends and colleagues alike. I had been cutting the blonde locks of mine shorter and shorter, for the past six months that had lead up to this day, and it just seemed like a natural evolution of how I was maintaining my hair. The hot and extremely humid summer was quickly approaching, and many people trimmed their styles, so no one noticed. No one cared.
But I had finally shaved my head, to the skin. It was done, and I remember that heavy sigh I took, in that hot, humid bathroom. I stood there, my skin still dotted with water from the shower, with water drops starting to slowly roll down my back. A few patches of shaving cream still remained by my ears, but I couldn't be bothered to towel myself off. I was lost. I was gone in that moment, feeling free -- a freedom that I will never forget. The straight-jacket of a societal norm that had dictated my life had been lifted up off of me. I felt free, for a first time in my life, free. To do what I wanted, and to go where I wanted to go. I knew what I had to do, and was finally prepared to do it.
It started slowly at first. My very close friends, many of whom I had known for significant chunks of my life, started asking questions, and wondering why. Many of them suggested counseling, and others suggested going to our house of worship. Divine intervention, they’d tell me, is supposedly what I needed -- yeah; right. What do they know?
I had already seen the Truth; it was they who needed to open their eyes, and see the world for what it truly was.
I remember the first week was the most interesting experience. People I didn’t know would avert their eyes and immediately ignore my existence; acquaintances would either avert their eyes or awkwardly try to talk or say something; avoiding brown-haired bull staring them in the face. Friends would be in disbelief, and would either abandon me, or tell me to change my ways. It wasn’t all bad though, I found support in people from whom I’d least expect it. A couple of new strangers would randomly approach me as I walked the streets, empathizing with me that they know of someone who had made the same choice as I, and offered their best wishes. These few gems of conversations provided me with the support I needed to continue on with my decision.
As my hair grew longer, it became easier and easier to deal with the situation; as I had less and less interaction with society. I remember sitting in my apartment, on the last day of May, furniture emptied out, and all my belongings reduced to a few oddly shaped bags that I could carry. I had lost my job, as expected, and nearly all the connections I had in my life. That was the last day I had my apartment, before I would be evicted. I didn’t want to fight, nor did I want to struggle. As night approached, I left the keys in the lock, and left. And my life was indeed getting easier, because I knew now that I was finally in a place where I could change what I truly believed in.
How could we succeed as a society, when it was based on a lie? Our fundamental values that we adhered to, that we governed our existence by, was dictated by a lie, and we couldn’t progress any further as a society with this crutch; this faulty foundational block that would cause our culture to inevitably crumble. We were the beginning of a new movement; and one day a revolution, I hoped.
Everyone loses their innocence; some as early as young children. Patches of brown show up in some older kids, and of course, by the time everyone is twenty, their hair should be a solid brown. Should be. It’s the way nature intended it, our rite of passage, showing the world that we are mature, and ready to take on what life has to challenge us. But no, we’ve been forced to -- indoctrinated to -- dye our hair and bleach it of our reality. We ritualized the process, and worshiped it as purity, and as innocence -- but the truth was, we were worshiping a lie.
Losing my life was just a small step in the journey I had just embarked on; and was one of the smaller challenges I faced in my life. The next challenge I faced was to meet with my kind. I had a passion within me though, that was firing me along. I knew that no matter what, I was going to meet with my fellow brown haired brothers and sisters.
|
Edit: Loving all of these takes, guys! Definitely a lot darker than I expected! | [WP] Everyone is born with blond hair. A person's hair turns brown when they lose their innocence. | A cake sat on his cubicle desk, with every square inch packed with a candle. 47, to be exact.
"SURPRISE!!" yelled a cohort of a dozen office-mates. "HAPPY BIRTHDAY!"
He stared at their faces, a sea of brown hair. 49 years old, but all Samuel could feel was sadness, and shame. He alone was the only person in his entire company to still have blond hair.
Somewhere around the time he was in elementary school, more and more of his classmates had started to sport brown hair. It quickly became a symbol of pride. But here he was, nearly four decades later, and still with blond hair. Getting rid of that damn blond hair would have, theoretically, been a simple feat. Watch some porn, shoot up some heroin, have dirty drunk sex, hurt someone, whatever. But for Samuel, it was easier said than done. He was one of the few who had, because of his deep religious faith, taken the Purity Oath when he was at the tender age of 5 years old.
Samuel took a bite of the cake. Red velvet, his favorite. But today, it tasted bland. It tasted like shame. | I remember, it started off slowly. My head had been shaved clean, without much notice to my friends and colleagues alike. I had been cutting the blonde locks of mine shorter and shorter, for the past six months that had lead up to this day, and it just seemed like a natural evolution of how I was maintaining my hair. The hot and extremely humid summer was quickly approaching, and many people trimmed their styles, so no one noticed. No one cared.
But I had finally shaved my head, to the skin. It was done, and I remember that heavy sigh I took, in that hot, humid bathroom. I stood there, my skin still dotted with water from the shower, with water drops starting to slowly roll down my back. A few patches of shaving cream still remained by my ears, but I couldn't be bothered to towel myself off. I was lost. I was gone in that moment, feeling free -- a freedom that I will never forget. The straight-jacket of a societal norm that had dictated my life had been lifted up off of me. I felt free, for a first time in my life, free. To do what I wanted, and to go where I wanted to go. I knew what I had to do, and was finally prepared to do it.
It started slowly at first. My very close friends, many of whom I had known for significant chunks of my life, started asking questions, and wondering why. Many of them suggested counseling, and others suggested going to our house of worship. Divine intervention, they’d tell me, is supposedly what I needed -- yeah; right. What do they know?
I had already seen the Truth; it was they who needed to open their eyes, and see the world for what it truly was.
I remember the first week was the most interesting experience. People I didn’t know would avert their eyes and immediately ignore my existence; acquaintances would either avert their eyes or awkwardly try to talk or say something; avoiding brown-haired bull staring them in the face. Friends would be in disbelief, and would either abandon me, or tell me to change my ways. It wasn’t all bad though, I found support in people from whom I’d least expect it. A couple of new strangers would randomly approach me as I walked the streets, empathizing with me that they know of someone who had made the same choice as I, and offered their best wishes. These few gems of conversations provided me with the support I needed to continue on with my decision.
As my hair grew longer, it became easier and easier to deal with the situation; as I had less and less interaction with society. I remember sitting in my apartment, on the last day of May, furniture emptied out, and all my belongings reduced to a few oddly shaped bags that I could carry. I had lost my job, as expected, and nearly all the connections I had in my life. That was the last day I had my apartment, before I would be evicted. I didn’t want to fight, nor did I want to struggle. As night approached, I left the keys in the lock, and left. And my life was indeed getting easier, because I knew now that I was finally in a place where I could change what I truly believed in.
How could we succeed as a society, when it was based on a lie? Our fundamental values that we adhered to, that we governed our existence by, was dictated by a lie, and we couldn’t progress any further as a society with this crutch; this faulty foundational block that would cause our culture to inevitably crumble. We were the beginning of a new movement; and one day a revolution, I hoped.
Everyone loses their innocence; some as early as young children. Patches of brown show up in some older kids, and of course, by the time everyone is twenty, their hair should be a solid brown. Should be. It’s the way nature intended it, our rite of passage, showing the world that we are mature, and ready to take on what life has to challenge us. But no, we’ve been forced to -- indoctrinated to -- dye our hair and bleach it of our reality. We ritualized the process, and worshiped it as purity, and as innocence -- but the truth was, we were worshiping a lie.
Losing my life was just a small step in the journey I had just embarked on; and was one of the smaller challenges I faced in my life. The next challenge I faced was to meet with my kind. I had a passion within me though, that was firing me along. I knew that no matter what, I was going to meet with my fellow brown haired brothers and sisters.
|
Edit: Loving all of these takes, guys! Definitely a lot darker than I expected! | [WP] Everyone is born with blond hair. A person's hair turns brown when they lose their innocence. | She put down the plastic train in her hand, and it rolled off the folders of her pink Sunday dress like a child down a summer hill. She spun around and looked up at me from her place on the floor. "Mom," she asked, "When did your hair turn brown?"
It was the question I always knew would come, but had never prepared for. "Oh, honey, you won't have to worry about that for a long time." I smiled at her, but pushed herself to her knees and folded her arms.
"When!" she demanded.
I gave a heavy sigh.
"I was sixteen." The memory was fresh. I hesitated and scanned an empty corner of the room so that he might not know how often I thought of it. I tongued my teeth and pretended to think. "I was coming from school-"
"Like my school?"
"Yes, honey, like your school." I reached down from my chair and put a hand on her cheek and beamed at her. She returned the smile until the memory of her question caused a new frown.
"What happened?"
"When I was sixteen, lots of people were fighting each other about the president. And my brother was walking me home from school-"
"You mean Uncle Jack?"
"No honey, my older brother. You never met him. He was walking me home from school and some men jumped out of a car and they said mean things to him and they did mean things to him." I tried to think about how to phrase the images in my head for a child. I dodged the profanities and the slurs, but what about the violence? What about when they ripped the hair from the top of his head in great clumps? How they held my face and eyes open to make me watch them break his arms and fingers. How could I tell her about his screams? His tears?
"What kind of mean things, mommy?"
"They hit him, a lot. And-" was I going to cry? I felt a lump in my throat. I hoped she couldn't hear it as I continued. "they made him very sick and hurt, and he didn't get better, I'm afraid."
"That's why your hair turned brown?"
I nodded.
"Oh." She turned back around and picked up the train.
I touched my hair. | I remember, it started off slowly. My head had been shaved clean, without much notice to my friends and colleagues alike. I had been cutting the blonde locks of mine shorter and shorter, for the past six months that had lead up to this day, and it just seemed like a natural evolution of how I was maintaining my hair. The hot and extremely humid summer was quickly approaching, and many people trimmed their styles, so no one noticed. No one cared.
But I had finally shaved my head, to the skin. It was done, and I remember that heavy sigh I took, in that hot, humid bathroom. I stood there, my skin still dotted with water from the shower, with water drops starting to slowly roll down my back. A few patches of shaving cream still remained by my ears, but I couldn't be bothered to towel myself off. I was lost. I was gone in that moment, feeling free -- a freedom that I will never forget. The straight-jacket of a societal norm that had dictated my life had been lifted up off of me. I felt free, for a first time in my life, free. To do what I wanted, and to go where I wanted to go. I knew what I had to do, and was finally prepared to do it.
It started slowly at first. My very close friends, many of whom I had known for significant chunks of my life, started asking questions, and wondering why. Many of them suggested counseling, and others suggested going to our house of worship. Divine intervention, they’d tell me, is supposedly what I needed -- yeah; right. What do they know?
I had already seen the Truth; it was they who needed to open their eyes, and see the world for what it truly was.
I remember the first week was the most interesting experience. People I didn’t know would avert their eyes and immediately ignore my existence; acquaintances would either avert their eyes or awkwardly try to talk or say something; avoiding brown-haired bull staring them in the face. Friends would be in disbelief, and would either abandon me, or tell me to change my ways. It wasn’t all bad though, I found support in people from whom I’d least expect it. A couple of new strangers would randomly approach me as I walked the streets, empathizing with me that they know of someone who had made the same choice as I, and offered their best wishes. These few gems of conversations provided me with the support I needed to continue on with my decision.
As my hair grew longer, it became easier and easier to deal with the situation; as I had less and less interaction with society. I remember sitting in my apartment, on the last day of May, furniture emptied out, and all my belongings reduced to a few oddly shaped bags that I could carry. I had lost my job, as expected, and nearly all the connections I had in my life. That was the last day I had my apartment, before I would be evicted. I didn’t want to fight, nor did I want to struggle. As night approached, I left the keys in the lock, and left. And my life was indeed getting easier, because I knew now that I was finally in a place where I could change what I truly believed in.
How could we succeed as a society, when it was based on a lie? Our fundamental values that we adhered to, that we governed our existence by, was dictated by a lie, and we couldn’t progress any further as a society with this crutch; this faulty foundational block that would cause our culture to inevitably crumble. We were the beginning of a new movement; and one day a revolution, I hoped.
Everyone loses their innocence; some as early as young children. Patches of brown show up in some older kids, and of course, by the time everyone is twenty, their hair should be a solid brown. Should be. It’s the way nature intended it, our rite of passage, showing the world that we are mature, and ready to take on what life has to challenge us. But no, we’ve been forced to -- indoctrinated to -- dye our hair and bleach it of our reality. We ritualized the process, and worshiped it as purity, and as innocence -- but the truth was, we were worshiping a lie.
Losing my life was just a small step in the journey I had just embarked on; and was one of the smaller challenges I faced in my life. The next challenge I faced was to meet with my kind. I had a passion within me though, that was firing me along. I knew that no matter what, I was going to meet with my fellow brown haired brothers and sisters.
|
Edit: Loving all of these takes, guys! Definitely a lot darker than I expected! | [WP] Everyone is born with blond hair. A person's hair turns brown when they lose their innocence. | This will be my first attempt here, so constructive criticism is appreciated.
Outside, the storm surged with an almost spiteful ferocity, but here, at home with my family, we were warm and safe. Bright flashes of lightning and peals of thunder were the only things to reach us in our home. Dad tucked my sister and me into our beds, passing his hand gently from our soft blonde hair, down to our chins. He kissed us each goodnight and turned to leave, barely consciously running a hand through his own dusty brown hair.
We had asked Mom once, why hers and Dad's hair was darker than ours. They told us that when people have their feelings hurt very badly or do very bad things, their hair would change color. We were always good, she'd explained, and so our hair was still light and blonde. Hers and Dad's were darker, but not too dark. Whatever they had done must not have been too bad.
It was late when he came. A loud crash, different than the thunder, resounded through the house. Rubbing the sleep from my eyes, I sat up, wondering what it had been. Then came the shouting, then the screaming, and finally a gunshot. The sound of Mom crying got louder as she was dragged toward us.
The man burst through our bedroom door, pulling Mom by her hair, both of them yelling. Terrified, my sister and I could only stare as he put the gun to her head. He was screaming questions at her, shouting orders, but in the screaming and the storm, I couldn't understand. A flash of lightning illuminated the room, and for the briefest of moments, I could see the man's face. He was a shambles of a man, with dark, sunken eyes and a dirty unshaven face, all hidden behind a mess of hair so dark, it was almost black.
Mom was begging him to stop, to leave us alone. I guess that wasn't the answer he wanted, because he shot my sister. I tried to get up and to go to her, wanting it all to not be true, but he turned the gun on me. I was absolutely frozen as I watched an inky darkness inching out from under my sister's trembling form. It stained her dress, her sheets, and her hair with that horrible shade until she stopped moving anymore.
Mom was screaming even louder than before, flailing and sobbing, trying to break free. The man didn't like that, so he put the gun back to her head, and yelled at her to shut up. The anger and hurt burned hot in my ears, eyes stinging with tears. Mom was barely whimpering now, and I could hear the man clearly for the first time, "You were supposed to be mine."
The gun flashed once, and a splatter of blood and auburn hair matted itself to the wall. I screamed and ran at the man, but another shot from his gun hit me in my leg. I crumpled to the floor almost instantly. He loomed over me, jeering, "What a waste. Nothing but a whore, after all these years." He raised his gun to fire one last time, and I closed my eyes to wait for the end.
A bang too loud for a gun jolted my eyes open again, and we both turned to see the utility pole outside spitting sparks and fire, and falling toward the house. It crashed through the roof with a sound almost louder than the lightning had made, and barely missed me.
It didn't miss him.
The fire was now spreading through this place that was once home to me, bathing everything in bright orange and red. The man lay pinned under the pole, gun out of reach, and a look of wild pain and desperation spread across his once shaded face. "Kid!" he shouted, "You gotta help me, kid!" The fire licked at the house, consuming everything in a familiar heat that tickled in my ears, and I walked out of the room.
I ran across the street and watched, crying. The man's screams of pain echoed in my ears as the roaring flames consumed my world. Inside, I knew that everything I had ever loved was gone now, and I reached up, running my trembling had gently down from my dark walnut hair, down to my chin, just like Dad used to. | I remember, it started off slowly. My head had been shaved clean, without much notice to my friends and colleagues alike. I had been cutting the blonde locks of mine shorter and shorter, for the past six months that had lead up to this day, and it just seemed like a natural evolution of how I was maintaining my hair. The hot and extremely humid summer was quickly approaching, and many people trimmed their styles, so no one noticed. No one cared.
But I had finally shaved my head, to the skin. It was done, and I remember that heavy sigh I took, in that hot, humid bathroom. I stood there, my skin still dotted with water from the shower, with water drops starting to slowly roll down my back. A few patches of shaving cream still remained by my ears, but I couldn't be bothered to towel myself off. I was lost. I was gone in that moment, feeling free -- a freedom that I will never forget. The straight-jacket of a societal norm that had dictated my life had been lifted up off of me. I felt free, for a first time in my life, free. To do what I wanted, and to go where I wanted to go. I knew what I had to do, and was finally prepared to do it.
It started slowly at first. My very close friends, many of whom I had known for significant chunks of my life, started asking questions, and wondering why. Many of them suggested counseling, and others suggested going to our house of worship. Divine intervention, they’d tell me, is supposedly what I needed -- yeah; right. What do they know?
I had already seen the Truth; it was they who needed to open their eyes, and see the world for what it truly was.
I remember the first week was the most interesting experience. People I didn’t know would avert their eyes and immediately ignore my existence; acquaintances would either avert their eyes or awkwardly try to talk or say something; avoiding brown-haired bull staring them in the face. Friends would be in disbelief, and would either abandon me, or tell me to change my ways. It wasn’t all bad though, I found support in people from whom I’d least expect it. A couple of new strangers would randomly approach me as I walked the streets, empathizing with me that they know of someone who had made the same choice as I, and offered their best wishes. These few gems of conversations provided me with the support I needed to continue on with my decision.
As my hair grew longer, it became easier and easier to deal with the situation; as I had less and less interaction with society. I remember sitting in my apartment, on the last day of May, furniture emptied out, and all my belongings reduced to a few oddly shaped bags that I could carry. I had lost my job, as expected, and nearly all the connections I had in my life. That was the last day I had my apartment, before I would be evicted. I didn’t want to fight, nor did I want to struggle. As night approached, I left the keys in the lock, and left. And my life was indeed getting easier, because I knew now that I was finally in a place where I could change what I truly believed in.
How could we succeed as a society, when it was based on a lie? Our fundamental values that we adhered to, that we governed our existence by, was dictated by a lie, and we couldn’t progress any further as a society with this crutch; this faulty foundational block that would cause our culture to inevitably crumble. We were the beginning of a new movement; and one day a revolution, I hoped.
Everyone loses their innocence; some as early as young children. Patches of brown show up in some older kids, and of course, by the time everyone is twenty, their hair should be a solid brown. Should be. It’s the way nature intended it, our rite of passage, showing the world that we are mature, and ready to take on what life has to challenge us. But no, we’ve been forced to -- indoctrinated to -- dye our hair and bleach it of our reality. We ritualized the process, and worshiped it as purity, and as innocence -- but the truth was, we were worshiping a lie.
Losing my life was just a small step in the journey I had just embarked on; and was one of the smaller challenges I faced in my life. The next challenge I faced was to meet with my kind. I had a passion within me though, that was firing me along. I knew that no matter what, I was going to meet with my fellow brown haired brothers and sisters.
|
Edit: Loving all of these takes, guys! Definitely a lot darker than I expected! | [WP] Everyone is born with blond hair. A person's hair turns brown when they lose their innocence. | *Note: I absolutely hate the way the word blond looks, so I refuse to ever use it. Sorry.*
"What...the...*fuck*?" Mark asked in a hushed tone. Joanna saw Anne flinch. Typical. Anne was so determined to protect her innocence, as though hearing one curse word was going to change her precious golden locks. Joanna had never been so protective of her own hair.
"I don't know!" shrieked Joanna. "It just happened."
"Has anyone else seen this?"
"No. Only you two." Mark and Anne, her closest friends, so different in personality and hair. Mark kept his brown curls cropped short, whereas Anne preferred to grow out and show off her blonde hair.
When she first met Mark, he had dirty blonde hair, but years of living with an alcoholic father and a mother who wouldn't stay put had robbed him of what little innocence he had left.
Nothing seemed to touch Anne. Joanna and Mark joked amongst themselves that her hair was only growing lighter.
Joanna had thought her hair would have turned brown ages ago. She had sex with Mark. She had stolen. She told lies and lusted and drank; she did all the things that would have made Anne gasp in horror, but her hair stayed stubbornly blonde.
Until now.
"Joanna," Anne spoke up. "I...this isn't natural."
"I know that! So what the hell do I do?"
Anne shook her head. "I don't know. I have to go."
Joanna blinked at her stupidly. "What do you mean, you have to go? Go where?"
"Home. I'm sorry, sweetie, but the way you look...I love you, you know that, but I can't be around you! I don't want that happening to me."
"Hair color isn't *catching*, Anne," Mark muttered.
Anne turned to Mark, eyes flashing. "You're one to talk. Maybe if you had been a better influence, this wouldn't have happened."
"Don't put this on me! I didn't have anything to do with it. It's unheard of."
They were arguing over her like divorced parents who didn't want custody, Joanna realized. Mark wouldn't outright say it, but he didn't want to be around her, either.
"You should cut it," Anne advised her before walking out the door. "Shave your head, wear a scarf, anything. You look...you should cover it."
Joanna looked at Mark, tears streaking her face. "What do I do?" she whispered.
Mark looked back at her uneasily. "You do what Anne says. And maybe go see someone. A doctor or something."
"You're going, too," Joanna said. She didn't need to ask. Mark was fidgeting, looking anywhere but at Joanna's hair.
"I'll be in touch," Mark said. And then he was gone.
Joanna sat in numb silence for a few minutes, then stood up suddenly and grabbed a pair of scissors from the kitchen. She would need to go to a hair dresser to do the job properly, but this would have to serve.
She stood in front of her bathroom mirror, stomach turning at the sight of herself.
The only sound came from the scissors snipping away her long, red hair. | I remember, it started off slowly. My head had been shaved clean, without much notice to my friends and colleagues alike. I had been cutting the blonde locks of mine shorter and shorter, for the past six months that had lead up to this day, and it just seemed like a natural evolution of how I was maintaining my hair. The hot and extremely humid summer was quickly approaching, and many people trimmed their styles, so no one noticed. No one cared.
But I had finally shaved my head, to the skin. It was done, and I remember that heavy sigh I took, in that hot, humid bathroom. I stood there, my skin still dotted with water from the shower, with water drops starting to slowly roll down my back. A few patches of shaving cream still remained by my ears, but I couldn't be bothered to towel myself off. I was lost. I was gone in that moment, feeling free -- a freedom that I will never forget. The straight-jacket of a societal norm that had dictated my life had been lifted up off of me. I felt free, for a first time in my life, free. To do what I wanted, and to go where I wanted to go. I knew what I had to do, and was finally prepared to do it.
It started slowly at first. My very close friends, many of whom I had known for significant chunks of my life, started asking questions, and wondering why. Many of them suggested counseling, and others suggested going to our house of worship. Divine intervention, they’d tell me, is supposedly what I needed -- yeah; right. What do they know?
I had already seen the Truth; it was they who needed to open their eyes, and see the world for what it truly was.
I remember the first week was the most interesting experience. People I didn’t know would avert their eyes and immediately ignore my existence; acquaintances would either avert their eyes or awkwardly try to talk or say something; avoiding brown-haired bull staring them in the face. Friends would be in disbelief, and would either abandon me, or tell me to change my ways. It wasn’t all bad though, I found support in people from whom I’d least expect it. A couple of new strangers would randomly approach me as I walked the streets, empathizing with me that they know of someone who had made the same choice as I, and offered their best wishes. These few gems of conversations provided me with the support I needed to continue on with my decision.
As my hair grew longer, it became easier and easier to deal with the situation; as I had less and less interaction with society. I remember sitting in my apartment, on the last day of May, furniture emptied out, and all my belongings reduced to a few oddly shaped bags that I could carry. I had lost my job, as expected, and nearly all the connections I had in my life. That was the last day I had my apartment, before I would be evicted. I didn’t want to fight, nor did I want to struggle. As night approached, I left the keys in the lock, and left. And my life was indeed getting easier, because I knew now that I was finally in a place where I could change what I truly believed in.
How could we succeed as a society, when it was based on a lie? Our fundamental values that we adhered to, that we governed our existence by, was dictated by a lie, and we couldn’t progress any further as a society with this crutch; this faulty foundational block that would cause our culture to inevitably crumble. We were the beginning of a new movement; and one day a revolution, I hoped.
Everyone loses their innocence; some as early as young children. Patches of brown show up in some older kids, and of course, by the time everyone is twenty, their hair should be a solid brown. Should be. It’s the way nature intended it, our rite of passage, showing the world that we are mature, and ready to take on what life has to challenge us. But no, we’ve been forced to -- indoctrinated to -- dye our hair and bleach it of our reality. We ritualized the process, and worshiped it as purity, and as innocence -- but the truth was, we were worshiping a lie.
Losing my life was just a small step in the journey I had just embarked on; and was one of the smaller challenges I faced in my life. The next challenge I faced was to meet with my kind. I had a passion within me though, that was firing me along. I knew that no matter what, I was going to meet with my fellow brown haired brothers and sisters.
|
Edit: Loving all of these takes, guys! Definitely a lot darker than I expected! | [WP] Everyone is born with blond hair. A person's hair turns brown when they lose their innocence. | "Are you sure he won't find out?"
"Listen, Alex, I'm sure. He never comes home this early"
I don't know why I did it. Maybe I was just a bit tired. Maybe I was tired of George's... innocence. Or something. Twenty-six and pure as the driven snow. But Alex. Alex was wiser. Went dark at eight. Eight! He was jaded and cynical, and I loved it. I still loved George, loved his innocence, loved the way he was so proud of his golden locks. But Alex was new, and I was stupid and bored and...
So there I was, with Alex, his hands around me, mine around him, when the door opened.
"Hey honey, I-"
I don't think I'll ever be able to forget his face when he saw me with Alex. Like a crushed puppy. He didn't say anything, just stared. His face terrible, but it will never compare to his hair. His beautiful, rich, brown hair. | "Take me to the front line. I must confront him, and find out his motives. There has to be a reason..."
Regnier spoke with powerful confidence to his fellow soldiers as he entered the helicopter. He was one of the few soldiers remaining with blonde hair, and he was revered for his tactical prowess. An utter genius of combat who had seen the horrors of war, and somehow retained his innocence through it all.
The entire circumstance was unique in itself, for never once had Regnier been on the front line. This time was different. He saw something that interested him. Whatever it was, Regnier had to see it for himself.
Talon 0-1 shuttled Regnier and the other remaining soldiers in the bodyguard squad to Stockholm, the war torn city in the north. For months, the unified nation of Kalgrad fought the opposing nation of Swederland. War was changing in this case, as it was not fought because of land, but because of ideology. Physical differences separated the two.
As Regnier was shuttled to the Capital Building in Swederland, he pondered the differences between the two nations. He was taught never to question his country, never to question motives or tactics. Individuality did not exist in Kalgrad. Those of blond hair were cherished and allowed to become one with the political system of Kalgrad, which even then limited all aspects of life. Those born with darker hair were punished, forced to be soldiers and slaves. The Golden Age Party did not allow them to exist.
Swederland consisted entirely of "brown hair devils", as the Golden Age Party taught.
The Golden Age Party was considered the strongest nation in the world, and its ideologies were equally powerful. But Regnier was intelligent, and the Golden Age needed him to win its wars. He wanted to ask why the opponents dared to disobey, when they cannot win against the might of the "blond haired heroes". He wanted to ask why the physical differences existed, or why they could not coexist as brothers. To do so was to question the Golden Age Party, which might have him killed. Regnier did not care anymore.
Finally, Talon 0-1 arrived at the secured landing zone just outside of the Capital Building. Regnier saw all the war torn buildings and heaps of bodies. Bodies with brown hair. Regnier felt nothing for them, because brown hair signified malevolence. It had to be that way, but he wanted to avoid fighting them.
*Creating malevolence where there could be friendship is against my code*, Regnier thought.
He came upon the general of the Swederland forces. At least, what was left of him. A bloody mess, separate from anything Regnier ever laid his eyes upon. And on a pike behind the decapitated body of the general lay the head of a golden haired boy in his youth.
"What is this blasphemy?! Golden hair? Swederland is not golden haired!"
Suddenly, Regnier came to a realization. A sudden enlightenment of past events which explained everything until this very moment.
And in that second, the remaining blond soldiers became one with their opponents. Regnier turned away, hoping to avoid the inevitable. *I will not commit treason!*, he thought.
His hair adopted a dark brown as he looked in the shimmering mirror of a water puddle which developed under a broken pipe in the destroyed roof. Darker than even the other brown haired soldiers. He knew what he had to do.
He ripped off his golden sash of superiority, the final tie to Kalgrad. He looked onward, to his comrades and to his enemies.
"The Age of Gold is over." |
Edit: Loving all of these takes, guys! Definitely a lot darker than I expected! | [WP] Everyone is born with blond hair. A person's hair turns brown when they lose their innocence. | "Are you sure he won't find out?"
"Listen, Alex, I'm sure. He never comes home this early"
I don't know why I did it. Maybe I was just a bit tired. Maybe I was tired of George's... innocence. Or something. Twenty-six and pure as the driven snow. But Alex. Alex was wiser. Went dark at eight. Eight! He was jaded and cynical, and I loved it. I still loved George, loved his innocence, loved the way he was so proud of his golden locks. But Alex was new, and I was stupid and bored and...
So there I was, with Alex, his hands around me, mine around him, when the door opened.
"Hey honey, I-"
I don't think I'll ever be able to forget his face when he saw me with Alex. Like a crushed puppy. He didn't say anything, just stared. His face terrible, but it will never compare to his hair. His beautiful, rich, brown hair. | I looked at my sister over the table, her small hands grasping the bowl, as milk trickled down her chin. Such a small delicate thing, tiny hands and a tiny nose. And such long brown hair.
***
I can’t remember exactly when it happened, I went on a walk one day and left her with our mother. She’d had such a big smile as she waved goodbye. My mother caressed her beautiful blonde hair and hummed to herself quietly.
The trees were bare with the cruelty of winter and the icy wind bit deep into my skin. I started to hurry home, looking forward to a warm bed.
I approached the house and felt that something was different, the door hung open and the wind made a soft howling sound as it moved through the house. I stopped on the pathway, confused. Why would they leave the door open on such a cold day? A sense of dread slowly started to form at the base of my spin, a strange tingling that I’d never felt before. I walked forward cautiously, peering into the dark innards of my home.
The house was so quiet, usually filled with the laughter of my little sister, or the sound of the television. Now, there was nothing.
I looked around downstairs for signs of life but everything was deserted. The lounge room lay bare, everything packed away neatly. The kitchen was different though, food sat half prepared on the bench, a tomato half chopped and cheese sitting in the packet.
The top floor was dark. A weak winter sunlight filtered through the window, but barely penetrated the inner depths of the house. I walked up the stairs slowly, listening to each familiar crack and creak. As I moved upwards a sound started to become apparent. A quiet persistent dripping.
The door to the upstairs bathroom was opened a crack with light spilling out. I headed towards it and the dripping started to get louder. I crept forward and pushed the door open cautiously.
The curtain of the bath tub lay closed but I could hear the water moving, quietly lapping at the edges of the tub. I stood for a moment looking at the bright blue and the clouds of the shower curtain, the tingling in my spine had moved upwards to my shoulders making my arms feel like lead. I slowly pulled the curtain back and saw my mother, her brown hair fanned out in the water.
I stumbled back, tripping over the mat. How could my dependent mother have had such an accident? This couldn’t have happened on purpose, it just wasn’t in her nature. She’d been humming to herself this morning, touching her daughter’s hair. Could she really have done this to herself?
I lay on the cold tiles for what felt like hours, but probably only consisted of a few sparse minutes. I had to call someone, I had to get help.
I rolled on to my side to get up and that’s when I saw the locks of brown hair. My sweet smiling beautiful little sister’s brown hair. She sat on a stool in the corner, not making a sound, simply staring at me.
***
I reached out to take her bowl and she handed it to me without a word. We maintained eye contact for a moment before my eyes darted towards her hair once again.
|
Edit: Loving all of these takes, guys! Definitely a lot darker than I expected! | [WP] Everyone is born with blond hair. A person's hair turns brown when they lose their innocence. | "Are you sure he won't find out?"
"Listen, Alex, I'm sure. He never comes home this early"
I don't know why I did it. Maybe I was just a bit tired. Maybe I was tired of George's... innocence. Or something. Twenty-six and pure as the driven snow. But Alex. Alex was wiser. Went dark at eight. Eight! He was jaded and cynical, and I loved it. I still loved George, loved his innocence, loved the way he was so proud of his golden locks. But Alex was new, and I was stupid and bored and...
So there I was, with Alex, his hands around me, mine around him, when the door opened.
"Hey honey, I-"
I don't think I'll ever be able to forget his face when he saw me with Alex. Like a crushed puppy. He didn't say anything, just stared. His face terrible, but it will never compare to his hair. His beautiful, rich, brown hair. | I´m not a good writer, but this idea won´t leave me alone. The prejudice of a person having hair so brown it´s black, wanting to repent but society have driven him/her into a corner. The love from the masses for having platinum blond hair, but the person is actually a psychopath, bored of the world. What would happen if they meet?
I offer a sketch in return for writing? |
Edit: Loving all of these takes, guys! Definitely a lot darker than I expected! | [WP] Everyone is born with blond hair. A person's hair turns brown when they lose their innocence. | It was my first day of college when I saw Anne for the first time.
I was the only blonde in class. In fact, I was probably the only blonde among all the undergrads. I wasn't very surprised though. By the end of high school, every one had turned brunette except for me. Although I always acted sheepish about it, deep inside I had a strong sense of pride, like I have won some imaginary game. My friends would tease me about it every now and then, but I didn't care. Something inside me knew I would go my entire life blonde. My friends could have been jealous of that fact.
But I digress. As I was saying, I saw Anne for the first time that day. I was the only blonde in class, and I was feeling self conscious about it. I was sinking deeper into my seat not to be noticed. A few people looked surprised to see a blonde in class. I was embarrassingly looking around when my eyes met hers.
She was a brunette, but she had the lightest brown hair I have ever seen. She had it in a pony tail that danced around every time she turned her head. Our eyes met, and there was this immediate electric shock in my heart. She gave me an encouraging smile. Hang in there, buddy.
Weeks have passed, and my crush on her was building up. The first crush I have ever had, in fact. We were good acquaintances at this point. We'd chat every once in a while, and every time we did, I'd go back to my dorm room and replay every word she had said, every twinkle in her eyes, every smile on her face.
That was when I figured I had to tell her how I felt. I was Skyping with my friend Sam. Sam was my best friend, and we went to the same high school. Fun fact: Sam was the last person to turn brunette in our high school (excluding me of course). He was a very innocent kid for the longest time, and one day, things changed. I could never understand what happened to him. I remember one day after he had turned brunette, he was driving us to the mall, when some guy in a U-Haul cut in front of him. He lowered the window, flipped him off, and started screaming an endless stream of curse words at the top of his lungs. I was shocked. What happened to him? I knew he had changed in a fundamental way.
Anyway, I was telling him about Anne. After teasing me about it for half an hour (I totally expected him to!), he encouraged me to tell her how I felt about her. He told me she must have had feelings for me, since girls always knew it when you had a crush on them. Just the fact she was still being friendly to me meant she was sending me a signal.
I talked to Anne the next day. I was shy and stuttering and I was a complete mess (I had never asked a girl out before!). I told her I had feelings for her, and I was hoping she would go to dinner with me some time to know each other better. She laughed and said her boyfriend probably wouldn't like that idea very much. My heart sank and I was immediately crushed. Everything she said after this point felt like it was happening in slow motion. She said she had been in a relationship for a couple of years, and although she didn't think they were very compatible, she was still giving it a try. She said she liked me, and would still love for us to be friends. She told me she didn't feel comfortable being single at the time. I knew this was the end of the line. I couldn't have taken it any other way. I would never try to separate a girl from her boyfriend. That was pure evil. Game over!
Crushed, I went home. Sitting alone at my laptop, I put on some stupid sad songs. I replayed that encounter so many times, realizing that was a major crossroads in my life. Had she said yes, there would be a date I would be looking for. There would be excitement and dreams of a happy future with her. But right now, I was a depressed kid sitting in his dorm room alone with no goals and nothing to look forward to.
I talked to Sam on Skype again, and told him everything. He told me I was an idiot. She clearly liked me but was afraid to leave her boyfriend for me when she didn't know me that well. He told me I should just hang around. If she was not interested, she would have never talked about her boyfriend and her being incompatible. I told Sam that was simply not me. There was no way I'd sacrifice my integrity for a girl.
He very calmly ended the conversation was... "You are too innocent, dude. If you had had more experience. If you had played the field a little. You and her could have been in bed right now you idiot. You blew it".
I knew I did. Every time I saw her in class afterwards, I'd avoid her eyes, and look to the floor. When she tried to talk to me, I'd quickly end it and walk away.
I knew I had changed, though. I had this look in my eyes now. The look of the guy who lived his worst nightmare. I knew I needed to have more experience. I needed to play the field, so that when the right woman comes by I'd be ready.
I walked to Borders that night (They had not gone bankrupt yet at the time), and was browsing around. I found this scary leather black book. The book title was written in gold on the side. "The Art of Seduction, by Mystery". My hands were shaking but I reached out for the book and pulled it out. I needed to learn. I was angry and confused, but I was determined. Girls are to become nothing but a number from this point forwarded. I needed to number close, kiss close and F close as many girls as I could from this point forward (number close, kiss close and F close were all terms the book used for getting a girl's number, kissing a girl, and well, going to bed with a girl). I had a feeling in my heart, I was becoming a man now. I felt tender in my scalp and cold in my heart. Faint cracking noise was all around me. Is it static electricity in the store? Is it the carpet?
I went to the cashier with my book, worried he would criticize me for buying a seduction book (specially I was a blond), but he didn't give me a second look. I bought it and walked out.
Something felt off, though. How comes the guy was totally ok with a blonde buying such a book? I'd imagine he must have said something. A tease... A comment... anything. The reality sank in when i checked my reflection in the glass windows of the store. I was looking at brunette me. I had turned!
I was the last of my peers to turn, and what a waste that was. I wish I was the first.
I would have to make up for all the time I had lost. I glanced at my book, and looked at my reflection in the window again. There was a devilish smirk on my face now! | Her rheumy eyes lit up with recognition, finally. Wrinkles shifted.
"Daniel." The word itself was a smile.
"Yeah Mom, it's me." There's no description for this knot; a hack poet would undoubtedly use hair for the rope, many different shades of brown all tangled up. She says my name, finally, and something gets tugged. The nature of the knot shifts, but the balance of tightness remains.
Her hands reach out for mine, but halfway across the great divide of years, a stringy lock flops down across her face. Another tragic interruption. I silently curse the negligence of the nighttime staff, and within my knot, strands of anger, frustration, guilt and helplessness all constrict my lungs and my heart. Mother reaches up to grasp at the wayward tangle. Its hold upon her skull yields easily.
The confusion doesn't last long. This memory - this knowledge - is always among the oldest. Worry, now; panic.
"But what happened? Did something happen? Where am I?"
It can't even be called a decline anymore, or a spiral. It's a straight drop. A coppery streak of helplessness chokes my insides as I ring for the nurse, because I can't calm her down by myself, I can't bring her back by myself - no, I need help. Help from the staff - the staff I must have told a hundred fucking god-damn times, and who no doubt hear it ten-thousand fucking god-damn times from every relative, every doctor, every administrator, so what the fucking god-damn hell am I even paying for?
No mirrors, no brushes, no fancy styling, no wigs - they can always feel them. Yes, we all wish there was a chemical solution, but guess what, it's your fucking *job* and you get *paid* and so you deal with it. You fucking deal with it.
They do not. See. Their. Hair.
Not until it's blonde again. Not until the end. |
Edit: Loving all of these takes, guys! Definitely a lot darker than I expected! | [WP] Everyone is born with blond hair. A person's hair turns brown when they lose their innocence. | As soon as she had stepped foot in the place several minutes before, she had drawn more than a few stares from the other patrons.
Cutters fresh from a shift spend working on the soaring top of a High-Tower. Miners from the Wide Maw just outside the city limits, often competing with the cutters for loudness. And scattered among these groups of massive burly men were the Shufflers, winding down after a entire day of pushing paper around and getting yelled at by men who knew nothing.
All of them, sandy-brown, tawny-brown, ash-brown, greying-brown, streaked brown- it didn't matter. Their hair was as brown as the peeling walls of the pub they all sat in.
But not Anna's. Hers had always shimmered like the sun, just like her dad's. Girls marveled at how brilliant the lustre of her golden hair was, how pure and bright it seemed compared to their own drab brown or dirty blonde locks. Boys constantly tried getting her attention with stupid tricks or silly jokes, or even just straight up asking her out on a date. She knew it was the hair.
And she didn't really give a damn about her hair.
She glanced over her shoulder, ignoring a few looks of concern from a young man to her right just in time to see a bald man, thin and scrawny compared to the rest, get up from one of the Cutter tables and move for the door out to the dreary streetside.
Her eyes narrowed as her hand automatically reached for the vibrant green scarf wrapped around her neck. They softened only for a second, threatening to glisten before she shook her head and gritted her teeth.
The girl looked back to the half-full bottle sitting in front of her on the bar-top. She frowned, before snatching it up and taking one last swig, the acidic aftertaste lingering in her throat as she set the bottle back down with a loud thud.
She pushed back from the chair, wiping her mouth on her sleeve as she stalked through the tables, ignoring the leers, the frowns, the confused looks, the apprehension, until finally she came to the door out into the street, the frosted glass muffling the absolute downpour of rain just outside.
Just as she closed her fingers on the handle a hand grabbed her shoulder. "You won't be the same. Your hair, your soul, it'll-"
Anna shook her head. "It doesn't matter to me, Thomas." She glanced downward at the opening in her jacket at the police service pistol.
Without even turning to look at the boy, his hair almost black, she opened the door and stepped through, blinking as each fat droplet hit her face.
She kept walking down the footpath, spotting the bald man as he turned a corner past a scaffolding into a alley.
With a shaky breath she continued away from the drab little pub, feeling a tingle in her hair as her thoughts overcame her, bringing a wetness to her eyes and a shake to her steps.
"For you, dad." she muttered, fingering the handle of the pistol.
| Her rheumy eyes lit up with recognition, finally. Wrinkles shifted.
"Daniel." The word itself was a smile.
"Yeah Mom, it's me." There's no description for this knot; a hack poet would undoubtedly use hair for the rope, many different shades of brown all tangled up. She says my name, finally, and something gets tugged. The nature of the knot shifts, but the balance of tightness remains.
Her hands reach out for mine, but halfway across the great divide of years, a stringy lock flops down across her face. Another tragic interruption. I silently curse the negligence of the nighttime staff, and within my knot, strands of anger, frustration, guilt and helplessness all constrict my lungs and my heart. Mother reaches up to grasp at the wayward tangle. Its hold upon her skull yields easily.
The confusion doesn't last long. This memory - this knowledge - is always among the oldest. Worry, now; panic.
"But what happened? Did something happen? Where am I?"
It can't even be called a decline anymore, or a spiral. It's a straight drop. A coppery streak of helplessness chokes my insides as I ring for the nurse, because I can't calm her down by myself, I can't bring her back by myself - no, I need help. Help from the staff - the staff I must have told a hundred fucking god-damn times, and who no doubt hear it ten-thousand fucking god-damn times from every relative, every doctor, every administrator, so what the fucking god-damn hell am I even paying for?
No mirrors, no brushes, no fancy styling, no wigs - they can always feel them. Yes, we all wish there was a chemical solution, but guess what, it's your fucking *job* and you get *paid* and so you deal with it. You fucking deal with it.
They do not. See. Their. Hair.
Not until it's blonde again. Not until the end. |
Edit: Loving all of these takes, guys! Definitely a lot darker than I expected! | [WP] Everyone is born with blond hair. A person's hair turns brown when they lose their innocence. | A cake sat on his cubicle desk, with every square inch packed with a candle. 47, to be exact.
"SURPRISE!!" yelled a cohort of a dozen office-mates. "HAPPY BIRTHDAY!"
He stared at their faces, a sea of brown hair. 49 years old, but all Samuel could feel was sadness, and shame. He alone was the only person in his entire company to still have blond hair.
Somewhere around the time he was in elementary school, more and more of his classmates had started to sport brown hair. It quickly became a symbol of pride. But here he was, nearly four decades later, and still with blond hair. Getting rid of that damn blond hair would have, theoretically, been a simple feat. Watch some porn, shoot up some heroin, have dirty drunk sex, hurt someone, whatever. But for Samuel, it was easier said than done. He was one of the few who had, because of his deep religious faith, taken the Purity Oath when he was at the tender age of 5 years old.
Samuel took a bite of the cake. Red velvet, his favorite. But today, it tasted bland. It tasted like shame. | Her rheumy eyes lit up with recognition, finally. Wrinkles shifted.
"Daniel." The word itself was a smile.
"Yeah Mom, it's me." There's no description for this knot; a hack poet would undoubtedly use hair for the rope, many different shades of brown all tangled up. She says my name, finally, and something gets tugged. The nature of the knot shifts, but the balance of tightness remains.
Her hands reach out for mine, but halfway across the great divide of years, a stringy lock flops down across her face. Another tragic interruption. I silently curse the negligence of the nighttime staff, and within my knot, strands of anger, frustration, guilt and helplessness all constrict my lungs and my heart. Mother reaches up to grasp at the wayward tangle. Its hold upon her skull yields easily.
The confusion doesn't last long. This memory - this knowledge - is always among the oldest. Worry, now; panic.
"But what happened? Did something happen? Where am I?"
It can't even be called a decline anymore, or a spiral. It's a straight drop. A coppery streak of helplessness chokes my insides as I ring for the nurse, because I can't calm her down by myself, I can't bring her back by myself - no, I need help. Help from the staff - the staff I must have told a hundred fucking god-damn times, and who no doubt hear it ten-thousand fucking god-damn times from every relative, every doctor, every administrator, so what the fucking god-damn hell am I even paying for?
No mirrors, no brushes, no fancy styling, no wigs - they can always feel them. Yes, we all wish there was a chemical solution, but guess what, it's your fucking *job* and you get *paid* and so you deal with it. You fucking deal with it.
They do not. See. Their. Hair.
Not until it's blonde again. Not until the end. |
Edit: Loving all of these takes, guys! Definitely a lot darker than I expected! | [WP] Everyone is born with blond hair. A person's hair turns brown when they lose their innocence. | She put down the plastic train in her hand, and it rolled off the folders of her pink Sunday dress like a child down a summer hill. She spun around and looked up at me from her place on the floor. "Mom," she asked, "When did your hair turn brown?"
It was the question I always knew would come, but had never prepared for. "Oh, honey, you won't have to worry about that for a long time." I smiled at her, but pushed herself to her knees and folded her arms.
"When!" she demanded.
I gave a heavy sigh.
"I was sixteen." The memory was fresh. I hesitated and scanned an empty corner of the room so that he might not know how often I thought of it. I tongued my teeth and pretended to think. "I was coming from school-"
"Like my school?"
"Yes, honey, like your school." I reached down from my chair and put a hand on her cheek and beamed at her. She returned the smile until the memory of her question caused a new frown.
"What happened?"
"When I was sixteen, lots of people were fighting each other about the president. And my brother was walking me home from school-"
"You mean Uncle Jack?"
"No honey, my older brother. You never met him. He was walking me home from school and some men jumped out of a car and they said mean things to him and they did mean things to him." I tried to think about how to phrase the images in my head for a child. I dodged the profanities and the slurs, but what about the violence? What about when they ripped the hair from the top of his head in great clumps? How they held my face and eyes open to make me watch them break his arms and fingers. How could I tell her about his screams? His tears?
"What kind of mean things, mommy?"
"They hit him, a lot. And-" was I going to cry? I felt a lump in my throat. I hoped she couldn't hear it as I continued. "they made him very sick and hurt, and he didn't get better, I'm afraid."
"That's why your hair turned brown?"
I nodded.
"Oh." She turned back around and picked up the train.
I touched my hair. | Her rheumy eyes lit up with recognition, finally. Wrinkles shifted.
"Daniel." The word itself was a smile.
"Yeah Mom, it's me." There's no description for this knot; a hack poet would undoubtedly use hair for the rope, many different shades of brown all tangled up. She says my name, finally, and something gets tugged. The nature of the knot shifts, but the balance of tightness remains.
Her hands reach out for mine, but halfway across the great divide of years, a stringy lock flops down across her face. Another tragic interruption. I silently curse the negligence of the nighttime staff, and within my knot, strands of anger, frustration, guilt and helplessness all constrict my lungs and my heart. Mother reaches up to grasp at the wayward tangle. Its hold upon her skull yields easily.
The confusion doesn't last long. This memory - this knowledge - is always among the oldest. Worry, now; panic.
"But what happened? Did something happen? Where am I?"
It can't even be called a decline anymore, or a spiral. It's a straight drop. A coppery streak of helplessness chokes my insides as I ring for the nurse, because I can't calm her down by myself, I can't bring her back by myself - no, I need help. Help from the staff - the staff I must have told a hundred fucking god-damn times, and who no doubt hear it ten-thousand fucking god-damn times from every relative, every doctor, every administrator, so what the fucking god-damn hell am I even paying for?
No mirrors, no brushes, no fancy styling, no wigs - they can always feel them. Yes, we all wish there was a chemical solution, but guess what, it's your fucking *job* and you get *paid* and so you deal with it. You fucking deal with it.
They do not. See. Their. Hair.
Not until it's blonde again. Not until the end. |
Edit: Loving all of these takes, guys! Definitely a lot darker than I expected! | [WP] Everyone is born with blond hair. A person's hair turns brown when they lose their innocence. | This will be my first attempt here, so constructive criticism is appreciated.
Outside, the storm surged with an almost spiteful ferocity, but here, at home with my family, we were warm and safe. Bright flashes of lightning and peals of thunder were the only things to reach us in our home. Dad tucked my sister and me into our beds, passing his hand gently from our soft blonde hair, down to our chins. He kissed us each goodnight and turned to leave, barely consciously running a hand through his own dusty brown hair.
We had asked Mom once, why hers and Dad's hair was darker than ours. They told us that when people have their feelings hurt very badly or do very bad things, their hair would change color. We were always good, she'd explained, and so our hair was still light and blonde. Hers and Dad's were darker, but not too dark. Whatever they had done must not have been too bad.
It was late when he came. A loud crash, different than the thunder, resounded through the house. Rubbing the sleep from my eyes, I sat up, wondering what it had been. Then came the shouting, then the screaming, and finally a gunshot. The sound of Mom crying got louder as she was dragged toward us.
The man burst through our bedroom door, pulling Mom by her hair, both of them yelling. Terrified, my sister and I could only stare as he put the gun to her head. He was screaming questions at her, shouting orders, but in the screaming and the storm, I couldn't understand. A flash of lightning illuminated the room, and for the briefest of moments, I could see the man's face. He was a shambles of a man, with dark, sunken eyes and a dirty unshaven face, all hidden behind a mess of hair so dark, it was almost black.
Mom was begging him to stop, to leave us alone. I guess that wasn't the answer he wanted, because he shot my sister. I tried to get up and to go to her, wanting it all to not be true, but he turned the gun on me. I was absolutely frozen as I watched an inky darkness inching out from under my sister's trembling form. It stained her dress, her sheets, and her hair with that horrible shade until she stopped moving anymore.
Mom was screaming even louder than before, flailing and sobbing, trying to break free. The man didn't like that, so he put the gun back to her head, and yelled at her to shut up. The anger and hurt burned hot in my ears, eyes stinging with tears. Mom was barely whimpering now, and I could hear the man clearly for the first time, "You were supposed to be mine."
The gun flashed once, and a splatter of blood and auburn hair matted itself to the wall. I screamed and ran at the man, but another shot from his gun hit me in my leg. I crumpled to the floor almost instantly. He loomed over me, jeering, "What a waste. Nothing but a whore, after all these years." He raised his gun to fire one last time, and I closed my eyes to wait for the end.
A bang too loud for a gun jolted my eyes open again, and we both turned to see the utility pole outside spitting sparks and fire, and falling toward the house. It crashed through the roof with a sound almost louder than the lightning had made, and barely missed me.
It didn't miss him.
The fire was now spreading through this place that was once home to me, bathing everything in bright orange and red. The man lay pinned under the pole, gun out of reach, and a look of wild pain and desperation spread across his once shaded face. "Kid!" he shouted, "You gotta help me, kid!" The fire licked at the house, consuming everything in a familiar heat that tickled in my ears, and I walked out of the room.
I ran across the street and watched, crying. The man's screams of pain echoed in my ears as the roaring flames consumed my world. Inside, I knew that everything I had ever loved was gone now, and I reached up, running my trembling had gently down from my dark walnut hair, down to my chin, just like Dad used to. | Her rheumy eyes lit up with recognition, finally. Wrinkles shifted.
"Daniel." The word itself was a smile.
"Yeah Mom, it's me." There's no description for this knot; a hack poet would undoubtedly use hair for the rope, many different shades of brown all tangled up. She says my name, finally, and something gets tugged. The nature of the knot shifts, but the balance of tightness remains.
Her hands reach out for mine, but halfway across the great divide of years, a stringy lock flops down across her face. Another tragic interruption. I silently curse the negligence of the nighttime staff, and within my knot, strands of anger, frustration, guilt and helplessness all constrict my lungs and my heart. Mother reaches up to grasp at the wayward tangle. Its hold upon her skull yields easily.
The confusion doesn't last long. This memory - this knowledge - is always among the oldest. Worry, now; panic.
"But what happened? Did something happen? Where am I?"
It can't even be called a decline anymore, or a spiral. It's a straight drop. A coppery streak of helplessness chokes my insides as I ring for the nurse, because I can't calm her down by myself, I can't bring her back by myself - no, I need help. Help from the staff - the staff I must have told a hundred fucking god-damn times, and who no doubt hear it ten-thousand fucking god-damn times from every relative, every doctor, every administrator, so what the fucking god-damn hell am I even paying for?
No mirrors, no brushes, no fancy styling, no wigs - they can always feel them. Yes, we all wish there was a chemical solution, but guess what, it's your fucking *job* and you get *paid* and so you deal with it. You fucking deal with it.
They do not. See. Their. Hair.
Not until it's blonde again. Not until the end. |
Edit: Loving all of these takes, guys! Definitely a lot darker than I expected! | [WP] Everyone is born with blond hair. A person's hair turns brown when they lose their innocence. | Everywhere I looked I saw alternating seas of blond and brown crossing the busy intersections. Like busy termites they paraded around their mundane little lives without a care in the world. I have to admit that part of me wondered how the change took place at first.
Most of the people had "turned" by the time they left high school. I remember the scandals that would cause since the moment someone's hair turned, everyone knew that something had happened. Of course, some were much better at theorycrafting than others. Rumors swirled about the new girl Sandra the moment she walked into our rotten halls. Her hair was a rich shade of platinum, reflecting the sunlight that she could see reflecting off of the drooling boys who she graced with her presence. The other girls weren't pleased with this, and envied the doe-eyed innocence that she exuded. She was as outgoing and friendly as any other person, except unlike the tainted bitches that tried their hardest to infect her with their misery, she was genuine about everything she did. I've seen her angry, upset, and frustrated at the numerous attempts of these girls but no matter what they did, her golden locks would stay the same.
When she got together with Randy the exchange student, everyone was sure that the change was going to happen. Who could blame them? Most of the dupes I knew were eager to hook up with the first girl or guy who said yes. We waited anxiously for the day to come but it never did, not even after they had broken up. Randy was furious when it happened, and I was there to witness the rapid change in his hue. Even as that happened there was no change in Sandra. Eventually people just gave up in trying to figure her out. She was nice, after all, and she never bothered anybody.
It wasn't until I saw her again years later that I had an idea of how she kept her locks in such a pristine shape. While lazily flipping through channels one day, I saw her on some video footage being aired on the news. People were baffled by how such a person could calmly walk over to someone, slash their throat, and then go back to eating dinner as if nothing had happened. All that really captivated me was that even when she went through that, there was still no change in her hair at all. | Her rheumy eyes lit up with recognition, finally. Wrinkles shifted.
"Daniel." The word itself was a smile.
"Yeah Mom, it's me." There's no description for this knot; a hack poet would undoubtedly use hair for the rope, many different shades of brown all tangled up. She says my name, finally, and something gets tugged. The nature of the knot shifts, but the balance of tightness remains.
Her hands reach out for mine, but halfway across the great divide of years, a stringy lock flops down across her face. Another tragic interruption. I silently curse the negligence of the nighttime staff, and within my knot, strands of anger, frustration, guilt and helplessness all constrict my lungs and my heart. Mother reaches up to grasp at the wayward tangle. Its hold upon her skull yields easily.
The confusion doesn't last long. This memory - this knowledge - is always among the oldest. Worry, now; panic.
"But what happened? Did something happen? Where am I?"
It can't even be called a decline anymore, or a spiral. It's a straight drop. A coppery streak of helplessness chokes my insides as I ring for the nurse, because I can't calm her down by myself, I can't bring her back by myself - no, I need help. Help from the staff - the staff I must have told a hundred fucking god-damn times, and who no doubt hear it ten-thousand fucking god-damn times from every relative, every doctor, every administrator, so what the fucking god-damn hell am I even paying for?
No mirrors, no brushes, no fancy styling, no wigs - they can always feel them. Yes, we all wish there was a chemical solution, but guess what, it's your fucking *job* and you get *paid* and so you deal with it. You fucking deal with it.
They do not. See. Their. Hair.
Not until it's blonde again. Not until the end. |
Edit: Loving all of these takes, guys! Definitely a lot darker than I expected! | [WP] Everyone is born with blond hair. A person's hair turns brown when they lose their innocence. | A hundred strokes every night before bed. This was my hair routine every day. I was thirteen and one of the few remaining people in my school year with their hair still blonde. Though I was teased about it, a small piece of me was happy about it as the thought of losing the blondness scared me.
Dad was out on a business trip and I missed by bedtime story which he told me every night. I know it was childish but I couldn't sleep without it. I figured mom was good to do the job so I went across the hallway to mother's room.
There she sat on the floor. The floor with shards of a broken bottle. One hand with one of the shards of glass and the other hand being coloured red from the blood oozing from her wrist.
She looked at me with her panda eyes and mumbled my name. She grabbed my hair when I ran to her. Then she fell to the floor. My hair turned chocolate. | Her rheumy eyes lit up with recognition, finally. Wrinkles shifted.
"Daniel." The word itself was a smile.
"Yeah Mom, it's me." There's no description for this knot; a hack poet would undoubtedly use hair for the rope, many different shades of brown all tangled up. She says my name, finally, and something gets tugged. The nature of the knot shifts, but the balance of tightness remains.
Her hands reach out for mine, but halfway across the great divide of years, a stringy lock flops down across her face. Another tragic interruption. I silently curse the negligence of the nighttime staff, and within my knot, strands of anger, frustration, guilt and helplessness all constrict my lungs and my heart. Mother reaches up to grasp at the wayward tangle. Its hold upon her skull yields easily.
The confusion doesn't last long. This memory - this knowledge - is always among the oldest. Worry, now; panic.
"But what happened? Did something happen? Where am I?"
It can't even be called a decline anymore, or a spiral. It's a straight drop. A coppery streak of helplessness chokes my insides as I ring for the nurse, because I can't calm her down by myself, I can't bring her back by myself - no, I need help. Help from the staff - the staff I must have told a hundred fucking god-damn times, and who no doubt hear it ten-thousand fucking god-damn times from every relative, every doctor, every administrator, so what the fucking god-damn hell am I even paying for?
No mirrors, no brushes, no fancy styling, no wigs - they can always feel them. Yes, we all wish there was a chemical solution, but guess what, it's your fucking *job* and you get *paid* and so you deal with it. You fucking deal with it.
They do not. See. Their. Hair.
Not until it's blonde again. Not until the end. |
Edit: Loving all of these takes, guys! Definitely a lot darker than I expected! | [WP] Everyone is born with blond hair. A person's hair turns brown when they lose their innocence. | She was blonde yesterday.
Blondness is a rare trait in this city. Sure, every now and then, you'll run into someone with locks of wheaty gold, but brown was the shade of this town. Even I had browned last year. I tugged at my dark curls, a reminder of that glorious night during which my blonde was taken in a bout of rough, passionate browning.
She was different. With all the brown that went on in town, she never quite felt it necessary. She got her kicks in things that only made her more blonde. Springy curls of sunlight bounced off her head and everyone could tell that she was blonde by choice.
I searched for her in the hallways this morning, seeking out the yellow glow that was always so easy to spot. Instead, I found a different glow. There she was, brown springs bouncing in the wind, a smile on a face that shone as bright as her hair once did.
In that moment, we all knew that she was brown by choice.
| Her rheumy eyes lit up with recognition, finally. Wrinkles shifted.
"Daniel." The word itself was a smile.
"Yeah Mom, it's me." There's no description for this knot; a hack poet would undoubtedly use hair for the rope, many different shades of brown all tangled up. She says my name, finally, and something gets tugged. The nature of the knot shifts, but the balance of tightness remains.
Her hands reach out for mine, but halfway across the great divide of years, a stringy lock flops down across her face. Another tragic interruption. I silently curse the negligence of the nighttime staff, and within my knot, strands of anger, frustration, guilt and helplessness all constrict my lungs and my heart. Mother reaches up to grasp at the wayward tangle. Its hold upon her skull yields easily.
The confusion doesn't last long. This memory - this knowledge - is always among the oldest. Worry, now; panic.
"But what happened? Did something happen? Where am I?"
It can't even be called a decline anymore, or a spiral. It's a straight drop. A coppery streak of helplessness chokes my insides as I ring for the nurse, because I can't calm her down by myself, I can't bring her back by myself - no, I need help. Help from the staff - the staff I must have told a hundred fucking god-damn times, and who no doubt hear it ten-thousand fucking god-damn times from every relative, every doctor, every administrator, so what the fucking god-damn hell am I even paying for?
No mirrors, no brushes, no fancy styling, no wigs - they can always feel them. Yes, we all wish there was a chemical solution, but guess what, it's your fucking *job* and you get *paid* and so you deal with it. You fucking deal with it.
They do not. See. Their. Hair.
Not until it's blonde again. Not until the end. |
Edit: Loving all of these takes, guys! Definitely a lot darker than I expected! | [WP] Everyone is born with blond hair. A person's hair turns brown when they lose their innocence. | *Note: I absolutely hate the way the word blond looks, so I refuse to ever use it. Sorry.*
"What...the...*fuck*?" Mark asked in a hushed tone. Joanna saw Anne flinch. Typical. Anne was so determined to protect her innocence, as though hearing one curse word was going to change her precious golden locks. Joanna had never been so protective of her own hair.
"I don't know!" shrieked Joanna. "It just happened."
"Has anyone else seen this?"
"No. Only you two." Mark and Anne, her closest friends, so different in personality and hair. Mark kept his brown curls cropped short, whereas Anne preferred to grow out and show off her blonde hair.
When she first met Mark, he had dirty blonde hair, but years of living with an alcoholic father and a mother who wouldn't stay put had robbed him of what little innocence he had left.
Nothing seemed to touch Anne. Joanna and Mark joked amongst themselves that her hair was only growing lighter.
Joanna had thought her hair would have turned brown ages ago. She had sex with Mark. She had stolen. She told lies and lusted and drank; she did all the things that would have made Anne gasp in horror, but her hair stayed stubbornly blonde.
Until now.
"Joanna," Anne spoke up. "I...this isn't natural."
"I know that! So what the hell do I do?"
Anne shook her head. "I don't know. I have to go."
Joanna blinked at her stupidly. "What do you mean, you have to go? Go where?"
"Home. I'm sorry, sweetie, but the way you look...I love you, you know that, but I can't be around you! I don't want that happening to me."
"Hair color isn't *catching*, Anne," Mark muttered.
Anne turned to Mark, eyes flashing. "You're one to talk. Maybe if you had been a better influence, this wouldn't have happened."
"Don't put this on me! I didn't have anything to do with it. It's unheard of."
They were arguing over her like divorced parents who didn't want custody, Joanna realized. Mark wouldn't outright say it, but he didn't want to be around her, either.
"You should cut it," Anne advised her before walking out the door. "Shave your head, wear a scarf, anything. You look...you should cover it."
Joanna looked at Mark, tears streaking her face. "What do I do?" she whispered.
Mark looked back at her uneasily. "You do what Anne says. And maybe go see someone. A doctor or something."
"You're going, too," Joanna said. She didn't need to ask. Mark was fidgeting, looking anywhere but at Joanna's hair.
"I'll be in touch," Mark said. And then he was gone.
Joanna sat in numb silence for a few minutes, then stood up suddenly and grabbed a pair of scissors from the kitchen. She would need to go to a hair dresser to do the job properly, but this would have to serve.
She stood in front of her bathroom mirror, stomach turning at the sight of herself.
The only sound came from the scissors snipping away her long, red hair. | Her rheumy eyes lit up with recognition, finally. Wrinkles shifted.
"Daniel." The word itself was a smile.
"Yeah Mom, it's me." There's no description for this knot; a hack poet would undoubtedly use hair for the rope, many different shades of brown all tangled up. She says my name, finally, and something gets tugged. The nature of the knot shifts, but the balance of tightness remains.
Her hands reach out for mine, but halfway across the great divide of years, a stringy lock flops down across her face. Another tragic interruption. I silently curse the negligence of the nighttime staff, and within my knot, strands of anger, frustration, guilt and helplessness all constrict my lungs and my heart. Mother reaches up to grasp at the wayward tangle. Its hold upon her skull yields easily.
The confusion doesn't last long. This memory - this knowledge - is always among the oldest. Worry, now; panic.
"But what happened? Did something happen? Where am I?"
It can't even be called a decline anymore, or a spiral. It's a straight drop. A coppery streak of helplessness chokes my insides as I ring for the nurse, because I can't calm her down by myself, I can't bring her back by myself - no, I need help. Help from the staff - the staff I must have told a hundred fucking god-damn times, and who no doubt hear it ten-thousand fucking god-damn times from every relative, every doctor, every administrator, so what the fucking god-damn hell am I even paying for?
No mirrors, no brushes, no fancy styling, no wigs - they can always feel them. Yes, we all wish there was a chemical solution, but guess what, it's your fucking *job* and you get *paid* and so you deal with it. You fucking deal with it.
They do not. See. Their. Hair.
Not until it's blonde again. Not until the end. |
Edit: Loving all of these takes, guys! Definitely a lot darker than I expected! | [WP] Everyone is born with blond hair. A person's hair turns brown when they lose their innocence. | It hurts to look at him now. That dark brown hair, almost the colour of dried blood. The reminder of what I did.
We're having breakfast now. He sits across from me, pushing his toast soldiers around the plate absentmindedly. I force a smile, and try and catch his eye but he ignores me. Is this always the way it will be?
"So how about that Blues game last night?" Dan says awkwardly. It's just like him to do this, to try and fix things, even the ones he never could.
He doesn't respond to Dan either, but slowly slides off his chair, eyes on the floor, starts shuffling towards the door where his schoolbag lies.
"Alex..." I say as he leaves. God, I have to say something. He turns to me, his eyes full of tears.
"Why did you do it Mum?" he asks me, the dead husk of the Christmas tree standing starkly behind him.
"Why did you tell me Santa Claus wasn't real?" | Her rheumy eyes lit up with recognition, finally. Wrinkles shifted.
"Daniel." The word itself was a smile.
"Yeah Mom, it's me." There's no description for this knot; a hack poet would undoubtedly use hair for the rope, many different shades of brown all tangled up. She says my name, finally, and something gets tugged. The nature of the knot shifts, but the balance of tightness remains.
Her hands reach out for mine, but halfway across the great divide of years, a stringy lock flops down across her face. Another tragic interruption. I silently curse the negligence of the nighttime staff, and within my knot, strands of anger, frustration, guilt and helplessness all constrict my lungs and my heart. Mother reaches up to grasp at the wayward tangle. Its hold upon her skull yields easily.
The confusion doesn't last long. This memory - this knowledge - is always among the oldest. Worry, now; panic.
"But what happened? Did something happen? Where am I?"
It can't even be called a decline anymore, or a spiral. It's a straight drop. A coppery streak of helplessness chokes my insides as I ring for the nurse, because I can't calm her down by myself, I can't bring her back by myself - no, I need help. Help from the staff - the staff I must have told a hundred fucking god-damn times, and who no doubt hear it ten-thousand fucking god-damn times from every relative, every doctor, every administrator, so what the fucking god-damn hell am I even paying for?
No mirrors, no brushes, no fancy styling, no wigs - they can always feel them. Yes, we all wish there was a chemical solution, but guess what, it's your fucking *job* and you get *paid* and so you deal with it. You fucking deal with it.
They do not. See. Their. Hair.
Not until it's blonde again. Not until the end. |
Edit: Loving all of these takes, guys! Definitely a lot darker than I expected! | [WP] Everyone is born with blond hair. A person's hair turns brown when they lose their innocence. | "Amanda, get back here...NOW." Jerry was almost shaking with anger as his daughter shuffled back into the kitchen, having just rushed by her father on her way to her room. Absent-mindedly, she tucks a lock of her dark hair behind one of her ears.
"Dad, look, let me explain..." The 16-year old stammers, holding her hands up defensively.
"No! You listen to me!" A rage Amanda had never seen before seemed to contort Jerry's face, and she swore she saw flames in his eyes. Like, REAL, flickering hellfire-type flames. "It's that boy, isn't it? Jared or...or Johnny, or whatever the fuck his name is!"
"It's Josh, Da-..."
"I don't give a FUCK what his name is, look what he did to me little girl! My precious...my INNOCENT little girl! He's gone and stolen that away from you, and for what? A few minutes of fun? Did either of you even stop to think what sort of repercussions that might have? What people might think of you? No, of course not. It's just ALL fun and games with you two, isn't it?"
"Dad, seriously, just hold on a secon-..."
"Shut up, Amanda! Just shut up. You're not seeing him again, do you hear me? Never...and dating? Hah, you can just forget about that! As far as I'm concerned, you're officially a nun, got it? I don't want to see you with a boy, I don't want to hear about you hanging out with a boy, I don't even want to hear the WORD boy until you're forty!"
Amanda slams something onto the kitchen counter. A small, rectangular box with a woman modeling her salon-styled brunette hair on the front.
"Hair dye, Dad. It's winter, brunette is in." | Her rheumy eyes lit up with recognition, finally. Wrinkles shifted.
"Daniel." The word itself was a smile.
"Yeah Mom, it's me." There's no description for this knot; a hack poet would undoubtedly use hair for the rope, many different shades of brown all tangled up. She says my name, finally, and something gets tugged. The nature of the knot shifts, but the balance of tightness remains.
Her hands reach out for mine, but halfway across the great divide of years, a stringy lock flops down across her face. Another tragic interruption. I silently curse the negligence of the nighttime staff, and within my knot, strands of anger, frustration, guilt and helplessness all constrict my lungs and my heart. Mother reaches up to grasp at the wayward tangle. Its hold upon her skull yields easily.
The confusion doesn't last long. This memory - this knowledge - is always among the oldest. Worry, now; panic.
"But what happened? Did something happen? Where am I?"
It can't even be called a decline anymore, or a spiral. It's a straight drop. A coppery streak of helplessness chokes my insides as I ring for the nurse, because I can't calm her down by myself, I can't bring her back by myself - no, I need help. Help from the staff - the staff I must have told a hundred fucking god-damn times, and who no doubt hear it ten-thousand fucking god-damn times from every relative, every doctor, every administrator, so what the fucking god-damn hell am I even paying for?
No mirrors, no brushes, no fancy styling, no wigs - they can always feel them. Yes, we all wish there was a chemical solution, but guess what, it's your fucking *job* and you get *paid* and so you deal with it. You fucking deal with it.
They do not. See. Their. Hair.
Not until it's blonde again. Not until the end. |
Edit: Loving all of these takes, guys! Definitely a lot darker than I expected! | [WP] Everyone is born with blond hair. A person's hair turns brown when they lose their innocence. | "Honey?"
Susan's voice shook a little bit. She was in the doorway of Hannah's room, chewing her nails. Brown hair spilled down her back in waves. Hers had been brown for years, like mine. But the little girl, curled up in bed under the blankets, had blonde curls that spread over the pillow. She was only six. Susan folded an arm across her belly as she looked up at me.
"Does her hair look darker to you?" Her voice was a whisper to keep from waking our daughter. I slid an arm around her shoulders, shaking my head. I was mostly humoring her as I squinted into the room.
"No," I said finally, kissing her temple. "No. She's okay."
She frowned as she leaned into me, but she didn't say more. I sighed, squeezing her small frame, and I let go. I knew why she was worried. A woman at her work had a daughter about Hannah's age, a girl named Christina. Christina's hair had turned brown two weeks ago, and almost immediately after, Christina's father was arrested for raping her. It was sick. Of course, the man's hair had been almost black, so we really shouldn't have been surprised. Still, the idea that something like that could happen to Hannah, that something so awful could cause the change so early, made the both of us uncomfortable.
Our older daughter, Sam, she was entering high school this year. We were expecting her change to come any day now, really. How could it not? Mine had, and so had Susan's. Cursing, boys (or girls), drinking. We all knew it happened. The hair was just an unfortunate indicator that made it really hard to hide. Some students used to bleach their hair to keep their parents in the dark for as long as possible. Sam couldn't do that, though, and I'm not sure if I was grateful or sad about it. Her hair was a strawberry blonde color that you just couldn't get from a box.
"Mom?"
Sam's soft voice made us both jump. She wasn't supposed to be home. She was supposed to be at a sleepover. I whirled. My heart dropped into the pit of my stomach faster than it ever had in my life.
She stood in front of us with her head down. Buried in a sweatshirt three sizes too big on her bony body and jeans stained with grass and mud and *please God don't let that be blood*. But it wasn't just that. Her hair, tied back in a rumpled ponytail, was brown.
It wasn't a light brown, either. Sometimes, if whatever triggers the change isn't too bad, you end up with a cocoa color. Susan's is like that. No, Sam's was a deep, dark brown, rich and full and terrifying.
"Oh, Sammy." Susan's voice cracked, broke. She moved forward and pulled Sam into a hug, but Sam didn't hug back. She just leaned in a little, keeping her arms tight around herself. I swallowed past a throat as dry as sandpaper, barely managing to croak out the words,
"Sam, what happened?"
She looked up at me over Susan's shoulder. I realized she was wearing make-up--it was a new thing for her, ever since junior high had ended. Eyeliner ran in streaks down her face; the lip gloss on her mouth was smudged across her chin and jaw.
"Amy has an older brother," she said, and that was all. | Her rheumy eyes lit up with recognition, finally. Wrinkles shifted.
"Daniel." The word itself was a smile.
"Yeah Mom, it's me." There's no description for this knot; a hack poet would undoubtedly use hair for the rope, many different shades of brown all tangled up. She says my name, finally, and something gets tugged. The nature of the knot shifts, but the balance of tightness remains.
Her hands reach out for mine, but halfway across the great divide of years, a stringy lock flops down across her face. Another tragic interruption. I silently curse the negligence of the nighttime staff, and within my knot, strands of anger, frustration, guilt and helplessness all constrict my lungs and my heart. Mother reaches up to grasp at the wayward tangle. Its hold upon her skull yields easily.
The confusion doesn't last long. This memory - this knowledge - is always among the oldest. Worry, now; panic.
"But what happened? Did something happen? Where am I?"
It can't even be called a decline anymore, or a spiral. It's a straight drop. A coppery streak of helplessness chokes my insides as I ring for the nurse, because I can't calm her down by myself, I can't bring her back by myself - no, I need help. Help from the staff - the staff I must have told a hundred fucking god-damn times, and who no doubt hear it ten-thousand fucking god-damn times from every relative, every doctor, every administrator, so what the fucking god-damn hell am I even paying for?
No mirrors, no brushes, no fancy styling, no wigs - they can always feel them. Yes, we all wish there was a chemical solution, but guess what, it's your fucking *job* and you get *paid* and so you deal with it. You fucking deal with it.
They do not. See. Their. Hair.
Not until it's blonde again. Not until the end. |
Edit: Loving all of these takes, guys! Definitely a lot darker than I expected! | [WP] Everyone is born with blond hair. A person's hair turns brown when they lose their innocence. | As soon as she had stepped foot in the place several minutes before, she had drawn more than a few stares from the other patrons.
Cutters fresh from a shift spend working on the soaring top of a High-Tower. Miners from the Wide Maw just outside the city limits, often competing with the cutters for loudness. And scattered among these groups of massive burly men were the Shufflers, winding down after a entire day of pushing paper around and getting yelled at by men who knew nothing.
All of them, sandy-brown, tawny-brown, ash-brown, greying-brown, streaked brown- it didn't matter. Their hair was as brown as the peeling walls of the pub they all sat in.
But not Anna's. Hers had always shimmered like the sun, just like her dad's. Girls marveled at how brilliant the lustre of her golden hair was, how pure and bright it seemed compared to their own drab brown or dirty blonde locks. Boys constantly tried getting her attention with stupid tricks or silly jokes, or even just straight up asking her out on a date. She knew it was the hair.
And she didn't really give a damn about her hair.
She glanced over her shoulder, ignoring a few looks of concern from a young man to her right just in time to see a bald man, thin and scrawny compared to the rest, get up from one of the Cutter tables and move for the door out to the dreary streetside.
Her eyes narrowed as her hand automatically reached for the vibrant green scarf wrapped around her neck. They softened only for a second, threatening to glisten before she shook her head and gritted her teeth.
The girl looked back to the half-full bottle sitting in front of her on the bar-top. She frowned, before snatching it up and taking one last swig, the acidic aftertaste lingering in her throat as she set the bottle back down with a loud thud.
She pushed back from the chair, wiping her mouth on her sleeve as she stalked through the tables, ignoring the leers, the frowns, the confused looks, the apprehension, until finally she came to the door out into the street, the frosted glass muffling the absolute downpour of rain just outside.
Just as she closed her fingers on the handle a hand grabbed her shoulder. "You won't be the same. Your hair, your soul, it'll-"
Anna shook her head. "It doesn't matter to me, Thomas." She glanced downward at the opening in her jacket at the police service pistol.
Without even turning to look at the boy, his hair almost black, she opened the door and stepped through, blinking as each fat droplet hit her face.
She kept walking down the footpath, spotting the bald man as he turned a corner past a scaffolding into a alley.
With a shaky breath she continued away from the drab little pub, feeling a tingle in her hair as her thoughts overcame her, bringing a wetness to her eyes and a shake to her steps.
"For you, dad." she muttered, fingering the handle of the pistol.
| She was sitting in the window seat, reading a novel. The sun was shining, making her golden locks appear luminescent. Deeply engrossed, she would not hear me approach. Slender fingers turned another page, and I could see eyes scanning the words behind the glare of her glasses. "Mom," the word was soft, to gently draw her out of the world the novel portrayed. "Hello sweetheart," she responded without looking, marking her place in the book, before blue eyes met mine.
Immediately her expression went from one of happy greeting to surprise, and just the smallest flash of disappointment before it settled on a sad smile. "Your hair." The two simple word spoke so much. I was 23, far older than most, yet I knew my mothers words were full of disappointment. I had lost my innocence, after over 2 decades of my existence. I had watched my peers hair turn various shades of brown, some far to early and far to dark, however mine had always stayed a lemon yellow. From my first love, to my first drink, I had kept my lemon locks, just like my mother, until today.
55 years and counting my mother has been blonde, without a hint of dark. Through her 4 years of college, and the past 30 years as a nurse and married to my father, she had held her hair color. Through the death of her father, the abuse of her step father, and her time spent as a nurse in the military, she has been unique in her hair color. Through the still birth of two children, and finally my own birth, her hair has been lemon yellow. It was always an accepted fact by my father and myself, thought to be perhaps a genetic mutation, however my recent development proved this was not the case.
I stood facing my mother, her hands crossed over too her book, waiting for me to ask the question I never have, never felt the need to ask until now. The question spoke itself, "How have you kept your innocence?" She knew what I meant, all that was held in those five words. What is innocence? How does one keep it? And most of all, how does one loose it?
"Innocence isn't naiveness. It isn't lack of life experiences. It isn't being free of guilt or free of burden. Innocence is something that you find from within. Forgiving those who have wronged you, loving those who need your love, accepting what fate has in store and embracing it. It can't be taken from you, it can only be given up. It is staying true to your beliefs even when you are not sure what they are. You made it longer than most my dear, and for that, I am so proud of you. You have faced adversity. I have been waiting for this day, and I want you to know that I love you. Whatever reason you have for your hair turning brown, I love you for who you are."
I forced a smile at my mother, one she probably saw right through, yet her eyes remained kind and loving. Innocence wasn't a state of being, it was a life choice. I should have asked her sooner, though I don't know if it would have changed anything. I couldn't bring myself to tell my mother the simple act that made me turn. The one thought, that as I thought it, I knew would change me. Dishonesty that I let into my heart, in an attempt to succeed in my career. What was done was done. I had finally joined my peers. |
Edit: Loving all of these takes, guys! Definitely a lot darker than I expected! | [WP] Everyone is born with blond hair. A person's hair turns brown when they lose their innocence. | A cake sat on his cubicle desk, with every square inch packed with a candle. 47, to be exact.
"SURPRISE!!" yelled a cohort of a dozen office-mates. "HAPPY BIRTHDAY!"
He stared at their faces, a sea of brown hair. 49 years old, but all Samuel could feel was sadness, and shame. He alone was the only person in his entire company to still have blond hair.
Somewhere around the time he was in elementary school, more and more of his classmates had started to sport brown hair. It quickly became a symbol of pride. But here he was, nearly four decades later, and still with blond hair. Getting rid of that damn blond hair would have, theoretically, been a simple feat. Watch some porn, shoot up some heroin, have dirty drunk sex, hurt someone, whatever. But for Samuel, it was easier said than done. He was one of the few who had, because of his deep religious faith, taken the Purity Oath when he was at the tender age of 5 years old.
Samuel took a bite of the cake. Red velvet, his favorite. But today, it tasted bland. It tasted like shame. | She was sitting in the window seat, reading a novel. The sun was shining, making her golden locks appear luminescent. Deeply engrossed, she would not hear me approach. Slender fingers turned another page, and I could see eyes scanning the words behind the glare of her glasses. "Mom," the word was soft, to gently draw her out of the world the novel portrayed. "Hello sweetheart," she responded without looking, marking her place in the book, before blue eyes met mine.
Immediately her expression went from one of happy greeting to surprise, and just the smallest flash of disappointment before it settled on a sad smile. "Your hair." The two simple word spoke so much. I was 23, far older than most, yet I knew my mothers words were full of disappointment. I had lost my innocence, after over 2 decades of my existence. I had watched my peers hair turn various shades of brown, some far to early and far to dark, however mine had always stayed a lemon yellow. From my first love, to my first drink, I had kept my lemon locks, just like my mother, until today.
55 years and counting my mother has been blonde, without a hint of dark. Through her 4 years of college, and the past 30 years as a nurse and married to my father, she had held her hair color. Through the death of her father, the abuse of her step father, and her time spent as a nurse in the military, she has been unique in her hair color. Through the still birth of two children, and finally my own birth, her hair has been lemon yellow. It was always an accepted fact by my father and myself, thought to be perhaps a genetic mutation, however my recent development proved this was not the case.
I stood facing my mother, her hands crossed over too her book, waiting for me to ask the question I never have, never felt the need to ask until now. The question spoke itself, "How have you kept your innocence?" She knew what I meant, all that was held in those five words. What is innocence? How does one keep it? And most of all, how does one loose it?
"Innocence isn't naiveness. It isn't lack of life experiences. It isn't being free of guilt or free of burden. Innocence is something that you find from within. Forgiving those who have wronged you, loving those who need your love, accepting what fate has in store and embracing it. It can't be taken from you, it can only be given up. It is staying true to your beliefs even when you are not sure what they are. You made it longer than most my dear, and for that, I am so proud of you. You have faced adversity. I have been waiting for this day, and I want you to know that I love you. Whatever reason you have for your hair turning brown, I love you for who you are."
I forced a smile at my mother, one she probably saw right through, yet her eyes remained kind and loving. Innocence wasn't a state of being, it was a life choice. I should have asked her sooner, though I don't know if it would have changed anything. I couldn't bring myself to tell my mother the simple act that made me turn. The one thought, that as I thought it, I knew would change me. Dishonesty that I let into my heart, in an attempt to succeed in my career. What was done was done. I had finally joined my peers. |
Edit: Loving all of these takes, guys! Definitely a lot darker than I expected! | [WP] Everyone is born with blond hair. A person's hair turns brown when they lose their innocence. | She put down the plastic train in her hand, and it rolled off the folders of her pink Sunday dress like a child down a summer hill. She spun around and looked up at me from her place on the floor. "Mom," she asked, "When did your hair turn brown?"
It was the question I always knew would come, but had never prepared for. "Oh, honey, you won't have to worry about that for a long time." I smiled at her, but pushed herself to her knees and folded her arms.
"When!" she demanded.
I gave a heavy sigh.
"I was sixteen." The memory was fresh. I hesitated and scanned an empty corner of the room so that he might not know how often I thought of it. I tongued my teeth and pretended to think. "I was coming from school-"
"Like my school?"
"Yes, honey, like your school." I reached down from my chair and put a hand on her cheek and beamed at her. She returned the smile until the memory of her question caused a new frown.
"What happened?"
"When I was sixteen, lots of people were fighting each other about the president. And my brother was walking me home from school-"
"You mean Uncle Jack?"
"No honey, my older brother. You never met him. He was walking me home from school and some men jumped out of a car and they said mean things to him and they did mean things to him." I tried to think about how to phrase the images in my head for a child. I dodged the profanities and the slurs, but what about the violence? What about when they ripped the hair from the top of his head in great clumps? How they held my face and eyes open to make me watch them break his arms and fingers. How could I tell her about his screams? His tears?
"What kind of mean things, mommy?"
"They hit him, a lot. And-" was I going to cry? I felt a lump in my throat. I hoped she couldn't hear it as I continued. "they made him very sick and hurt, and he didn't get better, I'm afraid."
"That's why your hair turned brown?"
I nodded.
"Oh." She turned back around and picked up the train.
I touched my hair. | She was sitting in the window seat, reading a novel. The sun was shining, making her golden locks appear luminescent. Deeply engrossed, she would not hear me approach. Slender fingers turned another page, and I could see eyes scanning the words behind the glare of her glasses. "Mom," the word was soft, to gently draw her out of the world the novel portrayed. "Hello sweetheart," she responded without looking, marking her place in the book, before blue eyes met mine.
Immediately her expression went from one of happy greeting to surprise, and just the smallest flash of disappointment before it settled on a sad smile. "Your hair." The two simple word spoke so much. I was 23, far older than most, yet I knew my mothers words were full of disappointment. I had lost my innocence, after over 2 decades of my existence. I had watched my peers hair turn various shades of brown, some far to early and far to dark, however mine had always stayed a lemon yellow. From my first love, to my first drink, I had kept my lemon locks, just like my mother, until today.
55 years and counting my mother has been blonde, without a hint of dark. Through her 4 years of college, and the past 30 years as a nurse and married to my father, she had held her hair color. Through the death of her father, the abuse of her step father, and her time spent as a nurse in the military, she has been unique in her hair color. Through the still birth of two children, and finally my own birth, her hair has been lemon yellow. It was always an accepted fact by my father and myself, thought to be perhaps a genetic mutation, however my recent development proved this was not the case.
I stood facing my mother, her hands crossed over too her book, waiting for me to ask the question I never have, never felt the need to ask until now. The question spoke itself, "How have you kept your innocence?" She knew what I meant, all that was held in those five words. What is innocence? How does one keep it? And most of all, how does one loose it?
"Innocence isn't naiveness. It isn't lack of life experiences. It isn't being free of guilt or free of burden. Innocence is something that you find from within. Forgiving those who have wronged you, loving those who need your love, accepting what fate has in store and embracing it. It can't be taken from you, it can only be given up. It is staying true to your beliefs even when you are not sure what they are. You made it longer than most my dear, and for that, I am so proud of you. You have faced adversity. I have been waiting for this day, and I want you to know that I love you. Whatever reason you have for your hair turning brown, I love you for who you are."
I forced a smile at my mother, one she probably saw right through, yet her eyes remained kind and loving. Innocence wasn't a state of being, it was a life choice. I should have asked her sooner, though I don't know if it would have changed anything. I couldn't bring myself to tell my mother the simple act that made me turn. The one thought, that as I thought it, I knew would change me. Dishonesty that I let into my heart, in an attempt to succeed in my career. What was done was done. I had finally joined my peers. |
Edit: Loving all of these takes, guys! Definitely a lot darker than I expected! | [WP] Everyone is born with blond hair. A person's hair turns brown when they lose their innocence. | This will be my first attempt here, so constructive criticism is appreciated.
Outside, the storm surged with an almost spiteful ferocity, but here, at home with my family, we were warm and safe. Bright flashes of lightning and peals of thunder were the only things to reach us in our home. Dad tucked my sister and me into our beds, passing his hand gently from our soft blonde hair, down to our chins. He kissed us each goodnight and turned to leave, barely consciously running a hand through his own dusty brown hair.
We had asked Mom once, why hers and Dad's hair was darker than ours. They told us that when people have their feelings hurt very badly or do very bad things, their hair would change color. We were always good, she'd explained, and so our hair was still light and blonde. Hers and Dad's were darker, but not too dark. Whatever they had done must not have been too bad.
It was late when he came. A loud crash, different than the thunder, resounded through the house. Rubbing the sleep from my eyes, I sat up, wondering what it had been. Then came the shouting, then the screaming, and finally a gunshot. The sound of Mom crying got louder as she was dragged toward us.
The man burst through our bedroom door, pulling Mom by her hair, both of them yelling. Terrified, my sister and I could only stare as he put the gun to her head. He was screaming questions at her, shouting orders, but in the screaming and the storm, I couldn't understand. A flash of lightning illuminated the room, and for the briefest of moments, I could see the man's face. He was a shambles of a man, with dark, sunken eyes and a dirty unshaven face, all hidden behind a mess of hair so dark, it was almost black.
Mom was begging him to stop, to leave us alone. I guess that wasn't the answer he wanted, because he shot my sister. I tried to get up and to go to her, wanting it all to not be true, but he turned the gun on me. I was absolutely frozen as I watched an inky darkness inching out from under my sister's trembling form. It stained her dress, her sheets, and her hair with that horrible shade until she stopped moving anymore.
Mom was screaming even louder than before, flailing and sobbing, trying to break free. The man didn't like that, so he put the gun back to her head, and yelled at her to shut up. The anger and hurt burned hot in my ears, eyes stinging with tears. Mom was barely whimpering now, and I could hear the man clearly for the first time, "You were supposed to be mine."
The gun flashed once, and a splatter of blood and auburn hair matted itself to the wall. I screamed and ran at the man, but another shot from his gun hit me in my leg. I crumpled to the floor almost instantly. He loomed over me, jeering, "What a waste. Nothing but a whore, after all these years." He raised his gun to fire one last time, and I closed my eyes to wait for the end.
A bang too loud for a gun jolted my eyes open again, and we both turned to see the utility pole outside spitting sparks and fire, and falling toward the house. It crashed through the roof with a sound almost louder than the lightning had made, and barely missed me.
It didn't miss him.
The fire was now spreading through this place that was once home to me, bathing everything in bright orange and red. The man lay pinned under the pole, gun out of reach, and a look of wild pain and desperation spread across his once shaded face. "Kid!" he shouted, "You gotta help me, kid!" The fire licked at the house, consuming everything in a familiar heat that tickled in my ears, and I walked out of the room.
I ran across the street and watched, crying. The man's screams of pain echoed in my ears as the roaring flames consumed my world. Inside, I knew that everything I had ever loved was gone now, and I reached up, running my trembling had gently down from my dark walnut hair, down to my chin, just like Dad used to. | She was sitting in the window seat, reading a novel. The sun was shining, making her golden locks appear luminescent. Deeply engrossed, she would not hear me approach. Slender fingers turned another page, and I could see eyes scanning the words behind the glare of her glasses. "Mom," the word was soft, to gently draw her out of the world the novel portrayed. "Hello sweetheart," she responded without looking, marking her place in the book, before blue eyes met mine.
Immediately her expression went from one of happy greeting to surprise, and just the smallest flash of disappointment before it settled on a sad smile. "Your hair." The two simple word spoke so much. I was 23, far older than most, yet I knew my mothers words were full of disappointment. I had lost my innocence, after over 2 decades of my existence. I had watched my peers hair turn various shades of brown, some far to early and far to dark, however mine had always stayed a lemon yellow. From my first love, to my first drink, I had kept my lemon locks, just like my mother, until today.
55 years and counting my mother has been blonde, without a hint of dark. Through her 4 years of college, and the past 30 years as a nurse and married to my father, she had held her hair color. Through the death of her father, the abuse of her step father, and her time spent as a nurse in the military, she has been unique in her hair color. Through the still birth of two children, and finally my own birth, her hair has been lemon yellow. It was always an accepted fact by my father and myself, thought to be perhaps a genetic mutation, however my recent development proved this was not the case.
I stood facing my mother, her hands crossed over too her book, waiting for me to ask the question I never have, never felt the need to ask until now. The question spoke itself, "How have you kept your innocence?" She knew what I meant, all that was held in those five words. What is innocence? How does one keep it? And most of all, how does one loose it?
"Innocence isn't naiveness. It isn't lack of life experiences. It isn't being free of guilt or free of burden. Innocence is something that you find from within. Forgiving those who have wronged you, loving those who need your love, accepting what fate has in store and embracing it. It can't be taken from you, it can only be given up. It is staying true to your beliefs even when you are not sure what they are. You made it longer than most my dear, and for that, I am so proud of you. You have faced adversity. I have been waiting for this day, and I want you to know that I love you. Whatever reason you have for your hair turning brown, I love you for who you are."
I forced a smile at my mother, one she probably saw right through, yet her eyes remained kind and loving. Innocence wasn't a state of being, it was a life choice. I should have asked her sooner, though I don't know if it would have changed anything. I couldn't bring myself to tell my mother the simple act that made me turn. The one thought, that as I thought it, I knew would change me. Dishonesty that I let into my heart, in an attempt to succeed in my career. What was done was done. I had finally joined my peers. |
Edit: Loving all of these takes, guys! Definitely a lot darker than I expected! | [WP] Everyone is born with blond hair. A person's hair turns brown when they lose their innocence. | *Note: I absolutely hate the way the word blond looks, so I refuse to ever use it. Sorry.*
"What...the...*fuck*?" Mark asked in a hushed tone. Joanna saw Anne flinch. Typical. Anne was so determined to protect her innocence, as though hearing one curse word was going to change her precious golden locks. Joanna had never been so protective of her own hair.
"I don't know!" shrieked Joanna. "It just happened."
"Has anyone else seen this?"
"No. Only you two." Mark and Anne, her closest friends, so different in personality and hair. Mark kept his brown curls cropped short, whereas Anne preferred to grow out and show off her blonde hair.
When she first met Mark, he had dirty blonde hair, but years of living with an alcoholic father and a mother who wouldn't stay put had robbed him of what little innocence he had left.
Nothing seemed to touch Anne. Joanna and Mark joked amongst themselves that her hair was only growing lighter.
Joanna had thought her hair would have turned brown ages ago. She had sex with Mark. She had stolen. She told lies and lusted and drank; she did all the things that would have made Anne gasp in horror, but her hair stayed stubbornly blonde.
Until now.
"Joanna," Anne spoke up. "I...this isn't natural."
"I know that! So what the hell do I do?"
Anne shook her head. "I don't know. I have to go."
Joanna blinked at her stupidly. "What do you mean, you have to go? Go where?"
"Home. I'm sorry, sweetie, but the way you look...I love you, you know that, but I can't be around you! I don't want that happening to me."
"Hair color isn't *catching*, Anne," Mark muttered.
Anne turned to Mark, eyes flashing. "You're one to talk. Maybe if you had been a better influence, this wouldn't have happened."
"Don't put this on me! I didn't have anything to do with it. It's unheard of."
They were arguing over her like divorced parents who didn't want custody, Joanna realized. Mark wouldn't outright say it, but he didn't want to be around her, either.
"You should cut it," Anne advised her before walking out the door. "Shave your head, wear a scarf, anything. You look...you should cover it."
Joanna looked at Mark, tears streaking her face. "What do I do?" she whispered.
Mark looked back at her uneasily. "You do what Anne says. And maybe go see someone. A doctor or something."
"You're going, too," Joanna said. She didn't need to ask. Mark was fidgeting, looking anywhere but at Joanna's hair.
"I'll be in touch," Mark said. And then he was gone.
Joanna sat in numb silence for a few minutes, then stood up suddenly and grabbed a pair of scissors from the kitchen. She would need to go to a hair dresser to do the job properly, but this would have to serve.
She stood in front of her bathroom mirror, stomach turning at the sight of herself.
The only sound came from the scissors snipping away her long, red hair. | She was sitting in the window seat, reading a novel. The sun was shining, making her golden locks appear luminescent. Deeply engrossed, she would not hear me approach. Slender fingers turned another page, and I could see eyes scanning the words behind the glare of her glasses. "Mom," the word was soft, to gently draw her out of the world the novel portrayed. "Hello sweetheart," she responded without looking, marking her place in the book, before blue eyes met mine.
Immediately her expression went from one of happy greeting to surprise, and just the smallest flash of disappointment before it settled on a sad smile. "Your hair." The two simple word spoke so much. I was 23, far older than most, yet I knew my mothers words were full of disappointment. I had lost my innocence, after over 2 decades of my existence. I had watched my peers hair turn various shades of brown, some far to early and far to dark, however mine had always stayed a lemon yellow. From my first love, to my first drink, I had kept my lemon locks, just like my mother, until today.
55 years and counting my mother has been blonde, without a hint of dark. Through her 4 years of college, and the past 30 years as a nurse and married to my father, she had held her hair color. Through the death of her father, the abuse of her step father, and her time spent as a nurse in the military, she has been unique in her hair color. Through the still birth of two children, and finally my own birth, her hair has been lemon yellow. It was always an accepted fact by my father and myself, thought to be perhaps a genetic mutation, however my recent development proved this was not the case.
I stood facing my mother, her hands crossed over too her book, waiting for me to ask the question I never have, never felt the need to ask until now. The question spoke itself, "How have you kept your innocence?" She knew what I meant, all that was held in those five words. What is innocence? How does one keep it? And most of all, how does one loose it?
"Innocence isn't naiveness. It isn't lack of life experiences. It isn't being free of guilt or free of burden. Innocence is something that you find from within. Forgiving those who have wronged you, loving those who need your love, accepting what fate has in store and embracing it. It can't be taken from you, it can only be given up. It is staying true to your beliefs even when you are not sure what they are. You made it longer than most my dear, and for that, I am so proud of you. You have faced adversity. I have been waiting for this day, and I want you to know that I love you. Whatever reason you have for your hair turning brown, I love you for who you are."
I forced a smile at my mother, one she probably saw right through, yet her eyes remained kind and loving. Innocence wasn't a state of being, it was a life choice. I should have asked her sooner, though I don't know if it would have changed anything. I couldn't bring myself to tell my mother the simple act that made me turn. The one thought, that as I thought it, I knew would change me. Dishonesty that I let into my heart, in an attempt to succeed in my career. What was done was done. I had finally joined my peers. |
Edit: Loving all of these takes, guys! Definitely a lot darker than I expected! | [WP] Everyone is born with blond hair. A person's hair turns brown when they lose their innocence. | It hurts to look at him now. That dark brown hair, almost the colour of dried blood. The reminder of what I did.
We're having breakfast now. He sits across from me, pushing his toast soldiers around the plate absentmindedly. I force a smile, and try and catch his eye but he ignores me. Is this always the way it will be?
"So how about that Blues game last night?" Dan says awkwardly. It's just like him to do this, to try and fix things, even the ones he never could.
He doesn't respond to Dan either, but slowly slides off his chair, eyes on the floor, starts shuffling towards the door where his schoolbag lies.
"Alex..." I say as he leaves. God, I have to say something. He turns to me, his eyes full of tears.
"Why did you do it Mum?" he asks me, the dead husk of the Christmas tree standing starkly behind him.
"Why did you tell me Santa Claus wasn't real?" | She was sitting in the window seat, reading a novel. The sun was shining, making her golden locks appear luminescent. Deeply engrossed, she would not hear me approach. Slender fingers turned another page, and I could see eyes scanning the words behind the glare of her glasses. "Mom," the word was soft, to gently draw her out of the world the novel portrayed. "Hello sweetheart," she responded without looking, marking her place in the book, before blue eyes met mine.
Immediately her expression went from one of happy greeting to surprise, and just the smallest flash of disappointment before it settled on a sad smile. "Your hair." The two simple word spoke so much. I was 23, far older than most, yet I knew my mothers words were full of disappointment. I had lost my innocence, after over 2 decades of my existence. I had watched my peers hair turn various shades of brown, some far to early and far to dark, however mine had always stayed a lemon yellow. From my first love, to my first drink, I had kept my lemon locks, just like my mother, until today.
55 years and counting my mother has been blonde, without a hint of dark. Through her 4 years of college, and the past 30 years as a nurse and married to my father, she had held her hair color. Through the death of her father, the abuse of her step father, and her time spent as a nurse in the military, she has been unique in her hair color. Through the still birth of two children, and finally my own birth, her hair has been lemon yellow. It was always an accepted fact by my father and myself, thought to be perhaps a genetic mutation, however my recent development proved this was not the case.
I stood facing my mother, her hands crossed over too her book, waiting for me to ask the question I never have, never felt the need to ask until now. The question spoke itself, "How have you kept your innocence?" She knew what I meant, all that was held in those five words. What is innocence? How does one keep it? And most of all, how does one loose it?
"Innocence isn't naiveness. It isn't lack of life experiences. It isn't being free of guilt or free of burden. Innocence is something that you find from within. Forgiving those who have wronged you, loving those who need your love, accepting what fate has in store and embracing it. It can't be taken from you, it can only be given up. It is staying true to your beliefs even when you are not sure what they are. You made it longer than most my dear, and for that, I am so proud of you. You have faced adversity. I have been waiting for this day, and I want you to know that I love you. Whatever reason you have for your hair turning brown, I love you for who you are."
I forced a smile at my mother, one she probably saw right through, yet her eyes remained kind and loving. Innocence wasn't a state of being, it was a life choice. I should have asked her sooner, though I don't know if it would have changed anything. I couldn't bring myself to tell my mother the simple act that made me turn. The one thought, that as I thought it, I knew would change me. Dishonesty that I let into my heart, in an attempt to succeed in my career. What was done was done. I had finally joined my peers. |
Edit: Loving all of these takes, guys! Definitely a lot darker than I expected! | [WP] Everyone is born with blond hair. A person's hair turns brown when they lose their innocence. | As soon as she had stepped foot in the place several minutes before, she had drawn more than a few stares from the other patrons.
Cutters fresh from a shift spend working on the soaring top of a High-Tower. Miners from the Wide Maw just outside the city limits, often competing with the cutters for loudness. And scattered among these groups of massive burly men were the Shufflers, winding down after a entire day of pushing paper around and getting yelled at by men who knew nothing.
All of them, sandy-brown, tawny-brown, ash-brown, greying-brown, streaked brown- it didn't matter. Their hair was as brown as the peeling walls of the pub they all sat in.
But not Anna's. Hers had always shimmered like the sun, just like her dad's. Girls marveled at how brilliant the lustre of her golden hair was, how pure and bright it seemed compared to their own drab brown or dirty blonde locks. Boys constantly tried getting her attention with stupid tricks or silly jokes, or even just straight up asking her out on a date. She knew it was the hair.
And she didn't really give a damn about her hair.
She glanced over her shoulder, ignoring a few looks of concern from a young man to her right just in time to see a bald man, thin and scrawny compared to the rest, get up from one of the Cutter tables and move for the door out to the dreary streetside.
Her eyes narrowed as her hand automatically reached for the vibrant green scarf wrapped around her neck. They softened only for a second, threatening to glisten before she shook her head and gritted her teeth.
The girl looked back to the half-full bottle sitting in front of her on the bar-top. She frowned, before snatching it up and taking one last swig, the acidic aftertaste lingering in her throat as she set the bottle back down with a loud thud.
She pushed back from the chair, wiping her mouth on her sleeve as she stalked through the tables, ignoring the leers, the frowns, the confused looks, the apprehension, until finally she came to the door out into the street, the frosted glass muffling the absolute downpour of rain just outside.
Just as she closed her fingers on the handle a hand grabbed her shoulder. "You won't be the same. Your hair, your soul, it'll-"
Anna shook her head. "It doesn't matter to me, Thomas." She glanced downward at the opening in her jacket at the police service pistol.
Without even turning to look at the boy, his hair almost black, she opened the door and stepped through, blinking as each fat droplet hit her face.
She kept walking down the footpath, spotting the bald man as he turned a corner past a scaffolding into a alley.
With a shaky breath she continued away from the drab little pub, feeling a tingle in her hair as her thoughts overcame her, bringing a wetness to her eyes and a shake to her steps.
"For you, dad." she muttered, fingering the handle of the pistol.
| It was the Great War. 100,000 young men volunteered. Of the 25,000 that returned, not one came back the same.
It on us our freedom, but cost us our innocence. |
Edit: Loving all of these takes, guys! Definitely a lot darker than I expected! | [WP] Everyone is born with blond hair. A person's hair turns brown when they lose their innocence. | A cake sat on his cubicle desk, with every square inch packed with a candle. 47, to be exact.
"SURPRISE!!" yelled a cohort of a dozen office-mates. "HAPPY BIRTHDAY!"
He stared at their faces, a sea of brown hair. 49 years old, but all Samuel could feel was sadness, and shame. He alone was the only person in his entire company to still have blond hair.
Somewhere around the time he was in elementary school, more and more of his classmates had started to sport brown hair. It quickly became a symbol of pride. But here he was, nearly four decades later, and still with blond hair. Getting rid of that damn blond hair would have, theoretically, been a simple feat. Watch some porn, shoot up some heroin, have dirty drunk sex, hurt someone, whatever. But for Samuel, it was easier said than done. He was one of the few who had, because of his deep religious faith, taken the Purity Oath when he was at the tender age of 5 years old.
Samuel took a bite of the cake. Red velvet, his favorite. But today, it tasted bland. It tasted like shame. | It was the Great War. 100,000 young men volunteered. Of the 25,000 that returned, not one came back the same.
It on us our freedom, but cost us our innocence. |
Edit: Loving all of these takes, guys! Definitely a lot darker than I expected! | [WP] Everyone is born with blond hair. A person's hair turns brown when they lose their innocence. | She put down the plastic train in her hand, and it rolled off the folders of her pink Sunday dress like a child down a summer hill. She spun around and looked up at me from her place on the floor. "Mom," she asked, "When did your hair turn brown?"
It was the question I always knew would come, but had never prepared for. "Oh, honey, you won't have to worry about that for a long time." I smiled at her, but pushed herself to her knees and folded her arms.
"When!" she demanded.
I gave a heavy sigh.
"I was sixteen." The memory was fresh. I hesitated and scanned an empty corner of the room so that he might not know how often I thought of it. I tongued my teeth and pretended to think. "I was coming from school-"
"Like my school?"
"Yes, honey, like your school." I reached down from my chair and put a hand on her cheek and beamed at her. She returned the smile until the memory of her question caused a new frown.
"What happened?"
"When I was sixteen, lots of people were fighting each other about the president. And my brother was walking me home from school-"
"You mean Uncle Jack?"
"No honey, my older brother. You never met him. He was walking me home from school and some men jumped out of a car and they said mean things to him and they did mean things to him." I tried to think about how to phrase the images in my head for a child. I dodged the profanities and the slurs, but what about the violence? What about when they ripped the hair from the top of his head in great clumps? How they held my face and eyes open to make me watch them break his arms and fingers. How could I tell her about his screams? His tears?
"What kind of mean things, mommy?"
"They hit him, a lot. And-" was I going to cry? I felt a lump in my throat. I hoped she couldn't hear it as I continued. "they made him very sick and hurt, and he didn't get better, I'm afraid."
"That's why your hair turned brown?"
I nodded.
"Oh." She turned back around and picked up the train.
I touched my hair. | It was the Great War. 100,000 young men volunteered. Of the 25,000 that returned, not one came back the same.
It on us our freedom, but cost us our innocence. |
Edit: Loving all of these takes, guys! Definitely a lot darker than I expected! | [WP] Everyone is born with blond hair. A person's hair turns brown when they lose their innocence. | This will be my first attempt here, so constructive criticism is appreciated.
Outside, the storm surged with an almost spiteful ferocity, but here, at home with my family, we were warm and safe. Bright flashes of lightning and peals of thunder were the only things to reach us in our home. Dad tucked my sister and me into our beds, passing his hand gently from our soft blonde hair, down to our chins. He kissed us each goodnight and turned to leave, barely consciously running a hand through his own dusty brown hair.
We had asked Mom once, why hers and Dad's hair was darker than ours. They told us that when people have their feelings hurt very badly or do very bad things, their hair would change color. We were always good, she'd explained, and so our hair was still light and blonde. Hers and Dad's were darker, but not too dark. Whatever they had done must not have been too bad.
It was late when he came. A loud crash, different than the thunder, resounded through the house. Rubbing the sleep from my eyes, I sat up, wondering what it had been. Then came the shouting, then the screaming, and finally a gunshot. The sound of Mom crying got louder as she was dragged toward us.
The man burst through our bedroom door, pulling Mom by her hair, both of them yelling. Terrified, my sister and I could only stare as he put the gun to her head. He was screaming questions at her, shouting orders, but in the screaming and the storm, I couldn't understand. A flash of lightning illuminated the room, and for the briefest of moments, I could see the man's face. He was a shambles of a man, with dark, sunken eyes and a dirty unshaven face, all hidden behind a mess of hair so dark, it was almost black.
Mom was begging him to stop, to leave us alone. I guess that wasn't the answer he wanted, because he shot my sister. I tried to get up and to go to her, wanting it all to not be true, but he turned the gun on me. I was absolutely frozen as I watched an inky darkness inching out from under my sister's trembling form. It stained her dress, her sheets, and her hair with that horrible shade until she stopped moving anymore.
Mom was screaming even louder than before, flailing and sobbing, trying to break free. The man didn't like that, so he put the gun back to her head, and yelled at her to shut up. The anger and hurt burned hot in my ears, eyes stinging with tears. Mom was barely whimpering now, and I could hear the man clearly for the first time, "You were supposed to be mine."
The gun flashed once, and a splatter of blood and auburn hair matted itself to the wall. I screamed and ran at the man, but another shot from his gun hit me in my leg. I crumpled to the floor almost instantly. He loomed over me, jeering, "What a waste. Nothing but a whore, after all these years." He raised his gun to fire one last time, and I closed my eyes to wait for the end.
A bang too loud for a gun jolted my eyes open again, and we both turned to see the utility pole outside spitting sparks and fire, and falling toward the house. It crashed through the roof with a sound almost louder than the lightning had made, and barely missed me.
It didn't miss him.
The fire was now spreading through this place that was once home to me, bathing everything in bright orange and red. The man lay pinned under the pole, gun out of reach, and a look of wild pain and desperation spread across his once shaded face. "Kid!" he shouted, "You gotta help me, kid!" The fire licked at the house, consuming everything in a familiar heat that tickled in my ears, and I walked out of the room.
I ran across the street and watched, crying. The man's screams of pain echoed in my ears as the roaring flames consumed my world. Inside, I knew that everything I had ever loved was gone now, and I reached up, running my trembling had gently down from my dark walnut hair, down to my chin, just like Dad used to. | It was the Great War. 100,000 young men volunteered. Of the 25,000 that returned, not one came back the same.
It on us our freedom, but cost us our innocence. |
Edit: Loving all of these takes, guys! Definitely a lot darker than I expected! | [WP] Everyone is born with blond hair. A person's hair turns brown when they lose their innocence. | *Note: I absolutely hate the way the word blond looks, so I refuse to ever use it. Sorry.*
"What...the...*fuck*?" Mark asked in a hushed tone. Joanna saw Anne flinch. Typical. Anne was so determined to protect her innocence, as though hearing one curse word was going to change her precious golden locks. Joanna had never been so protective of her own hair.
"I don't know!" shrieked Joanna. "It just happened."
"Has anyone else seen this?"
"No. Only you two." Mark and Anne, her closest friends, so different in personality and hair. Mark kept his brown curls cropped short, whereas Anne preferred to grow out and show off her blonde hair.
When she first met Mark, he had dirty blonde hair, but years of living with an alcoholic father and a mother who wouldn't stay put had robbed him of what little innocence he had left.
Nothing seemed to touch Anne. Joanna and Mark joked amongst themselves that her hair was only growing lighter.
Joanna had thought her hair would have turned brown ages ago. She had sex with Mark. She had stolen. She told lies and lusted and drank; she did all the things that would have made Anne gasp in horror, but her hair stayed stubbornly blonde.
Until now.
"Joanna," Anne spoke up. "I...this isn't natural."
"I know that! So what the hell do I do?"
Anne shook her head. "I don't know. I have to go."
Joanna blinked at her stupidly. "What do you mean, you have to go? Go where?"
"Home. I'm sorry, sweetie, but the way you look...I love you, you know that, but I can't be around you! I don't want that happening to me."
"Hair color isn't *catching*, Anne," Mark muttered.
Anne turned to Mark, eyes flashing. "You're one to talk. Maybe if you had been a better influence, this wouldn't have happened."
"Don't put this on me! I didn't have anything to do with it. It's unheard of."
They were arguing over her like divorced parents who didn't want custody, Joanna realized. Mark wouldn't outright say it, but he didn't want to be around her, either.
"You should cut it," Anne advised her before walking out the door. "Shave your head, wear a scarf, anything. You look...you should cover it."
Joanna looked at Mark, tears streaking her face. "What do I do?" she whispered.
Mark looked back at her uneasily. "You do what Anne says. And maybe go see someone. A doctor or something."
"You're going, too," Joanna said. She didn't need to ask. Mark was fidgeting, looking anywhere but at Joanna's hair.
"I'll be in touch," Mark said. And then he was gone.
Joanna sat in numb silence for a few minutes, then stood up suddenly and grabbed a pair of scissors from the kitchen. She would need to go to a hair dresser to do the job properly, but this would have to serve.
She stood in front of her bathroom mirror, stomach turning at the sight of herself.
The only sound came from the scissors snipping away her long, red hair. | It was the Great War. 100,000 young men volunteered. Of the 25,000 that returned, not one came back the same.
It on us our freedom, but cost us our innocence. |
Edit: Loving all of these takes, guys! Definitely a lot darker than I expected! | [WP] Everyone is born with blond hair. A person's hair turns brown when they lose their innocence. | As soon as she had stepped foot in the place several minutes before, she had drawn more than a few stares from the other patrons.
Cutters fresh from a shift spend working on the soaring top of a High-Tower. Miners from the Wide Maw just outside the city limits, often competing with the cutters for loudness. And scattered among these groups of massive burly men were the Shufflers, winding down after a entire day of pushing paper around and getting yelled at by men who knew nothing.
All of them, sandy-brown, tawny-brown, ash-brown, greying-brown, streaked brown- it didn't matter. Their hair was as brown as the peeling walls of the pub they all sat in.
But not Anna's. Hers had always shimmered like the sun, just like her dad's. Girls marveled at how brilliant the lustre of her golden hair was, how pure and bright it seemed compared to their own drab brown or dirty blonde locks. Boys constantly tried getting her attention with stupid tricks or silly jokes, or even just straight up asking her out on a date. She knew it was the hair.
And she didn't really give a damn about her hair.
She glanced over her shoulder, ignoring a few looks of concern from a young man to her right just in time to see a bald man, thin and scrawny compared to the rest, get up from one of the Cutter tables and move for the door out to the dreary streetside.
Her eyes narrowed as her hand automatically reached for the vibrant green scarf wrapped around her neck. They softened only for a second, threatening to glisten before she shook her head and gritted her teeth.
The girl looked back to the half-full bottle sitting in front of her on the bar-top. She frowned, before snatching it up and taking one last swig, the acidic aftertaste lingering in her throat as she set the bottle back down with a loud thud.
She pushed back from the chair, wiping her mouth on her sleeve as she stalked through the tables, ignoring the leers, the frowns, the confused looks, the apprehension, until finally she came to the door out into the street, the frosted glass muffling the absolute downpour of rain just outside.
Just as she closed her fingers on the handle a hand grabbed her shoulder. "You won't be the same. Your hair, your soul, it'll-"
Anna shook her head. "It doesn't matter to me, Thomas." She glanced downward at the opening in her jacket at the police service pistol.
Without even turning to look at the boy, his hair almost black, she opened the door and stepped through, blinking as each fat droplet hit her face.
She kept walking down the footpath, spotting the bald man as he turned a corner past a scaffolding into a alley.
With a shaky breath she continued away from the drab little pub, feeling a tingle in her hair as her thoughts overcame her, bringing a wetness to her eyes and a shake to her steps.
"For you, dad." she muttered, fingering the handle of the pistol.
| The light flickered in the dawn. Hundreds of people watched from a hillside as the city burned white and yellow and red in the dim sunrise. Soon, nothing recognizable remained, except the few stone and concrete walls between homes. The walls now separated nothing but piles of ash. As the sun rose, the last sounds of death and destruction faded into the early morning light. The sun had set the night before on a city of golden heads - but in the light of day, all the hair was brown. |
Edit: Loving all of these takes, guys! Definitely a lot darker than I expected! | [WP] Everyone is born with blond hair. A person's hair turns brown when they lose their innocence. | A cake sat on his cubicle desk, with every square inch packed with a candle. 47, to be exact.
"SURPRISE!!" yelled a cohort of a dozen office-mates. "HAPPY BIRTHDAY!"
He stared at their faces, a sea of brown hair. 49 years old, but all Samuel could feel was sadness, and shame. He alone was the only person in his entire company to still have blond hair.
Somewhere around the time he was in elementary school, more and more of his classmates had started to sport brown hair. It quickly became a symbol of pride. But here he was, nearly four decades later, and still with blond hair. Getting rid of that damn blond hair would have, theoretically, been a simple feat. Watch some porn, shoot up some heroin, have dirty drunk sex, hurt someone, whatever. But for Samuel, it was easier said than done. He was one of the few who had, because of his deep religious faith, taken the Purity Oath when he was at the tender age of 5 years old.
Samuel took a bite of the cake. Red velvet, his favorite. But today, it tasted bland. It tasted like shame. | The light flickered in the dawn. Hundreds of people watched from a hillside as the city burned white and yellow and red in the dim sunrise. Soon, nothing recognizable remained, except the few stone and concrete walls between homes. The walls now separated nothing but piles of ash. As the sun rose, the last sounds of death and destruction faded into the early morning light. The sun had set the night before on a city of golden heads - but in the light of day, all the hair was brown. |
Edit: Loving all of these takes, guys! Definitely a lot darker than I expected! | [WP] Everyone is born with blond hair. A person's hair turns brown when they lose their innocence. | She put down the plastic train in her hand, and it rolled off the folders of her pink Sunday dress like a child down a summer hill. She spun around and looked up at me from her place on the floor. "Mom," she asked, "When did your hair turn brown?"
It was the question I always knew would come, but had never prepared for. "Oh, honey, you won't have to worry about that for a long time." I smiled at her, but pushed herself to her knees and folded her arms.
"When!" she demanded.
I gave a heavy sigh.
"I was sixteen." The memory was fresh. I hesitated and scanned an empty corner of the room so that he might not know how often I thought of it. I tongued my teeth and pretended to think. "I was coming from school-"
"Like my school?"
"Yes, honey, like your school." I reached down from my chair and put a hand on her cheek and beamed at her. She returned the smile until the memory of her question caused a new frown.
"What happened?"
"When I was sixteen, lots of people were fighting each other about the president. And my brother was walking me home from school-"
"You mean Uncle Jack?"
"No honey, my older brother. You never met him. He was walking me home from school and some men jumped out of a car and they said mean things to him and they did mean things to him." I tried to think about how to phrase the images in my head for a child. I dodged the profanities and the slurs, but what about the violence? What about when they ripped the hair from the top of his head in great clumps? How they held my face and eyes open to make me watch them break his arms and fingers. How could I tell her about his screams? His tears?
"What kind of mean things, mommy?"
"They hit him, a lot. And-" was I going to cry? I felt a lump in my throat. I hoped she couldn't hear it as I continued. "they made him very sick and hurt, and he didn't get better, I'm afraid."
"That's why your hair turned brown?"
I nodded.
"Oh." She turned back around and picked up the train.
I touched my hair. | The light flickered in the dawn. Hundreds of people watched from a hillside as the city burned white and yellow and red in the dim sunrise. Soon, nothing recognizable remained, except the few stone and concrete walls between homes. The walls now separated nothing but piles of ash. As the sun rose, the last sounds of death and destruction faded into the early morning light. The sun had set the night before on a city of golden heads - but in the light of day, all the hair was brown. |
Edit: Loving all of these takes, guys! Definitely a lot darker than I expected! | [WP] Everyone is born with blond hair. A person's hair turns brown when they lose their innocence. | *Note: I absolutely hate the way the word blond looks, so I refuse to ever use it. Sorry.*
"What...the...*fuck*?" Mark asked in a hushed tone. Joanna saw Anne flinch. Typical. Anne was so determined to protect her innocence, as though hearing one curse word was going to change her precious golden locks. Joanna had never been so protective of her own hair.
"I don't know!" shrieked Joanna. "It just happened."
"Has anyone else seen this?"
"No. Only you two." Mark and Anne, her closest friends, so different in personality and hair. Mark kept his brown curls cropped short, whereas Anne preferred to grow out and show off her blonde hair.
When she first met Mark, he had dirty blonde hair, but years of living with an alcoholic father and a mother who wouldn't stay put had robbed him of what little innocence he had left.
Nothing seemed to touch Anne. Joanna and Mark joked amongst themselves that her hair was only growing lighter.
Joanna had thought her hair would have turned brown ages ago. She had sex with Mark. She had stolen. She told lies and lusted and drank; she did all the things that would have made Anne gasp in horror, but her hair stayed stubbornly blonde.
Until now.
"Joanna," Anne spoke up. "I...this isn't natural."
"I know that! So what the hell do I do?"
Anne shook her head. "I don't know. I have to go."
Joanna blinked at her stupidly. "What do you mean, you have to go? Go where?"
"Home. I'm sorry, sweetie, but the way you look...I love you, you know that, but I can't be around you! I don't want that happening to me."
"Hair color isn't *catching*, Anne," Mark muttered.
Anne turned to Mark, eyes flashing. "You're one to talk. Maybe if you had been a better influence, this wouldn't have happened."
"Don't put this on me! I didn't have anything to do with it. It's unheard of."
They were arguing over her like divorced parents who didn't want custody, Joanna realized. Mark wouldn't outright say it, but he didn't want to be around her, either.
"You should cut it," Anne advised her before walking out the door. "Shave your head, wear a scarf, anything. You look...you should cover it."
Joanna looked at Mark, tears streaking her face. "What do I do?" she whispered.
Mark looked back at her uneasily. "You do what Anne says. And maybe go see someone. A doctor or something."
"You're going, too," Joanna said. She didn't need to ask. Mark was fidgeting, looking anywhere but at Joanna's hair.
"I'll be in touch," Mark said. And then he was gone.
Joanna sat in numb silence for a few minutes, then stood up suddenly and grabbed a pair of scissors from the kitchen. She would need to go to a hair dresser to do the job properly, but this would have to serve.
She stood in front of her bathroom mirror, stomach turning at the sight of herself.
The only sound came from the scissors snipping away her long, red hair. | The light flickered in the dawn. Hundreds of people watched from a hillside as the city burned white and yellow and red in the dim sunrise. Soon, nothing recognizable remained, except the few stone and concrete walls between homes. The walls now separated nothing but piles of ash. As the sun rose, the last sounds of death and destruction faded into the early morning light. The sun had set the night before on a city of golden heads - but in the light of day, all the hair was brown. |
Edit: Loving all of these takes, guys! Definitely a lot darker than I expected! | [WP] Everyone is born with blond hair. A person's hair turns brown when they lose their innocence. | A cake sat on his cubicle desk, with every square inch packed with a candle. 47, to be exact.
"SURPRISE!!" yelled a cohort of a dozen office-mates. "HAPPY BIRTHDAY!"
He stared at their faces, a sea of brown hair. 49 years old, but all Samuel could feel was sadness, and shame. He alone was the only person in his entire company to still have blond hair.
Somewhere around the time he was in elementary school, more and more of his classmates had started to sport brown hair. It quickly became a symbol of pride. But here he was, nearly four decades later, and still with blond hair. Getting rid of that damn blond hair would have, theoretically, been a simple feat. Watch some porn, shoot up some heroin, have dirty drunk sex, hurt someone, whatever. But for Samuel, it was easier said than done. He was one of the few who had, because of his deep religious faith, taken the Purity Oath when he was at the tender age of 5 years old.
Samuel took a bite of the cake. Red velvet, his favorite. But today, it tasted bland. It tasted like shame. | All males have brown hair. They envy each other, the darker the hair the better. Boys with blonde hair are teased. Magazines display men with black hair. But girls on the other hand are humiliated for their brown hair. No one wants to date a brunette, and advertisements show women with platinum blonde hair in compromising positions (ironic right?). Hair dye is one of the most popular products as girls often wish to return to their original purity. But not me. My hair turned brown when I was 16 and has been getting darker ever since.
I was walking down a street when i bumped into a blondie.
"Hey, what where your going morena."
I simply walked passed her pointing my middle finger
"Brown is the new Black, blondie" |
Edit: Loving all of these takes, guys! Definitely a lot darker than I expected! | [WP] Everyone is born with blond hair. A person's hair turns brown when they lose their innocence. | She put down the plastic train in her hand, and it rolled off the folders of her pink Sunday dress like a child down a summer hill. She spun around and looked up at me from her place on the floor. "Mom," she asked, "When did your hair turn brown?"
It was the question I always knew would come, but had never prepared for. "Oh, honey, you won't have to worry about that for a long time." I smiled at her, but pushed herself to her knees and folded her arms.
"When!" she demanded.
I gave a heavy sigh.
"I was sixteen." The memory was fresh. I hesitated and scanned an empty corner of the room so that he might not know how often I thought of it. I tongued my teeth and pretended to think. "I was coming from school-"
"Like my school?"
"Yes, honey, like your school." I reached down from my chair and put a hand on her cheek and beamed at her. She returned the smile until the memory of her question caused a new frown.
"What happened?"
"When I was sixteen, lots of people were fighting each other about the president. And my brother was walking me home from school-"
"You mean Uncle Jack?"
"No honey, my older brother. You never met him. He was walking me home from school and some men jumped out of a car and they said mean things to him and they did mean things to him." I tried to think about how to phrase the images in my head for a child. I dodged the profanities and the slurs, but what about the violence? What about when they ripped the hair from the top of his head in great clumps? How they held my face and eyes open to make me watch them break his arms and fingers. How could I tell her about his screams? His tears?
"What kind of mean things, mommy?"
"They hit him, a lot. And-" was I going to cry? I felt a lump in my throat. I hoped she couldn't hear it as I continued. "they made him very sick and hurt, and he didn't get better, I'm afraid."
"That's why your hair turned brown?"
I nodded.
"Oh." She turned back around and picked up the train.
I touched my hair. | All males have brown hair. They envy each other, the darker the hair the better. Boys with blonde hair are teased. Magazines display men with black hair. But girls on the other hand are humiliated for their brown hair. No one wants to date a brunette, and advertisements show women with platinum blonde hair in compromising positions (ironic right?). Hair dye is one of the most popular products as girls often wish to return to their original purity. But not me. My hair turned brown when I was 16 and has been getting darker ever since.
I was walking down a street when i bumped into a blondie.
"Hey, what where your going morena."
I simply walked passed her pointing my middle finger
"Brown is the new Black, blondie" |
Edit: Loving all of these takes, guys! Definitely a lot darker than I expected! | [WP] Everyone is born with blond hair. A person's hair turns brown when they lose their innocence. | *Note: I absolutely hate the way the word blond looks, so I refuse to ever use it. Sorry.*
"What...the...*fuck*?" Mark asked in a hushed tone. Joanna saw Anne flinch. Typical. Anne was so determined to protect her innocence, as though hearing one curse word was going to change her precious golden locks. Joanna had never been so protective of her own hair.
"I don't know!" shrieked Joanna. "It just happened."
"Has anyone else seen this?"
"No. Only you two." Mark and Anne, her closest friends, so different in personality and hair. Mark kept his brown curls cropped short, whereas Anne preferred to grow out and show off her blonde hair.
When she first met Mark, he had dirty blonde hair, but years of living with an alcoholic father and a mother who wouldn't stay put had robbed him of what little innocence he had left.
Nothing seemed to touch Anne. Joanna and Mark joked amongst themselves that her hair was only growing lighter.
Joanna had thought her hair would have turned brown ages ago. She had sex with Mark. She had stolen. She told lies and lusted and drank; she did all the things that would have made Anne gasp in horror, but her hair stayed stubbornly blonde.
Until now.
"Joanna," Anne spoke up. "I...this isn't natural."
"I know that! So what the hell do I do?"
Anne shook her head. "I don't know. I have to go."
Joanna blinked at her stupidly. "What do you mean, you have to go? Go where?"
"Home. I'm sorry, sweetie, but the way you look...I love you, you know that, but I can't be around you! I don't want that happening to me."
"Hair color isn't *catching*, Anne," Mark muttered.
Anne turned to Mark, eyes flashing. "You're one to talk. Maybe if you had been a better influence, this wouldn't have happened."
"Don't put this on me! I didn't have anything to do with it. It's unheard of."
They were arguing over her like divorced parents who didn't want custody, Joanna realized. Mark wouldn't outright say it, but he didn't want to be around her, either.
"You should cut it," Anne advised her before walking out the door. "Shave your head, wear a scarf, anything. You look...you should cover it."
Joanna looked at Mark, tears streaking her face. "What do I do?" she whispered.
Mark looked back at her uneasily. "You do what Anne says. And maybe go see someone. A doctor or something."
"You're going, too," Joanna said. She didn't need to ask. Mark was fidgeting, looking anywhere but at Joanna's hair.
"I'll be in touch," Mark said. And then he was gone.
Joanna sat in numb silence for a few minutes, then stood up suddenly and grabbed a pair of scissors from the kitchen. She would need to go to a hair dresser to do the job properly, but this would have to serve.
She stood in front of her bathroom mirror, stomach turning at the sight of herself.
The only sound came from the scissors snipping away her long, red hair. | All males have brown hair. They envy each other, the darker the hair the better. Boys with blonde hair are teased. Magazines display men with black hair. But girls on the other hand are humiliated for their brown hair. No one wants to date a brunette, and advertisements show women with platinum blonde hair in compromising positions (ironic right?). Hair dye is one of the most popular products as girls often wish to return to their original purity. But not me. My hair turned brown when I was 16 and has been getting darker ever since.
I was walking down a street when i bumped into a blondie.
"Hey, what where your going morena."
I simply walked passed her pointing my middle finger
"Brown is the new Black, blondie" |
Edit: Loving all of these takes, guys! Definitely a lot darker than I expected! | [WP] Everyone is born with blond hair. A person's hair turns brown when they lose their innocence. | A cake sat on his cubicle desk, with every square inch packed with a candle. 47, to be exact.
"SURPRISE!!" yelled a cohort of a dozen office-mates. "HAPPY BIRTHDAY!"
He stared at their faces, a sea of brown hair. 49 years old, but all Samuel could feel was sadness, and shame. He alone was the only person in his entire company to still have blond hair.
Somewhere around the time he was in elementary school, more and more of his classmates had started to sport brown hair. It quickly became a symbol of pride. But here he was, nearly four decades later, and still with blond hair. Getting rid of that damn blond hair would have, theoretically, been a simple feat. Watch some porn, shoot up some heroin, have dirty drunk sex, hurt someone, whatever. But for Samuel, it was easier said than done. He was one of the few who had, because of his deep religious faith, taken the Purity Oath when he was at the tender age of 5 years old.
Samuel took a bite of the cake. Red velvet, his favorite. But today, it tasted bland. It tasted like shame. | She stared in the mirror. Fog outside the warm bathroom this morning. Freckles and wrinkles back at her. Freckles from her parents, wrinkles from smiling. Her lips were closed. Together. She saw them and opened them with a smile. She loved her smile. She loved her blond hair.
She had been locked in that room for as long as she could remember. Her hair was once down to her shoulders but now it was down past her waist. Playful memories of silver scissors dancing with brown combs whispered in her memory but she blinked them away.
She always wanted to be a hairdresser. They were always happy. Smiling. Smiling and helping. But the silver scissors always frightened her. What if they cut too low?
She closed her lips and smiled. She stared at her lips. Stop whispering she thought. Don't make the grey hairs come back! Her wrinkles smiled. Don't think about the grey hair. She opened up a box of blonde hair dye and turned the faucet on.
She looked away from the mirror. The running water the only sound in the room. "Don't whisper," she sang. "Whispers bring the grey hairs," she sang into the water. "Whispers bring the grey hairs but the water only knows."
There was nothing wrong with your hair turning brown. Everyone's hair turned brown. Lucy looked into the mirror again. Her hands wet, she picked up the hair dye. "Why am I the only one getting old?" Her whispers were getting louder. |
Edit: Loving all of these takes, guys! Definitely a lot darker than I expected! | [WP] Everyone is born with blond hair. A person's hair turns brown when they lose their innocence. | She put down the plastic train in her hand, and it rolled off the folders of her pink Sunday dress like a child down a summer hill. She spun around and looked up at me from her place on the floor. "Mom," she asked, "When did your hair turn brown?"
It was the question I always knew would come, but had never prepared for. "Oh, honey, you won't have to worry about that for a long time." I smiled at her, but pushed herself to her knees and folded her arms.
"When!" she demanded.
I gave a heavy sigh.
"I was sixteen." The memory was fresh. I hesitated and scanned an empty corner of the room so that he might not know how often I thought of it. I tongued my teeth and pretended to think. "I was coming from school-"
"Like my school?"
"Yes, honey, like your school." I reached down from my chair and put a hand on her cheek and beamed at her. She returned the smile until the memory of her question caused a new frown.
"What happened?"
"When I was sixteen, lots of people were fighting each other about the president. And my brother was walking me home from school-"
"You mean Uncle Jack?"
"No honey, my older brother. You never met him. He was walking me home from school and some men jumped out of a car and they said mean things to him and they did mean things to him." I tried to think about how to phrase the images in my head for a child. I dodged the profanities and the slurs, but what about the violence? What about when they ripped the hair from the top of his head in great clumps? How they held my face and eyes open to make me watch them break his arms and fingers. How could I tell her about his screams? His tears?
"What kind of mean things, mommy?"
"They hit him, a lot. And-" was I going to cry? I felt a lump in my throat. I hoped she couldn't hear it as I continued. "they made him very sick and hurt, and he didn't get better, I'm afraid."
"That's why your hair turned brown?"
I nodded.
"Oh." She turned back around and picked up the train.
I touched my hair. | She stared in the mirror. Fog outside the warm bathroom this morning. Freckles and wrinkles back at her. Freckles from her parents, wrinkles from smiling. Her lips were closed. Together. She saw them and opened them with a smile. She loved her smile. She loved her blond hair.
She had been locked in that room for as long as she could remember. Her hair was once down to her shoulders but now it was down past her waist. Playful memories of silver scissors dancing with brown combs whispered in her memory but she blinked them away.
She always wanted to be a hairdresser. They were always happy. Smiling. Smiling and helping. But the silver scissors always frightened her. What if they cut too low?
She closed her lips and smiled. She stared at her lips. Stop whispering she thought. Don't make the grey hairs come back! Her wrinkles smiled. Don't think about the grey hair. She opened up a box of blonde hair dye and turned the faucet on.
She looked away from the mirror. The running water the only sound in the room. "Don't whisper," she sang. "Whispers bring the grey hairs," she sang into the water. "Whispers bring the grey hairs but the water only knows."
There was nothing wrong with your hair turning brown. Everyone's hair turned brown. Lucy looked into the mirror again. Her hands wet, she picked up the hair dye. "Why am I the only one getting old?" Her whispers were getting louder. |
Edit: Loving all of these takes, guys! Definitely a lot darker than I expected! | [WP] Everyone is born with blond hair. A person's hair turns brown when they lose their innocence. | This will be my first attempt here, so constructive criticism is appreciated.
Outside, the storm surged with an almost spiteful ferocity, but here, at home with my family, we were warm and safe. Bright flashes of lightning and peals of thunder were the only things to reach us in our home. Dad tucked my sister and me into our beds, passing his hand gently from our soft blonde hair, down to our chins. He kissed us each goodnight and turned to leave, barely consciously running a hand through his own dusty brown hair.
We had asked Mom once, why hers and Dad's hair was darker than ours. They told us that when people have their feelings hurt very badly or do very bad things, their hair would change color. We were always good, she'd explained, and so our hair was still light and blonde. Hers and Dad's were darker, but not too dark. Whatever they had done must not have been too bad.
It was late when he came. A loud crash, different than the thunder, resounded through the house. Rubbing the sleep from my eyes, I sat up, wondering what it had been. Then came the shouting, then the screaming, and finally a gunshot. The sound of Mom crying got louder as she was dragged toward us.
The man burst through our bedroom door, pulling Mom by her hair, both of them yelling. Terrified, my sister and I could only stare as he put the gun to her head. He was screaming questions at her, shouting orders, but in the screaming and the storm, I couldn't understand. A flash of lightning illuminated the room, and for the briefest of moments, I could see the man's face. He was a shambles of a man, with dark, sunken eyes and a dirty unshaven face, all hidden behind a mess of hair so dark, it was almost black.
Mom was begging him to stop, to leave us alone. I guess that wasn't the answer he wanted, because he shot my sister. I tried to get up and to go to her, wanting it all to not be true, but he turned the gun on me. I was absolutely frozen as I watched an inky darkness inching out from under my sister's trembling form. It stained her dress, her sheets, and her hair with that horrible shade until she stopped moving anymore.
Mom was screaming even louder than before, flailing and sobbing, trying to break free. The man didn't like that, so he put the gun back to her head, and yelled at her to shut up. The anger and hurt burned hot in my ears, eyes stinging with tears. Mom was barely whimpering now, and I could hear the man clearly for the first time, "You were supposed to be mine."
The gun flashed once, and a splatter of blood and auburn hair matted itself to the wall. I screamed and ran at the man, but another shot from his gun hit me in my leg. I crumpled to the floor almost instantly. He loomed over me, jeering, "What a waste. Nothing but a whore, after all these years." He raised his gun to fire one last time, and I closed my eyes to wait for the end.
A bang too loud for a gun jolted my eyes open again, and we both turned to see the utility pole outside spitting sparks and fire, and falling toward the house. It crashed through the roof with a sound almost louder than the lightning had made, and barely missed me.
It didn't miss him.
The fire was now spreading through this place that was once home to me, bathing everything in bright orange and red. The man lay pinned under the pole, gun out of reach, and a look of wild pain and desperation spread across his once shaded face. "Kid!" he shouted, "You gotta help me, kid!" The fire licked at the house, consuming everything in a familiar heat that tickled in my ears, and I walked out of the room.
I ran across the street and watched, crying. The man's screams of pain echoed in my ears as the roaring flames consumed my world. Inside, I knew that everything I had ever loved was gone now, and I reached up, running my trembling had gently down from my dark walnut hair, down to my chin, just like Dad used to. | It was my first day of college when I saw Anne for the first time.
I was the only blonde in class. In fact, I was probably the only blonde among all the undergrads. I wasn't very surprised though. By the end of high school, every one had turned brunette except for me. Although I always acted sheepish about it, deep inside I had a strong sense of pride, like I have won some imaginary game. My friends would tease me about it every now and then, but I didn't care. Something inside me knew I would go my entire life blonde. My friends could have been jealous of that fact.
But I digress. As I was saying, I saw Anne for the first time that day. I was the only blonde in class, and I was feeling self conscious about it. I was sinking deeper into my seat not to be noticed. A few people looked surprised to see a blonde in class. I was embarrassingly looking around when my eyes met hers.
She was a brunette, but she had the lightest brown hair I have ever seen. She had it in a pony tail that danced around every time she turned her head. Our eyes met, and there was this immediate electric shock in my heart. She gave me an encouraging smile. Hang in there, buddy.
Weeks have passed, and my crush on her was building up. The first crush I have ever had, in fact. We were good acquaintances at this point. We'd chat every once in a while, and every time we did, I'd go back to my dorm room and replay every word she had said, every twinkle in her eyes, every smile on her face.
That was when I figured I had to tell her how I felt. I was Skyping with my friend Sam. Sam was my best friend, and we went to the same high school. Fun fact: Sam was the last person to turn brunette in our high school (excluding me of course). He was a very innocent kid for the longest time, and one day, things changed. I could never understand what happened to him. I remember one day after he had turned brunette, he was driving us to the mall, when some guy in a U-Haul cut in front of him. He lowered the window, flipped him off, and started screaming an endless stream of curse words at the top of his lungs. I was shocked. What happened to him? I knew he had changed in a fundamental way.
Anyway, I was telling him about Anne. After teasing me about it for half an hour (I totally expected him to!), he encouraged me to tell her how I felt about her. He told me she must have had feelings for me, since girls always knew it when you had a crush on them. Just the fact she was still being friendly to me meant she was sending me a signal.
I talked to Anne the next day. I was shy and stuttering and I was a complete mess (I had never asked a girl out before!). I told her I had feelings for her, and I was hoping she would go to dinner with me some time to know each other better. She laughed and said her boyfriend probably wouldn't like that idea very much. My heart sank and I was immediately crushed. Everything she said after this point felt like it was happening in slow motion. She said she had been in a relationship for a couple of years, and although she didn't think they were very compatible, she was still giving it a try. She said she liked me, and would still love for us to be friends. She told me she didn't feel comfortable being single at the time. I knew this was the end of the line. I couldn't have taken it any other way. I would never try to separate a girl from her boyfriend. That was pure evil. Game over!
Crushed, I went home. Sitting alone at my laptop, I put on some stupid sad songs. I replayed that encounter so many times, realizing that was a major crossroads in my life. Had she said yes, there would be a date I would be looking for. There would be excitement and dreams of a happy future with her. But right now, I was a depressed kid sitting in his dorm room alone with no goals and nothing to look forward to.
I talked to Sam on Skype again, and told him everything. He told me I was an idiot. She clearly liked me but was afraid to leave her boyfriend for me when she didn't know me that well. He told me I should just hang around. If she was not interested, she would have never talked about her boyfriend and her being incompatible. I told Sam that was simply not me. There was no way I'd sacrifice my integrity for a girl.
He very calmly ended the conversation was... "You are too innocent, dude. If you had had more experience. If you had played the field a little. You and her could have been in bed right now you idiot. You blew it".
I knew I did. Every time I saw her in class afterwards, I'd avoid her eyes, and look to the floor. When she tried to talk to me, I'd quickly end it and walk away.
I knew I had changed, though. I had this look in my eyes now. The look of the guy who lived his worst nightmare. I knew I needed to have more experience. I needed to play the field, so that when the right woman comes by I'd be ready.
I walked to Borders that night (They had not gone bankrupt yet at the time), and was browsing around. I found this scary leather black book. The book title was written in gold on the side. "The Art of Seduction, by Mystery". My hands were shaking but I reached out for the book and pulled it out. I needed to learn. I was angry and confused, but I was determined. Girls are to become nothing but a number from this point forwarded. I needed to number close, kiss close and F close as many girls as I could from this point forward (number close, kiss close and F close were all terms the book used for getting a girl's number, kissing a girl, and well, going to bed with a girl). I had a feeling in my heart, I was becoming a man now. I felt tender in my scalp and cold in my heart. Faint cracking noise was all around me. Is it static electricity in the store? Is it the carpet?
I went to the cashier with my book, worried he would criticize me for buying a seduction book (specially I was a blond), but he didn't give me a second look. I bought it and walked out.
Something felt off, though. How comes the guy was totally ok with a blonde buying such a book? I'd imagine he must have said something. A tease... A comment... anything. The reality sank in when i checked my reflection in the glass windows of the store. I was looking at brunette me. I had turned!
I was the last of my peers to turn, and what a waste that was. I wish I was the first.
I would have to make up for all the time I had lost. I glanced at my book, and looked at my reflection in the window again. There was a devilish smirk on my face now! |
Edit: Loving all of these takes, guys! Definitely a lot darker than I expected! | [WP] Everyone is born with blond hair. A person's hair turns brown when they lose their innocence. | Everywhere I looked I saw alternating seas of blond and brown crossing the busy intersections. Like busy termites they paraded around their mundane little lives without a care in the world. I have to admit that part of me wondered how the change took place at first.
Most of the people had "turned" by the time they left high school. I remember the scandals that would cause since the moment someone's hair turned, everyone knew that something had happened. Of course, some were much better at theorycrafting than others. Rumors swirled about the new girl Sandra the moment she walked into our rotten halls. Her hair was a rich shade of platinum, reflecting the sunlight that she could see reflecting off of the drooling boys who she graced with her presence. The other girls weren't pleased with this, and envied the doe-eyed innocence that she exuded. She was as outgoing and friendly as any other person, except unlike the tainted bitches that tried their hardest to infect her with their misery, she was genuine about everything she did. I've seen her angry, upset, and frustrated at the numerous attempts of these girls but no matter what they did, her golden locks would stay the same.
When she got together with Randy the exchange student, everyone was sure that the change was going to happen. Who could blame them? Most of the dupes I knew were eager to hook up with the first girl or guy who said yes. We waited anxiously for the day to come but it never did, not even after they had broken up. Randy was furious when it happened, and I was there to witness the rapid change in his hue. Even as that happened there was no change in Sandra. Eventually people just gave up in trying to figure her out. She was nice, after all, and she never bothered anybody.
It wasn't until I saw her again years later that I had an idea of how she kept her locks in such a pristine shape. While lazily flipping through channels one day, I saw her on some video footage being aired on the news. People were baffled by how such a person could calmly walk over to someone, slash their throat, and then go back to eating dinner as if nothing had happened. All that really captivated me was that even when she went through that, there was still no change in her hair at all. | It was my first day of college when I saw Anne for the first time.
I was the only blonde in class. In fact, I was probably the only blonde among all the undergrads. I wasn't very surprised though. By the end of high school, every one had turned brunette except for me. Although I always acted sheepish about it, deep inside I had a strong sense of pride, like I have won some imaginary game. My friends would tease me about it every now and then, but I didn't care. Something inside me knew I would go my entire life blonde. My friends could have been jealous of that fact.
But I digress. As I was saying, I saw Anne for the first time that day. I was the only blonde in class, and I was feeling self conscious about it. I was sinking deeper into my seat not to be noticed. A few people looked surprised to see a blonde in class. I was embarrassingly looking around when my eyes met hers.
She was a brunette, but she had the lightest brown hair I have ever seen. She had it in a pony tail that danced around every time she turned her head. Our eyes met, and there was this immediate electric shock in my heart. She gave me an encouraging smile. Hang in there, buddy.
Weeks have passed, and my crush on her was building up. The first crush I have ever had, in fact. We were good acquaintances at this point. We'd chat every once in a while, and every time we did, I'd go back to my dorm room and replay every word she had said, every twinkle in her eyes, every smile on her face.
That was when I figured I had to tell her how I felt. I was Skyping with my friend Sam. Sam was my best friend, and we went to the same high school. Fun fact: Sam was the last person to turn brunette in our high school (excluding me of course). He was a very innocent kid for the longest time, and one day, things changed. I could never understand what happened to him. I remember one day after he had turned brunette, he was driving us to the mall, when some guy in a U-Haul cut in front of him. He lowered the window, flipped him off, and started screaming an endless stream of curse words at the top of his lungs. I was shocked. What happened to him? I knew he had changed in a fundamental way.
Anyway, I was telling him about Anne. After teasing me about it for half an hour (I totally expected him to!), he encouraged me to tell her how I felt about her. He told me she must have had feelings for me, since girls always knew it when you had a crush on them. Just the fact she was still being friendly to me meant she was sending me a signal.
I talked to Anne the next day. I was shy and stuttering and I was a complete mess (I had never asked a girl out before!). I told her I had feelings for her, and I was hoping she would go to dinner with me some time to know each other better. She laughed and said her boyfriend probably wouldn't like that idea very much. My heart sank and I was immediately crushed. Everything she said after this point felt like it was happening in slow motion. She said she had been in a relationship for a couple of years, and although she didn't think they were very compatible, she was still giving it a try. She said she liked me, and would still love for us to be friends. She told me she didn't feel comfortable being single at the time. I knew this was the end of the line. I couldn't have taken it any other way. I would never try to separate a girl from her boyfriend. That was pure evil. Game over!
Crushed, I went home. Sitting alone at my laptop, I put on some stupid sad songs. I replayed that encounter so many times, realizing that was a major crossroads in my life. Had she said yes, there would be a date I would be looking for. There would be excitement and dreams of a happy future with her. But right now, I was a depressed kid sitting in his dorm room alone with no goals and nothing to look forward to.
I talked to Sam on Skype again, and told him everything. He told me I was an idiot. She clearly liked me but was afraid to leave her boyfriend for me when she didn't know me that well. He told me I should just hang around. If she was not interested, she would have never talked about her boyfriend and her being incompatible. I told Sam that was simply not me. There was no way I'd sacrifice my integrity for a girl.
He very calmly ended the conversation was... "You are too innocent, dude. If you had had more experience. If you had played the field a little. You and her could have been in bed right now you idiot. You blew it".
I knew I did. Every time I saw her in class afterwards, I'd avoid her eyes, and look to the floor. When she tried to talk to me, I'd quickly end it and walk away.
I knew I had changed, though. I had this look in my eyes now. The look of the guy who lived his worst nightmare. I knew I needed to have more experience. I needed to play the field, so that when the right woman comes by I'd be ready.
I walked to Borders that night (They had not gone bankrupt yet at the time), and was browsing around. I found this scary leather black book. The book title was written in gold on the side. "The Art of Seduction, by Mystery". My hands were shaking but I reached out for the book and pulled it out. I needed to learn. I was angry and confused, but I was determined. Girls are to become nothing but a number from this point forwarded. I needed to number close, kiss close and F close as many girls as I could from this point forward (number close, kiss close and F close were all terms the book used for getting a girl's number, kissing a girl, and well, going to bed with a girl). I had a feeling in my heart, I was becoming a man now. I felt tender in my scalp and cold in my heart. Faint cracking noise was all around me. Is it static electricity in the store? Is it the carpet?
I went to the cashier with my book, worried he would criticize me for buying a seduction book (specially I was a blond), but he didn't give me a second look. I bought it and walked out.
Something felt off, though. How comes the guy was totally ok with a blonde buying such a book? I'd imagine he must have said something. A tease... A comment... anything. The reality sank in when i checked my reflection in the glass windows of the store. I was looking at brunette me. I had turned!
I was the last of my peers to turn, and what a waste that was. I wish I was the first.
I would have to make up for all the time I had lost. I glanced at my book, and looked at my reflection in the window again. There was a devilish smirk on my face now! |
Edit: Loving all of these takes, guys! Definitely a lot darker than I expected! | [WP] Everyone is born with blond hair. A person's hair turns brown when they lose their innocence. | A hundred strokes every night before bed. This was my hair routine every day. I was thirteen and one of the few remaining people in my school year with their hair still blonde. Though I was teased about it, a small piece of me was happy about it as the thought of losing the blondness scared me.
Dad was out on a business trip and I missed by bedtime story which he told me every night. I know it was childish but I couldn't sleep without it. I figured mom was good to do the job so I went across the hallway to mother's room.
There she sat on the floor. The floor with shards of a broken bottle. One hand with one of the shards of glass and the other hand being coloured red from the blood oozing from her wrist.
She looked at me with her panda eyes and mumbled my name. She grabbed my hair when I ran to her. Then she fell to the floor. My hair turned chocolate. | It was my first day of college when I saw Anne for the first time.
I was the only blonde in class. In fact, I was probably the only blonde among all the undergrads. I wasn't very surprised though. By the end of high school, every one had turned brunette except for me. Although I always acted sheepish about it, deep inside I had a strong sense of pride, like I have won some imaginary game. My friends would tease me about it every now and then, but I didn't care. Something inside me knew I would go my entire life blonde. My friends could have been jealous of that fact.
But I digress. As I was saying, I saw Anne for the first time that day. I was the only blonde in class, and I was feeling self conscious about it. I was sinking deeper into my seat not to be noticed. A few people looked surprised to see a blonde in class. I was embarrassingly looking around when my eyes met hers.
She was a brunette, but she had the lightest brown hair I have ever seen. She had it in a pony tail that danced around every time she turned her head. Our eyes met, and there was this immediate electric shock in my heart. She gave me an encouraging smile. Hang in there, buddy.
Weeks have passed, and my crush on her was building up. The first crush I have ever had, in fact. We were good acquaintances at this point. We'd chat every once in a while, and every time we did, I'd go back to my dorm room and replay every word she had said, every twinkle in her eyes, every smile on her face.
That was when I figured I had to tell her how I felt. I was Skyping with my friend Sam. Sam was my best friend, and we went to the same high school. Fun fact: Sam was the last person to turn brunette in our high school (excluding me of course). He was a very innocent kid for the longest time, and one day, things changed. I could never understand what happened to him. I remember one day after he had turned brunette, he was driving us to the mall, when some guy in a U-Haul cut in front of him. He lowered the window, flipped him off, and started screaming an endless stream of curse words at the top of his lungs. I was shocked. What happened to him? I knew he had changed in a fundamental way.
Anyway, I was telling him about Anne. After teasing me about it for half an hour (I totally expected him to!), he encouraged me to tell her how I felt about her. He told me she must have had feelings for me, since girls always knew it when you had a crush on them. Just the fact she was still being friendly to me meant she was sending me a signal.
I talked to Anne the next day. I was shy and stuttering and I was a complete mess (I had never asked a girl out before!). I told her I had feelings for her, and I was hoping she would go to dinner with me some time to know each other better. She laughed and said her boyfriend probably wouldn't like that idea very much. My heart sank and I was immediately crushed. Everything she said after this point felt like it was happening in slow motion. She said she had been in a relationship for a couple of years, and although she didn't think they were very compatible, she was still giving it a try. She said she liked me, and would still love for us to be friends. She told me she didn't feel comfortable being single at the time. I knew this was the end of the line. I couldn't have taken it any other way. I would never try to separate a girl from her boyfriend. That was pure evil. Game over!
Crushed, I went home. Sitting alone at my laptop, I put on some stupid sad songs. I replayed that encounter so many times, realizing that was a major crossroads in my life. Had she said yes, there would be a date I would be looking for. There would be excitement and dreams of a happy future with her. But right now, I was a depressed kid sitting in his dorm room alone with no goals and nothing to look forward to.
I talked to Sam on Skype again, and told him everything. He told me I was an idiot. She clearly liked me but was afraid to leave her boyfriend for me when she didn't know me that well. He told me I should just hang around. If she was not interested, she would have never talked about her boyfriend and her being incompatible. I told Sam that was simply not me. There was no way I'd sacrifice my integrity for a girl.
He very calmly ended the conversation was... "You are too innocent, dude. If you had had more experience. If you had played the field a little. You and her could have been in bed right now you idiot. You blew it".
I knew I did. Every time I saw her in class afterwards, I'd avoid her eyes, and look to the floor. When she tried to talk to me, I'd quickly end it and walk away.
I knew I had changed, though. I had this look in my eyes now. The look of the guy who lived his worst nightmare. I knew I needed to have more experience. I needed to play the field, so that when the right woman comes by I'd be ready.
I walked to Borders that night (They had not gone bankrupt yet at the time), and was browsing around. I found this scary leather black book. The book title was written in gold on the side. "The Art of Seduction, by Mystery". My hands were shaking but I reached out for the book and pulled it out. I needed to learn. I was angry and confused, but I was determined. Girls are to become nothing but a number from this point forwarded. I needed to number close, kiss close and F close as many girls as I could from this point forward (number close, kiss close and F close were all terms the book used for getting a girl's number, kissing a girl, and well, going to bed with a girl). I had a feeling in my heart, I was becoming a man now. I felt tender in my scalp and cold in my heart. Faint cracking noise was all around me. Is it static electricity in the store? Is it the carpet?
I went to the cashier with my book, worried he would criticize me for buying a seduction book (specially I was a blond), but he didn't give me a second look. I bought it and walked out.
Something felt off, though. How comes the guy was totally ok with a blonde buying such a book? I'd imagine he must have said something. A tease... A comment... anything. The reality sank in when i checked my reflection in the glass windows of the store. I was looking at brunette me. I had turned!
I was the last of my peers to turn, and what a waste that was. I wish I was the first.
I would have to make up for all the time I had lost. I glanced at my book, and looked at my reflection in the window again. There was a devilish smirk on my face now! |
Edit: Loving all of these takes, guys! Definitely a lot darker than I expected! | [WP] Everyone is born with blond hair. A person's hair turns brown when they lose their innocence. | She was blonde yesterday.
Blondness is a rare trait in this city. Sure, every now and then, you'll run into someone with locks of wheaty gold, but brown was the shade of this town. Even I had browned last year. I tugged at my dark curls, a reminder of that glorious night during which my blonde was taken in a bout of rough, passionate browning.
She was different. With all the brown that went on in town, she never quite felt it necessary. She got her kicks in things that only made her more blonde. Springy curls of sunlight bounced off her head and everyone could tell that she was blonde by choice.
I searched for her in the hallways this morning, seeking out the yellow glow that was always so easy to spot. Instead, I found a different glow. There she was, brown springs bouncing in the wind, a smile on a face that shone as bright as her hair once did.
In that moment, we all knew that she was brown by choice.
| It was my first day of college when I saw Anne for the first time.
I was the only blonde in class. In fact, I was probably the only blonde among all the undergrads. I wasn't very surprised though. By the end of high school, every one had turned brunette except for me. Although I always acted sheepish about it, deep inside I had a strong sense of pride, like I have won some imaginary game. My friends would tease me about it every now and then, but I didn't care. Something inside me knew I would go my entire life blonde. My friends could have been jealous of that fact.
But I digress. As I was saying, I saw Anne for the first time that day. I was the only blonde in class, and I was feeling self conscious about it. I was sinking deeper into my seat not to be noticed. A few people looked surprised to see a blonde in class. I was embarrassingly looking around when my eyes met hers.
She was a brunette, but she had the lightest brown hair I have ever seen. She had it in a pony tail that danced around every time she turned her head. Our eyes met, and there was this immediate electric shock in my heart. She gave me an encouraging smile. Hang in there, buddy.
Weeks have passed, and my crush on her was building up. The first crush I have ever had, in fact. We were good acquaintances at this point. We'd chat every once in a while, and every time we did, I'd go back to my dorm room and replay every word she had said, every twinkle in her eyes, every smile on her face.
That was when I figured I had to tell her how I felt. I was Skyping with my friend Sam. Sam was my best friend, and we went to the same high school. Fun fact: Sam was the last person to turn brunette in our high school (excluding me of course). He was a very innocent kid for the longest time, and one day, things changed. I could never understand what happened to him. I remember one day after he had turned brunette, he was driving us to the mall, when some guy in a U-Haul cut in front of him. He lowered the window, flipped him off, and started screaming an endless stream of curse words at the top of his lungs. I was shocked. What happened to him? I knew he had changed in a fundamental way.
Anyway, I was telling him about Anne. After teasing me about it for half an hour (I totally expected him to!), he encouraged me to tell her how I felt about her. He told me she must have had feelings for me, since girls always knew it when you had a crush on them. Just the fact she was still being friendly to me meant she was sending me a signal.
I talked to Anne the next day. I was shy and stuttering and I was a complete mess (I had never asked a girl out before!). I told her I had feelings for her, and I was hoping she would go to dinner with me some time to know each other better. She laughed and said her boyfriend probably wouldn't like that idea very much. My heart sank and I was immediately crushed. Everything she said after this point felt like it was happening in slow motion. She said she had been in a relationship for a couple of years, and although she didn't think they were very compatible, she was still giving it a try. She said she liked me, and would still love for us to be friends. She told me she didn't feel comfortable being single at the time. I knew this was the end of the line. I couldn't have taken it any other way. I would never try to separate a girl from her boyfriend. That was pure evil. Game over!
Crushed, I went home. Sitting alone at my laptop, I put on some stupid sad songs. I replayed that encounter so many times, realizing that was a major crossroads in my life. Had she said yes, there would be a date I would be looking for. There would be excitement and dreams of a happy future with her. But right now, I was a depressed kid sitting in his dorm room alone with no goals and nothing to look forward to.
I talked to Sam on Skype again, and told him everything. He told me I was an idiot. She clearly liked me but was afraid to leave her boyfriend for me when she didn't know me that well. He told me I should just hang around. If she was not interested, she would have never talked about her boyfriend and her being incompatible. I told Sam that was simply not me. There was no way I'd sacrifice my integrity for a girl.
He very calmly ended the conversation was... "You are too innocent, dude. If you had had more experience. If you had played the field a little. You and her could have been in bed right now you idiot. You blew it".
I knew I did. Every time I saw her in class afterwards, I'd avoid her eyes, and look to the floor. When she tried to talk to me, I'd quickly end it and walk away.
I knew I had changed, though. I had this look in my eyes now. The look of the guy who lived his worst nightmare. I knew I needed to have more experience. I needed to play the field, so that when the right woman comes by I'd be ready.
I walked to Borders that night (They had not gone bankrupt yet at the time), and was browsing around. I found this scary leather black book. The book title was written in gold on the side. "The Art of Seduction, by Mystery". My hands were shaking but I reached out for the book and pulled it out. I needed to learn. I was angry and confused, but I was determined. Girls are to become nothing but a number from this point forwarded. I needed to number close, kiss close and F close as many girls as I could from this point forward (number close, kiss close and F close were all terms the book used for getting a girl's number, kissing a girl, and well, going to bed with a girl). I had a feeling in my heart, I was becoming a man now. I felt tender in my scalp and cold in my heart. Faint cracking noise was all around me. Is it static electricity in the store? Is it the carpet?
I went to the cashier with my book, worried he would criticize me for buying a seduction book (specially I was a blond), but he didn't give me a second look. I bought it and walked out.
Something felt off, though. How comes the guy was totally ok with a blonde buying such a book? I'd imagine he must have said something. A tease... A comment... anything. The reality sank in when i checked my reflection in the glass windows of the store. I was looking at brunette me. I had turned!
I was the last of my peers to turn, and what a waste that was. I wish I was the first.
I would have to make up for all the time I had lost. I glanced at my book, and looked at my reflection in the window again. There was a devilish smirk on my face now! |
Edit: Loving all of these takes, guys! Definitely a lot darker than I expected! | [WP] Everyone is born with blond hair. A person's hair turns brown when they lose their innocence. | *Note: I absolutely hate the way the word blond looks, so I refuse to ever use it. Sorry.*
"What...the...*fuck*?" Mark asked in a hushed tone. Joanna saw Anne flinch. Typical. Anne was so determined to protect her innocence, as though hearing one curse word was going to change her precious golden locks. Joanna had never been so protective of her own hair.
"I don't know!" shrieked Joanna. "It just happened."
"Has anyone else seen this?"
"No. Only you two." Mark and Anne, her closest friends, so different in personality and hair. Mark kept his brown curls cropped short, whereas Anne preferred to grow out and show off her blonde hair.
When she first met Mark, he had dirty blonde hair, but years of living with an alcoholic father and a mother who wouldn't stay put had robbed him of what little innocence he had left.
Nothing seemed to touch Anne. Joanna and Mark joked amongst themselves that her hair was only growing lighter.
Joanna had thought her hair would have turned brown ages ago. She had sex with Mark. She had stolen. She told lies and lusted and drank; she did all the things that would have made Anne gasp in horror, but her hair stayed stubbornly blonde.
Until now.
"Joanna," Anne spoke up. "I...this isn't natural."
"I know that! So what the hell do I do?"
Anne shook her head. "I don't know. I have to go."
Joanna blinked at her stupidly. "What do you mean, you have to go? Go where?"
"Home. I'm sorry, sweetie, but the way you look...I love you, you know that, but I can't be around you! I don't want that happening to me."
"Hair color isn't *catching*, Anne," Mark muttered.
Anne turned to Mark, eyes flashing. "You're one to talk. Maybe if you had been a better influence, this wouldn't have happened."
"Don't put this on me! I didn't have anything to do with it. It's unheard of."
They were arguing over her like divorced parents who didn't want custody, Joanna realized. Mark wouldn't outright say it, but he didn't want to be around her, either.
"You should cut it," Anne advised her before walking out the door. "Shave your head, wear a scarf, anything. You look...you should cover it."
Joanna looked at Mark, tears streaking her face. "What do I do?" she whispered.
Mark looked back at her uneasily. "You do what Anne says. And maybe go see someone. A doctor or something."
"You're going, too," Joanna said. She didn't need to ask. Mark was fidgeting, looking anywhere but at Joanna's hair.
"I'll be in touch," Mark said. And then he was gone.
Joanna sat in numb silence for a few minutes, then stood up suddenly and grabbed a pair of scissors from the kitchen. She would need to go to a hair dresser to do the job properly, but this would have to serve.
She stood in front of her bathroom mirror, stomach turning at the sight of herself.
The only sound came from the scissors snipping away her long, red hair. | It was my first day of college when I saw Anne for the first time.
I was the only blonde in class. In fact, I was probably the only blonde among all the undergrads. I wasn't very surprised though. By the end of high school, every one had turned brunette except for me. Although I always acted sheepish about it, deep inside I had a strong sense of pride, like I have won some imaginary game. My friends would tease me about it every now and then, but I didn't care. Something inside me knew I would go my entire life blonde. My friends could have been jealous of that fact.
But I digress. As I was saying, I saw Anne for the first time that day. I was the only blonde in class, and I was feeling self conscious about it. I was sinking deeper into my seat not to be noticed. A few people looked surprised to see a blonde in class. I was embarrassingly looking around when my eyes met hers.
She was a brunette, but she had the lightest brown hair I have ever seen. She had it in a pony tail that danced around every time she turned her head. Our eyes met, and there was this immediate electric shock in my heart. She gave me an encouraging smile. Hang in there, buddy.
Weeks have passed, and my crush on her was building up. The first crush I have ever had, in fact. We were good acquaintances at this point. We'd chat every once in a while, and every time we did, I'd go back to my dorm room and replay every word she had said, every twinkle in her eyes, every smile on her face.
That was when I figured I had to tell her how I felt. I was Skyping with my friend Sam. Sam was my best friend, and we went to the same high school. Fun fact: Sam was the last person to turn brunette in our high school (excluding me of course). He was a very innocent kid for the longest time, and one day, things changed. I could never understand what happened to him. I remember one day after he had turned brunette, he was driving us to the mall, when some guy in a U-Haul cut in front of him. He lowered the window, flipped him off, and started screaming an endless stream of curse words at the top of his lungs. I was shocked. What happened to him? I knew he had changed in a fundamental way.
Anyway, I was telling him about Anne. After teasing me about it for half an hour (I totally expected him to!), he encouraged me to tell her how I felt about her. He told me she must have had feelings for me, since girls always knew it when you had a crush on them. Just the fact she was still being friendly to me meant she was sending me a signal.
I talked to Anne the next day. I was shy and stuttering and I was a complete mess (I had never asked a girl out before!). I told her I had feelings for her, and I was hoping she would go to dinner with me some time to know each other better. She laughed and said her boyfriend probably wouldn't like that idea very much. My heart sank and I was immediately crushed. Everything she said after this point felt like it was happening in slow motion. She said she had been in a relationship for a couple of years, and although she didn't think they were very compatible, she was still giving it a try. She said she liked me, and would still love for us to be friends. She told me she didn't feel comfortable being single at the time. I knew this was the end of the line. I couldn't have taken it any other way. I would never try to separate a girl from her boyfriend. That was pure evil. Game over!
Crushed, I went home. Sitting alone at my laptop, I put on some stupid sad songs. I replayed that encounter so many times, realizing that was a major crossroads in my life. Had she said yes, there would be a date I would be looking for. There would be excitement and dreams of a happy future with her. But right now, I was a depressed kid sitting in his dorm room alone with no goals and nothing to look forward to.
I talked to Sam on Skype again, and told him everything. He told me I was an idiot. She clearly liked me but was afraid to leave her boyfriend for me when she didn't know me that well. He told me I should just hang around. If she was not interested, she would have never talked about her boyfriend and her being incompatible. I told Sam that was simply not me. There was no way I'd sacrifice my integrity for a girl.
He very calmly ended the conversation was... "You are too innocent, dude. If you had had more experience. If you had played the field a little. You and her could have been in bed right now you idiot. You blew it".
I knew I did. Every time I saw her in class afterwards, I'd avoid her eyes, and look to the floor. When she tried to talk to me, I'd quickly end it and walk away.
I knew I had changed, though. I had this look in my eyes now. The look of the guy who lived his worst nightmare. I knew I needed to have more experience. I needed to play the field, so that when the right woman comes by I'd be ready.
I walked to Borders that night (They had not gone bankrupt yet at the time), and was browsing around. I found this scary leather black book. The book title was written in gold on the side. "The Art of Seduction, by Mystery". My hands were shaking but I reached out for the book and pulled it out. I needed to learn. I was angry and confused, but I was determined. Girls are to become nothing but a number from this point forwarded. I needed to number close, kiss close and F close as many girls as I could from this point forward (number close, kiss close and F close were all terms the book used for getting a girl's number, kissing a girl, and well, going to bed with a girl). I had a feeling in my heart, I was becoming a man now. I felt tender in my scalp and cold in my heart. Faint cracking noise was all around me. Is it static electricity in the store? Is it the carpet?
I went to the cashier with my book, worried he would criticize me for buying a seduction book (specially I was a blond), but he didn't give me a second look. I bought it and walked out.
Something felt off, though. How comes the guy was totally ok with a blonde buying such a book? I'd imagine he must have said something. A tease... A comment... anything. The reality sank in when i checked my reflection in the glass windows of the store. I was looking at brunette me. I had turned!
I was the last of my peers to turn, and what a waste that was. I wish I was the first.
I would have to make up for all the time I had lost. I glanced at my book, and looked at my reflection in the window again. There was a devilish smirk on my face now! |
Edit: Loving all of these takes, guys! Definitely a lot darker than I expected! | [WP] Everyone is born with blond hair. A person's hair turns brown when they lose their innocence. | It hurts to look at him now. That dark brown hair, almost the colour of dried blood. The reminder of what I did.
We're having breakfast now. He sits across from me, pushing his toast soldiers around the plate absentmindedly. I force a smile, and try and catch his eye but he ignores me. Is this always the way it will be?
"So how about that Blues game last night?" Dan says awkwardly. It's just like him to do this, to try and fix things, even the ones he never could.
He doesn't respond to Dan either, but slowly slides off his chair, eyes on the floor, starts shuffling towards the door where his schoolbag lies.
"Alex..." I say as he leaves. God, I have to say something. He turns to me, his eyes full of tears.
"Why did you do it Mum?" he asks me, the dead husk of the Christmas tree standing starkly behind him.
"Why did you tell me Santa Claus wasn't real?" | It was my first day of college when I saw Anne for the first time.
I was the only blonde in class. In fact, I was probably the only blonde among all the undergrads. I wasn't very surprised though. By the end of high school, every one had turned brunette except for me. Although I always acted sheepish about it, deep inside I had a strong sense of pride, like I have won some imaginary game. My friends would tease me about it every now and then, but I didn't care. Something inside me knew I would go my entire life blonde. My friends could have been jealous of that fact.
But I digress. As I was saying, I saw Anne for the first time that day. I was the only blonde in class, and I was feeling self conscious about it. I was sinking deeper into my seat not to be noticed. A few people looked surprised to see a blonde in class. I was embarrassingly looking around when my eyes met hers.
She was a brunette, but she had the lightest brown hair I have ever seen. She had it in a pony tail that danced around every time she turned her head. Our eyes met, and there was this immediate electric shock in my heart. She gave me an encouraging smile. Hang in there, buddy.
Weeks have passed, and my crush on her was building up. The first crush I have ever had, in fact. We were good acquaintances at this point. We'd chat every once in a while, and every time we did, I'd go back to my dorm room and replay every word she had said, every twinkle in her eyes, every smile on her face.
That was when I figured I had to tell her how I felt. I was Skyping with my friend Sam. Sam was my best friend, and we went to the same high school. Fun fact: Sam was the last person to turn brunette in our high school (excluding me of course). He was a very innocent kid for the longest time, and one day, things changed. I could never understand what happened to him. I remember one day after he had turned brunette, he was driving us to the mall, when some guy in a U-Haul cut in front of him. He lowered the window, flipped him off, and started screaming an endless stream of curse words at the top of his lungs. I was shocked. What happened to him? I knew he had changed in a fundamental way.
Anyway, I was telling him about Anne. After teasing me about it for half an hour (I totally expected him to!), he encouraged me to tell her how I felt about her. He told me she must have had feelings for me, since girls always knew it when you had a crush on them. Just the fact she was still being friendly to me meant she was sending me a signal.
I talked to Anne the next day. I was shy and stuttering and I was a complete mess (I had never asked a girl out before!). I told her I had feelings for her, and I was hoping she would go to dinner with me some time to know each other better. She laughed and said her boyfriend probably wouldn't like that idea very much. My heart sank and I was immediately crushed. Everything she said after this point felt like it was happening in slow motion. She said she had been in a relationship for a couple of years, and although she didn't think they were very compatible, she was still giving it a try. She said she liked me, and would still love for us to be friends. She told me she didn't feel comfortable being single at the time. I knew this was the end of the line. I couldn't have taken it any other way. I would never try to separate a girl from her boyfriend. That was pure evil. Game over!
Crushed, I went home. Sitting alone at my laptop, I put on some stupid sad songs. I replayed that encounter so many times, realizing that was a major crossroads in my life. Had she said yes, there would be a date I would be looking for. There would be excitement and dreams of a happy future with her. But right now, I was a depressed kid sitting in his dorm room alone with no goals and nothing to look forward to.
I talked to Sam on Skype again, and told him everything. He told me I was an idiot. She clearly liked me but was afraid to leave her boyfriend for me when she didn't know me that well. He told me I should just hang around. If she was not interested, she would have never talked about her boyfriend and her being incompatible. I told Sam that was simply not me. There was no way I'd sacrifice my integrity for a girl.
He very calmly ended the conversation was... "You are too innocent, dude. If you had had more experience. If you had played the field a little. You and her could have been in bed right now you idiot. You blew it".
I knew I did. Every time I saw her in class afterwards, I'd avoid her eyes, and look to the floor. When she tried to talk to me, I'd quickly end it and walk away.
I knew I had changed, though. I had this look in my eyes now. The look of the guy who lived his worst nightmare. I knew I needed to have more experience. I needed to play the field, so that when the right woman comes by I'd be ready.
I walked to Borders that night (They had not gone bankrupt yet at the time), and was browsing around. I found this scary leather black book. The book title was written in gold on the side. "The Art of Seduction, by Mystery". My hands were shaking but I reached out for the book and pulled it out. I needed to learn. I was angry and confused, but I was determined. Girls are to become nothing but a number from this point forwarded. I needed to number close, kiss close and F close as many girls as I could from this point forward (number close, kiss close and F close were all terms the book used for getting a girl's number, kissing a girl, and well, going to bed with a girl). I had a feeling in my heart, I was becoming a man now. I felt tender in my scalp and cold in my heart. Faint cracking noise was all around me. Is it static electricity in the store? Is it the carpet?
I went to the cashier with my book, worried he would criticize me for buying a seduction book (specially I was a blond), but he didn't give me a second look. I bought it and walked out.
Something felt off, though. How comes the guy was totally ok with a blonde buying such a book? I'd imagine he must have said something. A tease... A comment... anything. The reality sank in when i checked my reflection in the glass windows of the store. I was looking at brunette me. I had turned!
I was the last of my peers to turn, and what a waste that was. I wish I was the first.
I would have to make up for all the time I had lost. I glanced at my book, and looked at my reflection in the window again. There was a devilish smirk on my face now! |
Edit: Loving all of these takes, guys! Definitely a lot darker than I expected! | [WP] Everyone is born with blond hair. A person's hair turns brown when they lose their innocence. | "Amanda, get back here...NOW." Jerry was almost shaking with anger as his daughter shuffled back into the kitchen, having just rushed by her father on her way to her room. Absent-mindedly, she tucks a lock of her dark hair behind one of her ears.
"Dad, look, let me explain..." The 16-year old stammers, holding her hands up defensively.
"No! You listen to me!" A rage Amanda had never seen before seemed to contort Jerry's face, and she swore she saw flames in his eyes. Like, REAL, flickering hellfire-type flames. "It's that boy, isn't it? Jared or...or Johnny, or whatever the fuck his name is!"
"It's Josh, Da-..."
"I don't give a FUCK what his name is, look what he did to me little girl! My precious...my INNOCENT little girl! He's gone and stolen that away from you, and for what? A few minutes of fun? Did either of you even stop to think what sort of repercussions that might have? What people might think of you? No, of course not. It's just ALL fun and games with you two, isn't it?"
"Dad, seriously, just hold on a secon-..."
"Shut up, Amanda! Just shut up. You're not seeing him again, do you hear me? Never...and dating? Hah, you can just forget about that! As far as I'm concerned, you're officially a nun, got it? I don't want to see you with a boy, I don't want to hear about you hanging out with a boy, I don't even want to hear the WORD boy until you're forty!"
Amanda slams something onto the kitchen counter. A small, rectangular box with a woman modeling her salon-styled brunette hair on the front.
"Hair dye, Dad. It's winter, brunette is in." | It was my first day of college when I saw Anne for the first time.
I was the only blonde in class. In fact, I was probably the only blonde among all the undergrads. I wasn't very surprised though. By the end of high school, every one had turned brunette except for me. Although I always acted sheepish about it, deep inside I had a strong sense of pride, like I have won some imaginary game. My friends would tease me about it every now and then, but I didn't care. Something inside me knew I would go my entire life blonde. My friends could have been jealous of that fact.
But I digress. As I was saying, I saw Anne for the first time that day. I was the only blonde in class, and I was feeling self conscious about it. I was sinking deeper into my seat not to be noticed. A few people looked surprised to see a blonde in class. I was embarrassingly looking around when my eyes met hers.
She was a brunette, but she had the lightest brown hair I have ever seen. She had it in a pony tail that danced around every time she turned her head. Our eyes met, and there was this immediate electric shock in my heart. She gave me an encouraging smile. Hang in there, buddy.
Weeks have passed, and my crush on her was building up. The first crush I have ever had, in fact. We were good acquaintances at this point. We'd chat every once in a while, and every time we did, I'd go back to my dorm room and replay every word she had said, every twinkle in her eyes, every smile on her face.
That was when I figured I had to tell her how I felt. I was Skyping with my friend Sam. Sam was my best friend, and we went to the same high school. Fun fact: Sam was the last person to turn brunette in our high school (excluding me of course). He was a very innocent kid for the longest time, and one day, things changed. I could never understand what happened to him. I remember one day after he had turned brunette, he was driving us to the mall, when some guy in a U-Haul cut in front of him. He lowered the window, flipped him off, and started screaming an endless stream of curse words at the top of his lungs. I was shocked. What happened to him? I knew he had changed in a fundamental way.
Anyway, I was telling him about Anne. After teasing me about it for half an hour (I totally expected him to!), he encouraged me to tell her how I felt about her. He told me she must have had feelings for me, since girls always knew it when you had a crush on them. Just the fact she was still being friendly to me meant she was sending me a signal.
I talked to Anne the next day. I was shy and stuttering and I was a complete mess (I had never asked a girl out before!). I told her I had feelings for her, and I was hoping she would go to dinner with me some time to know each other better. She laughed and said her boyfriend probably wouldn't like that idea very much. My heart sank and I was immediately crushed. Everything she said after this point felt like it was happening in slow motion. She said she had been in a relationship for a couple of years, and although she didn't think they were very compatible, she was still giving it a try. She said she liked me, and would still love for us to be friends. She told me she didn't feel comfortable being single at the time. I knew this was the end of the line. I couldn't have taken it any other way. I would never try to separate a girl from her boyfriend. That was pure evil. Game over!
Crushed, I went home. Sitting alone at my laptop, I put on some stupid sad songs. I replayed that encounter so many times, realizing that was a major crossroads in my life. Had she said yes, there would be a date I would be looking for. There would be excitement and dreams of a happy future with her. But right now, I was a depressed kid sitting in his dorm room alone with no goals and nothing to look forward to.
I talked to Sam on Skype again, and told him everything. He told me I was an idiot. She clearly liked me but was afraid to leave her boyfriend for me when she didn't know me that well. He told me I should just hang around. If she was not interested, she would have never talked about her boyfriend and her being incompatible. I told Sam that was simply not me. There was no way I'd sacrifice my integrity for a girl.
He very calmly ended the conversation was... "You are too innocent, dude. If you had had more experience. If you had played the field a little. You and her could have been in bed right now you idiot. You blew it".
I knew I did. Every time I saw her in class afterwards, I'd avoid her eyes, and look to the floor. When she tried to talk to me, I'd quickly end it and walk away.
I knew I had changed, though. I had this look in my eyes now. The look of the guy who lived his worst nightmare. I knew I needed to have more experience. I needed to play the field, so that when the right woman comes by I'd be ready.
I walked to Borders that night (They had not gone bankrupt yet at the time), and was browsing around. I found this scary leather black book. The book title was written in gold on the side. "The Art of Seduction, by Mystery". My hands were shaking but I reached out for the book and pulled it out. I needed to learn. I was angry and confused, but I was determined. Girls are to become nothing but a number from this point forwarded. I needed to number close, kiss close and F close as many girls as I could from this point forward (number close, kiss close and F close were all terms the book used for getting a girl's number, kissing a girl, and well, going to bed with a girl). I had a feeling in my heart, I was becoming a man now. I felt tender in my scalp and cold in my heart. Faint cracking noise was all around me. Is it static electricity in the store? Is it the carpet?
I went to the cashier with my book, worried he would criticize me for buying a seduction book (specially I was a blond), but he didn't give me a second look. I bought it and walked out.
Something felt off, though. How comes the guy was totally ok with a blonde buying such a book? I'd imagine he must have said something. A tease... A comment... anything. The reality sank in when i checked my reflection in the glass windows of the store. I was looking at brunette me. I had turned!
I was the last of my peers to turn, and what a waste that was. I wish I was the first.
I would have to make up for all the time I had lost. I glanced at my book, and looked at my reflection in the window again. There was a devilish smirk on my face now! |
Edit: Loving all of these takes, guys! Definitely a lot darker than I expected! | [WP] Everyone is born with blond hair. A person's hair turns brown when they lose their innocence. | *Note: I absolutely hate the way the word blond looks, so I refuse to ever use it. Sorry.*
"What...the...*fuck*?" Mark asked in a hushed tone. Joanna saw Anne flinch. Typical. Anne was so determined to protect her innocence, as though hearing one curse word was going to change her precious golden locks. Joanna had never been so protective of her own hair.
"I don't know!" shrieked Joanna. "It just happened."
"Has anyone else seen this?"
"No. Only you two." Mark and Anne, her closest friends, so different in personality and hair. Mark kept his brown curls cropped short, whereas Anne preferred to grow out and show off her blonde hair.
When she first met Mark, he had dirty blonde hair, but years of living with an alcoholic father and a mother who wouldn't stay put had robbed him of what little innocence he had left.
Nothing seemed to touch Anne. Joanna and Mark joked amongst themselves that her hair was only growing lighter.
Joanna had thought her hair would have turned brown ages ago. She had sex with Mark. She had stolen. She told lies and lusted and drank; she did all the things that would have made Anne gasp in horror, but her hair stayed stubbornly blonde.
Until now.
"Joanna," Anne spoke up. "I...this isn't natural."
"I know that! So what the hell do I do?"
Anne shook her head. "I don't know. I have to go."
Joanna blinked at her stupidly. "What do you mean, you have to go? Go where?"
"Home. I'm sorry, sweetie, but the way you look...I love you, you know that, but I can't be around you! I don't want that happening to me."
"Hair color isn't *catching*, Anne," Mark muttered.
Anne turned to Mark, eyes flashing. "You're one to talk. Maybe if you had been a better influence, this wouldn't have happened."
"Don't put this on me! I didn't have anything to do with it. It's unheard of."
They were arguing over her like divorced parents who didn't want custody, Joanna realized. Mark wouldn't outright say it, but he didn't want to be around her, either.
"You should cut it," Anne advised her before walking out the door. "Shave your head, wear a scarf, anything. You look...you should cover it."
Joanna looked at Mark, tears streaking her face. "What do I do?" she whispered.
Mark looked back at her uneasily. "You do what Anne says. And maybe go see someone. A doctor or something."
"You're going, too," Joanna said. She didn't need to ask. Mark was fidgeting, looking anywhere but at Joanna's hair.
"I'll be in touch," Mark said. And then he was gone.
Joanna sat in numb silence for a few minutes, then stood up suddenly and grabbed a pair of scissors from the kitchen. She would need to go to a hair dresser to do the job properly, but this would have to serve.
She stood in front of her bathroom mirror, stomach turning at the sight of herself.
The only sound came from the scissors snipping away her long, red hair. | As soon as she had stepped foot in the place several minutes before, she had drawn more than a few stares from the other patrons.
Cutters fresh from a shift spend working on the soaring top of a High-Tower. Miners from the Wide Maw just outside the city limits, often competing with the cutters for loudness. And scattered among these groups of massive burly men were the Shufflers, winding down after a entire day of pushing paper around and getting yelled at by men who knew nothing.
All of them, sandy-brown, tawny-brown, ash-brown, greying-brown, streaked brown- it didn't matter. Their hair was as brown as the peeling walls of the pub they all sat in.
But not Anna's. Hers had always shimmered like the sun, just like her dad's. Girls marveled at how brilliant the lustre of her golden hair was, how pure and bright it seemed compared to their own drab brown or dirty blonde locks. Boys constantly tried getting her attention with stupid tricks or silly jokes, or even just straight up asking her out on a date. She knew it was the hair.
And she didn't really give a damn about her hair.
She glanced over her shoulder, ignoring a few looks of concern from a young man to her right just in time to see a bald man, thin and scrawny compared to the rest, get up from one of the Cutter tables and move for the door out to the dreary streetside.
Her eyes narrowed as her hand automatically reached for the vibrant green scarf wrapped around her neck. They softened only for a second, threatening to glisten before she shook her head and gritted her teeth.
The girl looked back to the half-full bottle sitting in front of her on the bar-top. She frowned, before snatching it up and taking one last swig, the acidic aftertaste lingering in her throat as she set the bottle back down with a loud thud.
She pushed back from the chair, wiping her mouth on her sleeve as she stalked through the tables, ignoring the leers, the frowns, the confused looks, the apprehension, until finally she came to the door out into the street, the frosted glass muffling the absolute downpour of rain just outside.
Just as she closed her fingers on the handle a hand grabbed her shoulder. "You won't be the same. Your hair, your soul, it'll-"
Anna shook her head. "It doesn't matter to me, Thomas." She glanced downward at the opening in her jacket at the police service pistol.
Without even turning to look at the boy, his hair almost black, she opened the door and stepped through, blinking as each fat droplet hit her face.
She kept walking down the footpath, spotting the bald man as he turned a corner past a scaffolding into a alley.
With a shaky breath she continued away from the drab little pub, feeling a tingle in her hair as her thoughts overcame her, bringing a wetness to her eyes and a shake to her steps.
"For you, dad." she muttered, fingering the handle of the pistol.
|
Edit: Loving all of these takes, guys! Definitely a lot darker than I expected! | [WP] Everyone is born with blond hair. A person's hair turns brown when they lose their innocence. | *Note: I absolutely hate the way the word blond looks, so I refuse to ever use it. Sorry.*
"What...the...*fuck*?" Mark asked in a hushed tone. Joanna saw Anne flinch. Typical. Anne was so determined to protect her innocence, as though hearing one curse word was going to change her precious golden locks. Joanna had never been so protective of her own hair.
"I don't know!" shrieked Joanna. "It just happened."
"Has anyone else seen this?"
"No. Only you two." Mark and Anne, her closest friends, so different in personality and hair. Mark kept his brown curls cropped short, whereas Anne preferred to grow out and show off her blonde hair.
When she first met Mark, he had dirty blonde hair, but years of living with an alcoholic father and a mother who wouldn't stay put had robbed him of what little innocence he had left.
Nothing seemed to touch Anne. Joanna and Mark joked amongst themselves that her hair was only growing lighter.
Joanna had thought her hair would have turned brown ages ago. She had sex with Mark. She had stolen. She told lies and lusted and drank; she did all the things that would have made Anne gasp in horror, but her hair stayed stubbornly blonde.
Until now.
"Joanna," Anne spoke up. "I...this isn't natural."
"I know that! So what the hell do I do?"
Anne shook her head. "I don't know. I have to go."
Joanna blinked at her stupidly. "What do you mean, you have to go? Go where?"
"Home. I'm sorry, sweetie, but the way you look...I love you, you know that, but I can't be around you! I don't want that happening to me."
"Hair color isn't *catching*, Anne," Mark muttered.
Anne turned to Mark, eyes flashing. "You're one to talk. Maybe if you had been a better influence, this wouldn't have happened."
"Don't put this on me! I didn't have anything to do with it. It's unheard of."
They were arguing over her like divorced parents who didn't want custody, Joanna realized. Mark wouldn't outright say it, but he didn't want to be around her, either.
"You should cut it," Anne advised her before walking out the door. "Shave your head, wear a scarf, anything. You look...you should cover it."
Joanna looked at Mark, tears streaking her face. "What do I do?" she whispered.
Mark looked back at her uneasily. "You do what Anne says. And maybe go see someone. A doctor or something."
"You're going, too," Joanna said. She didn't need to ask. Mark was fidgeting, looking anywhere but at Joanna's hair.
"I'll be in touch," Mark said. And then he was gone.
Joanna sat in numb silence for a few minutes, then stood up suddenly and grabbed a pair of scissors from the kitchen. She would need to go to a hair dresser to do the job properly, but this would have to serve.
She stood in front of her bathroom mirror, stomach turning at the sight of herself.
The only sound came from the scissors snipping away her long, red hair. | This will be my first attempt here, so constructive criticism is appreciated.
Outside, the storm surged with an almost spiteful ferocity, but here, at home with my family, we were warm and safe. Bright flashes of lightning and peals of thunder were the only things to reach us in our home. Dad tucked my sister and me into our beds, passing his hand gently from our soft blonde hair, down to our chins. He kissed us each goodnight and turned to leave, barely consciously running a hand through his own dusty brown hair.
We had asked Mom once, why hers and Dad's hair was darker than ours. They told us that when people have their feelings hurt very badly or do very bad things, their hair would change color. We were always good, she'd explained, and so our hair was still light and blonde. Hers and Dad's were darker, but not too dark. Whatever they had done must not have been too bad.
It was late when he came. A loud crash, different than the thunder, resounded through the house. Rubbing the sleep from my eyes, I sat up, wondering what it had been. Then came the shouting, then the screaming, and finally a gunshot. The sound of Mom crying got louder as she was dragged toward us.
The man burst through our bedroom door, pulling Mom by her hair, both of them yelling. Terrified, my sister and I could only stare as he put the gun to her head. He was screaming questions at her, shouting orders, but in the screaming and the storm, I couldn't understand. A flash of lightning illuminated the room, and for the briefest of moments, I could see the man's face. He was a shambles of a man, with dark, sunken eyes and a dirty unshaven face, all hidden behind a mess of hair so dark, it was almost black.
Mom was begging him to stop, to leave us alone. I guess that wasn't the answer he wanted, because he shot my sister. I tried to get up and to go to her, wanting it all to not be true, but he turned the gun on me. I was absolutely frozen as I watched an inky darkness inching out from under my sister's trembling form. It stained her dress, her sheets, and her hair with that horrible shade until she stopped moving anymore.
Mom was screaming even louder than before, flailing and sobbing, trying to break free. The man didn't like that, so he put the gun back to her head, and yelled at her to shut up. The anger and hurt burned hot in my ears, eyes stinging with tears. Mom was barely whimpering now, and I could hear the man clearly for the first time, "You were supposed to be mine."
The gun flashed once, and a splatter of blood and auburn hair matted itself to the wall. I screamed and ran at the man, but another shot from his gun hit me in my leg. I crumpled to the floor almost instantly. He loomed over me, jeering, "What a waste. Nothing but a whore, after all these years." He raised his gun to fire one last time, and I closed my eyes to wait for the end.
A bang too loud for a gun jolted my eyes open again, and we both turned to see the utility pole outside spitting sparks and fire, and falling toward the house. It crashed through the roof with a sound almost louder than the lightning had made, and barely missed me.
It didn't miss him.
The fire was now spreading through this place that was once home to me, bathing everything in bright orange and red. The man lay pinned under the pole, gun out of reach, and a look of wild pain and desperation spread across his once shaded face. "Kid!" he shouted, "You gotta help me, kid!" The fire licked at the house, consuming everything in a familiar heat that tickled in my ears, and I walked out of the room.
I ran across the street and watched, crying. The man's screams of pain echoed in my ears as the roaring flames consumed my world. Inside, I knew that everything I had ever loved was gone now, and I reached up, running my trembling had gently down from my dark walnut hair, down to my chin, just like Dad used to. |
Edit: Loving all of these takes, guys! Definitely a lot darker than I expected! | [WP] Everyone is born with blond hair. A person's hair turns brown when they lose their innocence. | A hundred strokes every night before bed. This was my hair routine every day. I was thirteen and one of the few remaining people in my school year with their hair still blonde. Though I was teased about it, a small piece of me was happy about it as the thought of losing the blondness scared me.
Dad was out on a business trip and I missed by bedtime story which he told me every night. I know it was childish but I couldn't sleep without it. I figured mom was good to do the job so I went across the hallway to mother's room.
There she sat on the floor. The floor with shards of a broken bottle. One hand with one of the shards of glass and the other hand being coloured red from the blood oozing from her wrist.
She looked at me with her panda eyes and mumbled my name. She grabbed my hair when I ran to her. Then she fell to the floor. My hair turned chocolate. | Everywhere I looked I saw alternating seas of blond and brown crossing the busy intersections. Like busy termites they paraded around their mundane little lives without a care in the world. I have to admit that part of me wondered how the change took place at first.
Most of the people had "turned" by the time they left high school. I remember the scandals that would cause since the moment someone's hair turned, everyone knew that something had happened. Of course, some were much better at theorycrafting than others. Rumors swirled about the new girl Sandra the moment she walked into our rotten halls. Her hair was a rich shade of platinum, reflecting the sunlight that she could see reflecting off of the drooling boys who she graced with her presence. The other girls weren't pleased with this, and envied the doe-eyed innocence that she exuded. She was as outgoing and friendly as any other person, except unlike the tainted bitches that tried their hardest to infect her with their misery, she was genuine about everything she did. I've seen her angry, upset, and frustrated at the numerous attempts of these girls but no matter what they did, her golden locks would stay the same.
When she got together with Randy the exchange student, everyone was sure that the change was going to happen. Who could blame them? Most of the dupes I knew were eager to hook up with the first girl or guy who said yes. We waited anxiously for the day to come but it never did, not even after they had broken up. Randy was furious when it happened, and I was there to witness the rapid change in his hue. Even as that happened there was no change in Sandra. Eventually people just gave up in trying to figure her out. She was nice, after all, and she never bothered anybody.
It wasn't until I saw her again years later that I had an idea of how she kept her locks in such a pristine shape. While lazily flipping through channels one day, I saw her on some video footage being aired on the news. People were baffled by how such a person could calmly walk over to someone, slash their throat, and then go back to eating dinner as if nothing had happened. All that really captivated me was that even when she went through that, there was still no change in her hair at all. |
Edit: Loving all of these takes, guys! Definitely a lot darker than I expected! | [WP] Everyone is born with blond hair. A person's hair turns brown when they lose their innocence. | She was blonde yesterday.
Blondness is a rare trait in this city. Sure, every now and then, you'll run into someone with locks of wheaty gold, but brown was the shade of this town. Even I had browned last year. I tugged at my dark curls, a reminder of that glorious night during which my blonde was taken in a bout of rough, passionate browning.
She was different. With all the brown that went on in town, she never quite felt it necessary. She got her kicks in things that only made her more blonde. Springy curls of sunlight bounced off her head and everyone could tell that she was blonde by choice.
I searched for her in the hallways this morning, seeking out the yellow glow that was always so easy to spot. Instead, I found a different glow. There she was, brown springs bouncing in the wind, a smile on a face that shone as bright as her hair once did.
In that moment, we all knew that she was brown by choice.
| Everywhere I looked I saw alternating seas of blond and brown crossing the busy intersections. Like busy termites they paraded around their mundane little lives without a care in the world. I have to admit that part of me wondered how the change took place at first.
Most of the people had "turned" by the time they left high school. I remember the scandals that would cause since the moment someone's hair turned, everyone knew that something had happened. Of course, some were much better at theorycrafting than others. Rumors swirled about the new girl Sandra the moment she walked into our rotten halls. Her hair was a rich shade of platinum, reflecting the sunlight that she could see reflecting off of the drooling boys who she graced with her presence. The other girls weren't pleased with this, and envied the doe-eyed innocence that she exuded. She was as outgoing and friendly as any other person, except unlike the tainted bitches that tried their hardest to infect her with their misery, she was genuine about everything she did. I've seen her angry, upset, and frustrated at the numerous attempts of these girls but no matter what they did, her golden locks would stay the same.
When she got together with Randy the exchange student, everyone was sure that the change was going to happen. Who could blame them? Most of the dupes I knew were eager to hook up with the first girl or guy who said yes. We waited anxiously for the day to come but it never did, not even after they had broken up. Randy was furious when it happened, and I was there to witness the rapid change in his hue. Even as that happened there was no change in Sandra. Eventually people just gave up in trying to figure her out. She was nice, after all, and she never bothered anybody.
It wasn't until I saw her again years later that I had an idea of how she kept her locks in such a pristine shape. While lazily flipping through channels one day, I saw her on some video footage being aired on the news. People were baffled by how such a person could calmly walk over to someone, slash their throat, and then go back to eating dinner as if nothing had happened. All that really captivated me was that even when she went through that, there was still no change in her hair at all. |
Edit: Loving all of these takes, guys! Definitely a lot darker than I expected! | [WP] Everyone is born with blond hair. A person's hair turns brown when they lose their innocence. | *Note: I absolutely hate the way the word blond looks, so I refuse to ever use it. Sorry.*
"What...the...*fuck*?" Mark asked in a hushed tone. Joanna saw Anne flinch. Typical. Anne was so determined to protect her innocence, as though hearing one curse word was going to change her precious golden locks. Joanna had never been so protective of her own hair.
"I don't know!" shrieked Joanna. "It just happened."
"Has anyone else seen this?"
"No. Only you two." Mark and Anne, her closest friends, so different in personality and hair. Mark kept his brown curls cropped short, whereas Anne preferred to grow out and show off her blonde hair.
When she first met Mark, he had dirty blonde hair, but years of living with an alcoholic father and a mother who wouldn't stay put had robbed him of what little innocence he had left.
Nothing seemed to touch Anne. Joanna and Mark joked amongst themselves that her hair was only growing lighter.
Joanna had thought her hair would have turned brown ages ago. She had sex with Mark. She had stolen. She told lies and lusted and drank; she did all the things that would have made Anne gasp in horror, but her hair stayed stubbornly blonde.
Until now.
"Joanna," Anne spoke up. "I...this isn't natural."
"I know that! So what the hell do I do?"
Anne shook her head. "I don't know. I have to go."
Joanna blinked at her stupidly. "What do you mean, you have to go? Go where?"
"Home. I'm sorry, sweetie, but the way you look...I love you, you know that, but I can't be around you! I don't want that happening to me."
"Hair color isn't *catching*, Anne," Mark muttered.
Anne turned to Mark, eyes flashing. "You're one to talk. Maybe if you had been a better influence, this wouldn't have happened."
"Don't put this on me! I didn't have anything to do with it. It's unheard of."
They were arguing over her like divorced parents who didn't want custody, Joanna realized. Mark wouldn't outright say it, but he didn't want to be around her, either.
"You should cut it," Anne advised her before walking out the door. "Shave your head, wear a scarf, anything. You look...you should cover it."
Joanna looked at Mark, tears streaking her face. "What do I do?" she whispered.
Mark looked back at her uneasily. "You do what Anne says. And maybe go see someone. A doctor or something."
"You're going, too," Joanna said. She didn't need to ask. Mark was fidgeting, looking anywhere but at Joanna's hair.
"I'll be in touch," Mark said. And then he was gone.
Joanna sat in numb silence for a few minutes, then stood up suddenly and grabbed a pair of scissors from the kitchen. She would need to go to a hair dresser to do the job properly, but this would have to serve.
She stood in front of her bathroom mirror, stomach turning at the sight of herself.
The only sound came from the scissors snipping away her long, red hair. | Everywhere I looked I saw alternating seas of blond and brown crossing the busy intersections. Like busy termites they paraded around their mundane little lives without a care in the world. I have to admit that part of me wondered how the change took place at first.
Most of the people had "turned" by the time they left high school. I remember the scandals that would cause since the moment someone's hair turned, everyone knew that something had happened. Of course, some were much better at theorycrafting than others. Rumors swirled about the new girl Sandra the moment she walked into our rotten halls. Her hair was a rich shade of platinum, reflecting the sunlight that she could see reflecting off of the drooling boys who she graced with her presence. The other girls weren't pleased with this, and envied the doe-eyed innocence that she exuded. She was as outgoing and friendly as any other person, except unlike the tainted bitches that tried their hardest to infect her with their misery, she was genuine about everything she did. I've seen her angry, upset, and frustrated at the numerous attempts of these girls but no matter what they did, her golden locks would stay the same.
When she got together with Randy the exchange student, everyone was sure that the change was going to happen. Who could blame them? Most of the dupes I knew were eager to hook up with the first girl or guy who said yes. We waited anxiously for the day to come but it never did, not even after they had broken up. Randy was furious when it happened, and I was there to witness the rapid change in his hue. Even as that happened there was no change in Sandra. Eventually people just gave up in trying to figure her out. She was nice, after all, and she never bothered anybody.
It wasn't until I saw her again years later that I had an idea of how she kept her locks in such a pristine shape. While lazily flipping through channels one day, I saw her on some video footage being aired on the news. People were baffled by how such a person could calmly walk over to someone, slash their throat, and then go back to eating dinner as if nothing had happened. All that really captivated me was that even when she went through that, there was still no change in her hair at all. |
Edit: Loving all of these takes, guys! Definitely a lot darker than I expected! | [WP] Everyone is born with blond hair. A person's hair turns brown when they lose their innocence. | It hurts to look at him now. That dark brown hair, almost the colour of dried blood. The reminder of what I did.
We're having breakfast now. He sits across from me, pushing his toast soldiers around the plate absentmindedly. I force a smile, and try and catch his eye but he ignores me. Is this always the way it will be?
"So how about that Blues game last night?" Dan says awkwardly. It's just like him to do this, to try and fix things, even the ones he never could.
He doesn't respond to Dan either, but slowly slides off his chair, eyes on the floor, starts shuffling towards the door where his schoolbag lies.
"Alex..." I say as he leaves. God, I have to say something. He turns to me, his eyes full of tears.
"Why did you do it Mum?" he asks me, the dead husk of the Christmas tree standing starkly behind him.
"Why did you tell me Santa Claus wasn't real?" | Everywhere I looked I saw alternating seas of blond and brown crossing the busy intersections. Like busy termites they paraded around their mundane little lives without a care in the world. I have to admit that part of me wondered how the change took place at first.
Most of the people had "turned" by the time they left high school. I remember the scandals that would cause since the moment someone's hair turned, everyone knew that something had happened. Of course, some were much better at theorycrafting than others. Rumors swirled about the new girl Sandra the moment she walked into our rotten halls. Her hair was a rich shade of platinum, reflecting the sunlight that she could see reflecting off of the drooling boys who she graced with her presence. The other girls weren't pleased with this, and envied the doe-eyed innocence that she exuded. She was as outgoing and friendly as any other person, except unlike the tainted bitches that tried their hardest to infect her with their misery, she was genuine about everything she did. I've seen her angry, upset, and frustrated at the numerous attempts of these girls but no matter what they did, her golden locks would stay the same.
When she got together with Randy the exchange student, everyone was sure that the change was going to happen. Who could blame them? Most of the dupes I knew were eager to hook up with the first girl or guy who said yes. We waited anxiously for the day to come but it never did, not even after they had broken up. Randy was furious when it happened, and I was there to witness the rapid change in his hue. Even as that happened there was no change in Sandra. Eventually people just gave up in trying to figure her out. She was nice, after all, and she never bothered anybody.
It wasn't until I saw her again years later that I had an idea of how she kept her locks in such a pristine shape. While lazily flipping through channels one day, I saw her on some video footage being aired on the news. People were baffled by how such a person could calmly walk over to someone, slash their throat, and then go back to eating dinner as if nothing had happened. All that really captivated me was that even when she went through that, there was still no change in her hair at all. |
Edit: Loving all of these takes, guys! Definitely a lot darker than I expected! | [WP] Everyone is born with blond hair. A person's hair turns brown when they lose their innocence. | "Amanda, get back here...NOW." Jerry was almost shaking with anger as his daughter shuffled back into the kitchen, having just rushed by her father on her way to her room. Absent-mindedly, she tucks a lock of her dark hair behind one of her ears.
"Dad, look, let me explain..." The 16-year old stammers, holding her hands up defensively.
"No! You listen to me!" A rage Amanda had never seen before seemed to contort Jerry's face, and she swore she saw flames in his eyes. Like, REAL, flickering hellfire-type flames. "It's that boy, isn't it? Jared or...or Johnny, or whatever the fuck his name is!"
"It's Josh, Da-..."
"I don't give a FUCK what his name is, look what he did to me little girl! My precious...my INNOCENT little girl! He's gone and stolen that away from you, and for what? A few minutes of fun? Did either of you even stop to think what sort of repercussions that might have? What people might think of you? No, of course not. It's just ALL fun and games with you two, isn't it?"
"Dad, seriously, just hold on a secon-..."
"Shut up, Amanda! Just shut up. You're not seeing him again, do you hear me? Never...and dating? Hah, you can just forget about that! As far as I'm concerned, you're officially a nun, got it? I don't want to see you with a boy, I don't want to hear about you hanging out with a boy, I don't even want to hear the WORD boy until you're forty!"
Amanda slams something onto the kitchen counter. A small, rectangular box with a woman modeling her salon-styled brunette hair on the front.
"Hair dye, Dad. It's winter, brunette is in." | Everywhere I looked I saw alternating seas of blond and brown crossing the busy intersections. Like busy termites they paraded around their mundane little lives without a care in the world. I have to admit that part of me wondered how the change took place at first.
Most of the people had "turned" by the time they left high school. I remember the scandals that would cause since the moment someone's hair turned, everyone knew that something had happened. Of course, some were much better at theorycrafting than others. Rumors swirled about the new girl Sandra the moment she walked into our rotten halls. Her hair was a rich shade of platinum, reflecting the sunlight that she could see reflecting off of the drooling boys who she graced with her presence. The other girls weren't pleased with this, and envied the doe-eyed innocence that she exuded. She was as outgoing and friendly as any other person, except unlike the tainted bitches that tried their hardest to infect her with their misery, she was genuine about everything she did. I've seen her angry, upset, and frustrated at the numerous attempts of these girls but no matter what they did, her golden locks would stay the same.
When she got together with Randy the exchange student, everyone was sure that the change was going to happen. Who could blame them? Most of the dupes I knew were eager to hook up with the first girl or guy who said yes. We waited anxiously for the day to come but it never did, not even after they had broken up. Randy was furious when it happened, and I was there to witness the rapid change in his hue. Even as that happened there was no change in Sandra. Eventually people just gave up in trying to figure her out. She was nice, after all, and she never bothered anybody.
It wasn't until I saw her again years later that I had an idea of how she kept her locks in such a pristine shape. While lazily flipping through channels one day, I saw her on some video footage being aired on the news. People were baffled by how such a person could calmly walk over to someone, slash their throat, and then go back to eating dinner as if nothing had happened. All that really captivated me was that even when she went through that, there was still no change in her hair at all. |
Edit: Loving all of these takes, guys! Definitely a lot darker than I expected! | [WP] Everyone is born with blond hair. A person's hair turns brown when they lose their innocence. | She was blonde yesterday.
Blondness is a rare trait in this city. Sure, every now and then, you'll run into someone with locks of wheaty gold, but brown was the shade of this town. Even I had browned last year. I tugged at my dark curls, a reminder of that glorious night during which my blonde was taken in a bout of rough, passionate browning.
She was different. With all the brown that went on in town, she never quite felt it necessary. She got her kicks in things that only made her more blonde. Springy curls of sunlight bounced off her head and everyone could tell that she was blonde by choice.
I searched for her in the hallways this morning, seeking out the yellow glow that was always so easy to spot. Instead, I found a different glow. There she was, brown springs bouncing in the wind, a smile on a face that shone as bright as her hair once did.
In that moment, we all knew that she was brown by choice.
| A hundred strokes every night before bed. This was my hair routine every day. I was thirteen and one of the few remaining people in my school year with their hair still blonde. Though I was teased about it, a small piece of me was happy about it as the thought of losing the blondness scared me.
Dad was out on a business trip and I missed by bedtime story which he told me every night. I know it was childish but I couldn't sleep without it. I figured mom was good to do the job so I went across the hallway to mother's room.
There she sat on the floor. The floor with shards of a broken bottle. One hand with one of the shards of glass and the other hand being coloured red from the blood oozing from her wrist.
She looked at me with her panda eyes and mumbled my name. She grabbed my hair when I ran to her. Then she fell to the floor. My hair turned chocolate. |
Edit: Loving all of these takes, guys! Definitely a lot darker than I expected! | [WP] Everyone is born with blond hair. A person's hair turns brown when they lose their innocence. | *Note: I absolutely hate the way the word blond looks, so I refuse to ever use it. Sorry.*
"What...the...*fuck*?" Mark asked in a hushed tone. Joanna saw Anne flinch. Typical. Anne was so determined to protect her innocence, as though hearing one curse word was going to change her precious golden locks. Joanna had never been so protective of her own hair.
"I don't know!" shrieked Joanna. "It just happened."
"Has anyone else seen this?"
"No. Only you two." Mark and Anne, her closest friends, so different in personality and hair. Mark kept his brown curls cropped short, whereas Anne preferred to grow out and show off her blonde hair.
When she first met Mark, he had dirty blonde hair, but years of living with an alcoholic father and a mother who wouldn't stay put had robbed him of what little innocence he had left.
Nothing seemed to touch Anne. Joanna and Mark joked amongst themselves that her hair was only growing lighter.
Joanna had thought her hair would have turned brown ages ago. She had sex with Mark. She had stolen. She told lies and lusted and drank; she did all the things that would have made Anne gasp in horror, but her hair stayed stubbornly blonde.
Until now.
"Joanna," Anne spoke up. "I...this isn't natural."
"I know that! So what the hell do I do?"
Anne shook her head. "I don't know. I have to go."
Joanna blinked at her stupidly. "What do you mean, you have to go? Go where?"
"Home. I'm sorry, sweetie, but the way you look...I love you, you know that, but I can't be around you! I don't want that happening to me."
"Hair color isn't *catching*, Anne," Mark muttered.
Anne turned to Mark, eyes flashing. "You're one to talk. Maybe if you had been a better influence, this wouldn't have happened."
"Don't put this on me! I didn't have anything to do with it. It's unheard of."
They were arguing over her like divorced parents who didn't want custody, Joanna realized. Mark wouldn't outright say it, but he didn't want to be around her, either.
"You should cut it," Anne advised her before walking out the door. "Shave your head, wear a scarf, anything. You look...you should cover it."
Joanna looked at Mark, tears streaking her face. "What do I do?" she whispered.
Mark looked back at her uneasily. "You do what Anne says. And maybe go see someone. A doctor or something."
"You're going, too," Joanna said. She didn't need to ask. Mark was fidgeting, looking anywhere but at Joanna's hair.
"I'll be in touch," Mark said. And then he was gone.
Joanna sat in numb silence for a few minutes, then stood up suddenly and grabbed a pair of scissors from the kitchen. She would need to go to a hair dresser to do the job properly, but this would have to serve.
She stood in front of her bathroom mirror, stomach turning at the sight of herself.
The only sound came from the scissors snipping away her long, red hair. | A hundred strokes every night before bed. This was my hair routine every day. I was thirteen and one of the few remaining people in my school year with their hair still blonde. Though I was teased about it, a small piece of me was happy about it as the thought of losing the blondness scared me.
Dad was out on a business trip and I missed by bedtime story which he told me every night. I know it was childish but I couldn't sleep without it. I figured mom was good to do the job so I went across the hallway to mother's room.
There she sat on the floor. The floor with shards of a broken bottle. One hand with one of the shards of glass and the other hand being coloured red from the blood oozing from her wrist.
She looked at me with her panda eyes and mumbled my name. She grabbed my hair when I ran to her. Then she fell to the floor. My hair turned chocolate. |
Edit: Loving all of these takes, guys! Definitely a lot darker than I expected! | [WP] Everyone is born with blond hair. A person's hair turns brown when they lose their innocence. | It hurts to look at him now. That dark brown hair, almost the colour of dried blood. The reminder of what I did.
We're having breakfast now. He sits across from me, pushing his toast soldiers around the plate absentmindedly. I force a smile, and try and catch his eye but he ignores me. Is this always the way it will be?
"So how about that Blues game last night?" Dan says awkwardly. It's just like him to do this, to try and fix things, even the ones he never could.
He doesn't respond to Dan either, but slowly slides off his chair, eyes on the floor, starts shuffling towards the door where his schoolbag lies.
"Alex..." I say as he leaves. God, I have to say something. He turns to me, his eyes full of tears.
"Why did you do it Mum?" he asks me, the dead husk of the Christmas tree standing starkly behind him.
"Why did you tell me Santa Claus wasn't real?" | A hundred strokes every night before bed. This was my hair routine every day. I was thirteen and one of the few remaining people in my school year with their hair still blonde. Though I was teased about it, a small piece of me was happy about it as the thought of losing the blondness scared me.
Dad was out on a business trip and I missed by bedtime story which he told me every night. I know it was childish but I couldn't sleep without it. I figured mom was good to do the job so I went across the hallway to mother's room.
There she sat on the floor. The floor with shards of a broken bottle. One hand with one of the shards of glass and the other hand being coloured red from the blood oozing from her wrist.
She looked at me with her panda eyes and mumbled my name. She grabbed my hair when I ran to her. Then she fell to the floor. My hair turned chocolate. |
Edit: Loving all of these takes, guys! Definitely a lot darker than I expected! | [WP] Everyone is born with blond hair. A person's hair turns brown when they lose their innocence. | "Amanda, get back here...NOW." Jerry was almost shaking with anger as his daughter shuffled back into the kitchen, having just rushed by her father on her way to her room. Absent-mindedly, she tucks a lock of her dark hair behind one of her ears.
"Dad, look, let me explain..." The 16-year old stammers, holding her hands up defensively.
"No! You listen to me!" A rage Amanda had never seen before seemed to contort Jerry's face, and she swore she saw flames in his eyes. Like, REAL, flickering hellfire-type flames. "It's that boy, isn't it? Jared or...or Johnny, or whatever the fuck his name is!"
"It's Josh, Da-..."
"I don't give a FUCK what his name is, look what he did to me little girl! My precious...my INNOCENT little girl! He's gone and stolen that away from you, and for what? A few minutes of fun? Did either of you even stop to think what sort of repercussions that might have? What people might think of you? No, of course not. It's just ALL fun and games with you two, isn't it?"
"Dad, seriously, just hold on a secon-..."
"Shut up, Amanda! Just shut up. You're not seeing him again, do you hear me? Never...and dating? Hah, you can just forget about that! As far as I'm concerned, you're officially a nun, got it? I don't want to see you with a boy, I don't want to hear about you hanging out with a boy, I don't even want to hear the WORD boy until you're forty!"
Amanda slams something onto the kitchen counter. A small, rectangular box with a woman modeling her salon-styled brunette hair on the front.
"Hair dye, Dad. It's winter, brunette is in." | A hundred strokes every night before bed. This was my hair routine every day. I was thirteen and one of the few remaining people in my school year with their hair still blonde. Though I was teased about it, a small piece of me was happy about it as the thought of losing the blondness scared me.
Dad was out on a business trip and I missed by bedtime story which he told me every night. I know it was childish but I couldn't sleep without it. I figured mom was good to do the job so I went across the hallway to mother's room.
There she sat on the floor. The floor with shards of a broken bottle. One hand with one of the shards of glass and the other hand being coloured red from the blood oozing from her wrist.
She looked at me with her panda eyes and mumbled my name. She grabbed my hair when I ran to her. Then she fell to the floor. My hair turned chocolate. |
Edit: Loving all of these takes, guys! Definitely a lot darker than I expected! | [WP] Everyone is born with blond hair. A person's hair turns brown when they lose their innocence. | *Note: I absolutely hate the way the word blond looks, so I refuse to ever use it. Sorry.*
"What...the...*fuck*?" Mark asked in a hushed tone. Joanna saw Anne flinch. Typical. Anne was so determined to protect her innocence, as though hearing one curse word was going to change her precious golden locks. Joanna had never been so protective of her own hair.
"I don't know!" shrieked Joanna. "It just happened."
"Has anyone else seen this?"
"No. Only you two." Mark and Anne, her closest friends, so different in personality and hair. Mark kept his brown curls cropped short, whereas Anne preferred to grow out and show off her blonde hair.
When she first met Mark, he had dirty blonde hair, but years of living with an alcoholic father and a mother who wouldn't stay put had robbed him of what little innocence he had left.
Nothing seemed to touch Anne. Joanna and Mark joked amongst themselves that her hair was only growing lighter.
Joanna had thought her hair would have turned brown ages ago. She had sex with Mark. She had stolen. She told lies and lusted and drank; she did all the things that would have made Anne gasp in horror, but her hair stayed stubbornly blonde.
Until now.
"Joanna," Anne spoke up. "I...this isn't natural."
"I know that! So what the hell do I do?"
Anne shook her head. "I don't know. I have to go."
Joanna blinked at her stupidly. "What do you mean, you have to go? Go where?"
"Home. I'm sorry, sweetie, but the way you look...I love you, you know that, but I can't be around you! I don't want that happening to me."
"Hair color isn't *catching*, Anne," Mark muttered.
Anne turned to Mark, eyes flashing. "You're one to talk. Maybe if you had been a better influence, this wouldn't have happened."
"Don't put this on me! I didn't have anything to do with it. It's unheard of."
They were arguing over her like divorced parents who didn't want custody, Joanna realized. Mark wouldn't outright say it, but he didn't want to be around her, either.
"You should cut it," Anne advised her before walking out the door. "Shave your head, wear a scarf, anything. You look...you should cover it."
Joanna looked at Mark, tears streaking her face. "What do I do?" she whispered.
Mark looked back at her uneasily. "You do what Anne says. And maybe go see someone. A doctor or something."
"You're going, too," Joanna said. She didn't need to ask. Mark was fidgeting, looking anywhere but at Joanna's hair.
"I'll be in touch," Mark said. And then he was gone.
Joanna sat in numb silence for a few minutes, then stood up suddenly and grabbed a pair of scissors from the kitchen. She would need to go to a hair dresser to do the job properly, but this would have to serve.
She stood in front of her bathroom mirror, stomach turning at the sight of herself.
The only sound came from the scissors snipping away her long, red hair. | "Hey mark, mind taking care of this?"
"Sure!" I turn smiling towards him. I'm the only guy in the office who still has blonde hair after all these years, people called me ignorant, and I had been taken advantage of more times than I could count. And that was fine, I didn't really care. It still bothered me that they thought I was ignorant of the evils of the world though. I had probably been more exposed than most--this platinum hair signaling my gentle nature-- I just didn't let it bother me, in fact nothing really bothers me. I guess for this reason I'm weird, but I can always see the other person's side, no matter how bad it gets-- A true objective, and I just can't bring myself to strike back.
So through all these years I had endured beatings, cheating spouses, isolation, and I didn't care because I could rationalize anything.This is a story about the day I lost my blonde hair. |
Edit: Loving all of these takes, guys! Definitely a lot darker than I expected! | [WP] Everyone is born with blond hair. A person's hair turns brown when they lose their innocence. | It hurts to look at him now. That dark brown hair, almost the colour of dried blood. The reminder of what I did.
We're having breakfast now. He sits across from me, pushing his toast soldiers around the plate absentmindedly. I force a smile, and try and catch his eye but he ignores me. Is this always the way it will be?
"So how about that Blues game last night?" Dan says awkwardly. It's just like him to do this, to try and fix things, even the ones he never could.
He doesn't respond to Dan either, but slowly slides off his chair, eyes on the floor, starts shuffling towards the door where his schoolbag lies.
"Alex..." I say as he leaves. God, I have to say something. He turns to me, his eyes full of tears.
"Why did you do it Mum?" he asks me, the dead husk of the Christmas tree standing starkly behind him.
"Why did you tell me Santa Claus wasn't real?" | "Hey mark, mind taking care of this?"
"Sure!" I turn smiling towards him. I'm the only guy in the office who still has blonde hair after all these years, people called me ignorant, and I had been taken advantage of more times than I could count. And that was fine, I didn't really care. It still bothered me that they thought I was ignorant of the evils of the world though. I had probably been more exposed than most--this platinum hair signaling my gentle nature-- I just didn't let it bother me, in fact nothing really bothers me. I guess for this reason I'm weird, but I can always see the other person's side, no matter how bad it gets-- A true objective, and I just can't bring myself to strike back.
So through all these years I had endured beatings, cheating spouses, isolation, and I didn't care because I could rationalize anything.This is a story about the day I lost my blonde hair. |
Edit: Loving all of these takes, guys! Definitely a lot darker than I expected! | [WP] Everyone is born with blond hair. A person's hair turns brown when they lose their innocence. | And now! A word from our sponsors.
I'm Catherine Harris from "the wind that blows". Everyone knows me as the truest blonde in Hollywood but truth is even I get a hint of brown. That is until I found Genuine by Kriz Montz. It's difficult enough finding a good man but nothing ruins a great first date like a dark streak in the morning. Doesn't matter if you a business woman, stay at home mom, or just a student Genuine is for you.
Kim always laughed at those commercials but after noticing her thin blonde hair growing dark she began to worry if others noticed too. | "Hey mark, mind taking care of this?"
"Sure!" I turn smiling towards him. I'm the only guy in the office who still has blonde hair after all these years, people called me ignorant, and I had been taken advantage of more times than I could count. And that was fine, I didn't really care. It still bothered me that they thought I was ignorant of the evils of the world though. I had probably been more exposed than most--this platinum hair signaling my gentle nature-- I just didn't let it bother me, in fact nothing really bothers me. I guess for this reason I'm weird, but I can always see the other person's side, no matter how bad it gets-- A true objective, and I just can't bring myself to strike back.
So through all these years I had endured beatings, cheating spouses, isolation, and I didn't care because I could rationalize anything.This is a story about the day I lost my blonde hair. |
Edit: Loving all of these takes, guys! Definitely a lot darker than I expected! | [WP] Everyone is born with blond hair. A person's hair turns brown when they lose their innocence. | I'm the kind of boy most people would expect to have blonde hair; I always turn my homework in on time, follow all school rules, have never said a cuss word, etc. Well, it all happened last year. I was a new fresh freshman ready for high school.
When I arrived at school, I was greeted by kind smiles. My first class, Geography, was fine. The teacher was nice, I had some friends, and not a difficult subject for me. Next was Algebra 2, a class I would do well at, but not like because of the amount of homework.
Next was P.E., in this class we got our P.E. locker combinations and went to change clothes. Well guess whose locker was next to mine. A very handsome Spanish guy with shining brown eyes, lushes dark brown hair, and light-brown skin. He had gotten there earlier and was already changing so I got to see him take off his shirt to reveal his perfect abs and necklace. The necklace had a rainbow flag on it. My mind was about to burst. Things lead to another and we made out in the bathroom stall.
When I came home that evening, I had a lot of explaining to do to my mom. | "Hey mark, mind taking care of this?"
"Sure!" I turn smiling towards him. I'm the only guy in the office who still has blonde hair after all these years, people called me ignorant, and I had been taken advantage of more times than I could count. And that was fine, I didn't really care. It still bothered me that they thought I was ignorant of the evils of the world though. I had probably been more exposed than most--this platinum hair signaling my gentle nature-- I just didn't let it bother me, in fact nothing really bothers me. I guess for this reason I'm weird, but I can always see the other person's side, no matter how bad it gets-- A true objective, and I just can't bring myself to strike back.
So through all these years I had endured beatings, cheating spouses, isolation, and I didn't care because I could rationalize anything.This is a story about the day I lost my blonde hair. |
Edit: Loving all of these takes, guys! Definitely a lot darker than I expected! | [WP] Everyone is born with blond hair. A person's hair turns brown when they lose their innocence. | "Amanda, get back here...NOW." Jerry was almost shaking with anger as his daughter shuffled back into the kitchen, having just rushed by her father on her way to her room. Absent-mindedly, she tucks a lock of her dark hair behind one of her ears.
"Dad, look, let me explain..." The 16-year old stammers, holding her hands up defensively.
"No! You listen to me!" A rage Amanda had never seen before seemed to contort Jerry's face, and she swore she saw flames in his eyes. Like, REAL, flickering hellfire-type flames. "It's that boy, isn't it? Jared or...or Johnny, or whatever the fuck his name is!"
"It's Josh, Da-..."
"I don't give a FUCK what his name is, look what he did to me little girl! My precious...my INNOCENT little girl! He's gone and stolen that away from you, and for what? A few minutes of fun? Did either of you even stop to think what sort of repercussions that might have? What people might think of you? No, of course not. It's just ALL fun and games with you two, isn't it?"
"Dad, seriously, just hold on a secon-..."
"Shut up, Amanda! Just shut up. You're not seeing him again, do you hear me? Never...and dating? Hah, you can just forget about that! As far as I'm concerned, you're officially a nun, got it? I don't want to see you with a boy, I don't want to hear about you hanging out with a boy, I don't even want to hear the WORD boy until you're forty!"
Amanda slams something onto the kitchen counter. A small, rectangular box with a woman modeling her salon-styled brunette hair on the front.
"Hair dye, Dad. It's winter, brunette is in." | "Hey mark, mind taking care of this?"
"Sure!" I turn smiling towards him. I'm the only guy in the office who still has blonde hair after all these years, people called me ignorant, and I had been taken advantage of more times than I could count. And that was fine, I didn't really care. It still bothered me that they thought I was ignorant of the evils of the world though. I had probably been more exposed than most--this platinum hair signaling my gentle nature-- I just didn't let it bother me, in fact nothing really bothers me. I guess for this reason I'm weird, but I can always see the other person's side, no matter how bad it gets-- A true objective, and I just can't bring myself to strike back.
So through all these years I had endured beatings, cheating spouses, isolation, and I didn't care because I could rationalize anything.This is a story about the day I lost my blonde hair. |
Edit: Loving all of these takes, guys! Definitely a lot darker than I expected! | [WP] Everyone is born with blond hair. A person's hair turns brown when they lose their innocence. | "Honey?"
Susan's voice shook a little bit. She was in the doorway of Hannah's room, chewing her nails. Brown hair spilled down her back in waves. Hers had been brown for years, like mine. But the little girl, curled up in bed under the blankets, had blonde curls that spread over the pillow. She was only six. Susan folded an arm across her belly as she looked up at me.
"Does her hair look darker to you?" Her voice was a whisper to keep from waking our daughter. I slid an arm around her shoulders, shaking my head. I was mostly humoring her as I squinted into the room.
"No," I said finally, kissing her temple. "No. She's okay."
She frowned as she leaned into me, but she didn't say more. I sighed, squeezing her small frame, and I let go. I knew why she was worried. A woman at her work had a daughter about Hannah's age, a girl named Christina. Christina's hair had turned brown two weeks ago, and almost immediately after, Christina's father was arrested for raping her. It was sick. Of course, the man's hair had been almost black, so we really shouldn't have been surprised. Still, the idea that something like that could happen to Hannah, that something so awful could cause the change so early, made the both of us uncomfortable.
Our older daughter, Sam, she was entering high school this year. We were expecting her change to come any day now, really. How could it not? Mine had, and so had Susan's. Cursing, boys (or girls), drinking. We all knew it happened. The hair was just an unfortunate indicator that made it really hard to hide. Some students used to bleach their hair to keep their parents in the dark for as long as possible. Sam couldn't do that, though, and I'm not sure if I was grateful or sad about it. Her hair was a strawberry blonde color that you just couldn't get from a box.
"Mom?"
Sam's soft voice made us both jump. She wasn't supposed to be home. She was supposed to be at a sleepover. I whirled. My heart dropped into the pit of my stomach faster than it ever had in my life.
She stood in front of us with her head down. Buried in a sweatshirt three sizes too big on her bony body and jeans stained with grass and mud and *please God don't let that be blood*. But it wasn't just that. Her hair, tied back in a rumpled ponytail, was brown.
It wasn't a light brown, either. Sometimes, if whatever triggers the change isn't too bad, you end up with a cocoa color. Susan's is like that. No, Sam's was a deep, dark brown, rich and full and terrifying.
"Oh, Sammy." Susan's voice cracked, broke. She moved forward and pulled Sam into a hug, but Sam didn't hug back. She just leaned in a little, keeping her arms tight around herself. I swallowed past a throat as dry as sandpaper, barely managing to croak out the words,
"Sam, what happened?"
She looked up at me over Susan's shoulder. I realized she was wearing make-up--it was a new thing for her, ever since junior high had ended. Eyeliner ran in streaks down her face; the lip gloss on her mouth was smudged across her chin and jaw.
"Amy has an older brother," she said, and that was all. | "Hey mark, mind taking care of this?"
"Sure!" I turn smiling towards him. I'm the only guy in the office who still has blonde hair after all these years, people called me ignorant, and I had been taken advantage of more times than I could count. And that was fine, I didn't really care. It still bothered me that they thought I was ignorant of the evils of the world though. I had probably been more exposed than most--this platinum hair signaling my gentle nature-- I just didn't let it bother me, in fact nothing really bothers me. I guess for this reason I'm weird, but I can always see the other person's side, no matter how bad it gets-- A true objective, and I just can't bring myself to strike back.
So through all these years I had endured beatings, cheating spouses, isolation, and I didn't care because I could rationalize anything.This is a story about the day I lost my blonde hair. |
Edit: Loving all of these takes, guys! Definitely a lot darker than I expected! | [WP] Everyone is born with blond hair. A person's hair turns brown when they lose their innocence. | Most children had their hair change around the age of 13 or 14, some older, some younger. Those who had their hair change at extreme ages on either end were usually mocked, but for the most part, we as a society saw the change as a charming rite of passage. Some experience the pigment switch when they first had sex, others didn't until their first break up. The one or two children at my school who had a parent die, their hair changed the same night of the death. From what I understand, the death of a loved one will always cause the blonde hair of youth to turn to the dark tresses of adulthood.
I myself was a bit of a late bloomer, my hair didn't change colors even when I was almost done with my schooling. It wasn't from lack of trying, for I had dark skin and I always thought that the blonde hair looked strange with my complexion, however nothing I did seemed to change it. Not after sex with my first boyfriend (nor the second or the third), getting my first job, or even the death of my aunt, although admittedly we weren't close.
I didn't have much time to worry about it though, because at the end of my schooling, my mother was in a serious car accident. She lived, but sustained serious damage to her body and brain. She had to have her hand amputated, and she wasn't the same. My father remained stoic as ever, and dolled out household responsibilities between me and my younger sister, also still blonde, while he took over as main caretaker for my mother.
Each day passed, and my mothers hair became streaked with white. Unlike the sunshine kissed color of childhood, regaining "innocence" once it had already been lost was an empty, blank color, like a projection screen. Her language had deteriorated, and her actions became base and simplistic. The woman who once took care of me, once again became a child who needed taken care of.
At first my family lived in denial. The doctors had told us that while the chances were slim, there was a possibility that she could eventually regain her cognitive abilities. For weeks my sister and I treated our mother as normally as possible, as if she had only injured herself, helping her bathe and eat as she had once done for us. We continued to take her out in public, and ignored the stares.
Despite our hopefulness, our fathers face grew more grim by the day.
One day while he was at work, my sister had left the house to meet with some friends. My mother and I were left alone and I realized that I had forgotten to pick up the pot roast I needed to cook for dinner. I guided my mother into the car and drove to the grocery store, praying that she would not have another outburst as she had become prone to doing.
We hurried into the grocery store, and I could sense she was becoming restless. I picked out the meat at the deli section, and tried to placate her while we waited.
My mother was not cooperating. She began to cry, and pull at my hair with the hand that remained, her distress manifesting itself in a loud wail, drawing the attention of the other shoppers and the deli workers. Despite the obvious meltdown on the horizon, I was determined to accomplish the simple task we had come there for, so I allowed her to crumble at my feet while I paid for the meat, the worker looking at me with a disturbed face.
I shoved the bag into my large purse, and angrily picked my mother up by the arm, all but dragging her out of the store while she sobbed like a child, over what I couldn't guess at. I had allowed my frustration to get to me, and for once I didn't attempt to stop her tears.
As I buckled her in the back seat, ignoring her tantrum, I turned to glance around me, hoping no more people were witnessing the embarrassment in the parking lot. My eye caught the passenger side rearview mirror, and I finally realized the the source of my mothers tantrum, which had certainly been much worse than usual.
My hair had changed from a golden blonde to a jet black color, darker than even my fathers. I reflected upon the deli workers look of shock at the counter and realized the stares that my mothers tantrum had attracted were not only looking at her, but also myself.
Exhaling, I prepared myself for my fathers reaction as I got into the drivers seat and drove us home, my mother whimpering in the backseat. Normally I would have tried to comfort her, however this time I just couldn't bring myself to focus on her. Too much had happened today.
My sister wouldn't be long behind me. Now that we were the mothers and she was the child, we couldn't be innocent any longer.
| "Hey mark, mind taking care of this?"
"Sure!" I turn smiling towards him. I'm the only guy in the office who still has blonde hair after all these years, people called me ignorant, and I had been taken advantage of more times than I could count. And that was fine, I didn't really care. It still bothered me that they thought I was ignorant of the evils of the world though. I had probably been more exposed than most--this platinum hair signaling my gentle nature-- I just didn't let it bother me, in fact nothing really bothers me. I guess for this reason I'm weird, but I can always see the other person's side, no matter how bad it gets-- A true objective, and I just can't bring myself to strike back.
So through all these years I had endured beatings, cheating spouses, isolation, and I didn't care because I could rationalize anything.This is a story about the day I lost my blonde hair. |
Edit: Loving all of these takes, guys! Definitely a lot darker than I expected! | [WP] Everyone is born with blond hair. A person's hair turns brown when they lose their innocence. | *Note: I absolutely hate the way the word blond looks, so I refuse to ever use it. Sorry.*
"What...the...*fuck*?" Mark asked in a hushed tone. Joanna saw Anne flinch. Typical. Anne was so determined to protect her innocence, as though hearing one curse word was going to change her precious golden locks. Joanna had never been so protective of her own hair.
"I don't know!" shrieked Joanna. "It just happened."
"Has anyone else seen this?"
"No. Only you two." Mark and Anne, her closest friends, so different in personality and hair. Mark kept his brown curls cropped short, whereas Anne preferred to grow out and show off her blonde hair.
When she first met Mark, he had dirty blonde hair, but years of living with an alcoholic father and a mother who wouldn't stay put had robbed him of what little innocence he had left.
Nothing seemed to touch Anne. Joanna and Mark joked amongst themselves that her hair was only growing lighter.
Joanna had thought her hair would have turned brown ages ago. She had sex with Mark. She had stolen. She told lies and lusted and drank; she did all the things that would have made Anne gasp in horror, but her hair stayed stubbornly blonde.
Until now.
"Joanna," Anne spoke up. "I...this isn't natural."
"I know that! So what the hell do I do?"
Anne shook her head. "I don't know. I have to go."
Joanna blinked at her stupidly. "What do you mean, you have to go? Go where?"
"Home. I'm sorry, sweetie, but the way you look...I love you, you know that, but I can't be around you! I don't want that happening to me."
"Hair color isn't *catching*, Anne," Mark muttered.
Anne turned to Mark, eyes flashing. "You're one to talk. Maybe if you had been a better influence, this wouldn't have happened."
"Don't put this on me! I didn't have anything to do with it. It's unheard of."
They were arguing over her like divorced parents who didn't want custody, Joanna realized. Mark wouldn't outright say it, but he didn't want to be around her, either.
"You should cut it," Anne advised her before walking out the door. "Shave your head, wear a scarf, anything. You look...you should cover it."
Joanna looked at Mark, tears streaking her face. "What do I do?" she whispered.
Mark looked back at her uneasily. "You do what Anne says. And maybe go see someone. A doctor or something."
"You're going, too," Joanna said. She didn't need to ask. Mark was fidgeting, looking anywhere but at Joanna's hair.
"I'll be in touch," Mark said. And then he was gone.
Joanna sat in numb silence for a few minutes, then stood up suddenly and grabbed a pair of scissors from the kitchen. She would need to go to a hair dresser to do the job properly, but this would have to serve.
She stood in front of her bathroom mirror, stomach turning at the sight of herself.
The only sound came from the scissors snipping away her long, red hair. | She was blonde yesterday.
Blondness is a rare trait in this city. Sure, every now and then, you'll run into someone with locks of wheaty gold, but brown was the shade of this town. Even I had browned last year. I tugged at my dark curls, a reminder of that glorious night during which my blonde was taken in a bout of rough, passionate browning.
She was different. With all the brown that went on in town, she never quite felt it necessary. She got her kicks in things that only made her more blonde. Springy curls of sunlight bounced off her head and everyone could tell that she was blonde by choice.
I searched for her in the hallways this morning, seeking out the yellow glow that was always so easy to spot. Instead, I found a different glow. There she was, brown springs bouncing in the wind, a smile on a face that shone as bright as her hair once did.
In that moment, we all knew that she was brown by choice.
|
Edit: Loving all of these takes, guys! Definitely a lot darker than I expected! | [WP] Everyone is born with blond hair. A person's hair turns brown when they lose their innocence. | It hurts to look at him now. That dark brown hair, almost the colour of dried blood. The reminder of what I did.
We're having breakfast now. He sits across from me, pushing his toast soldiers around the plate absentmindedly. I force a smile, and try and catch his eye but he ignores me. Is this always the way it will be?
"So how about that Blues game last night?" Dan says awkwardly. It's just like him to do this, to try and fix things, even the ones he never could.
He doesn't respond to Dan either, but slowly slides off his chair, eyes on the floor, starts shuffling towards the door where his schoolbag lies.
"Alex..." I say as he leaves. God, I have to say something. He turns to me, his eyes full of tears.
"Why did you do it Mum?" he asks me, the dead husk of the Christmas tree standing starkly behind him.
"Why did you tell me Santa Claus wasn't real?" | She was blonde yesterday.
Blondness is a rare trait in this city. Sure, every now and then, you'll run into someone with locks of wheaty gold, but brown was the shade of this town. Even I had browned last year. I tugged at my dark curls, a reminder of that glorious night during which my blonde was taken in a bout of rough, passionate browning.
She was different. With all the brown that went on in town, she never quite felt it necessary. She got her kicks in things that only made her more blonde. Springy curls of sunlight bounced off her head and everyone could tell that she was blonde by choice.
I searched for her in the hallways this morning, seeking out the yellow glow that was always so easy to spot. Instead, I found a different glow. There she was, brown springs bouncing in the wind, a smile on a face that shone as bright as her hair once did.
In that moment, we all knew that she was brown by choice.
|
Edit: Loving all of these takes, guys! Definitely a lot darker than I expected! | [WP] Everyone is born with blond hair. A person's hair turns brown when they lose their innocence. | "Amanda, get back here...NOW." Jerry was almost shaking with anger as his daughter shuffled back into the kitchen, having just rushed by her father on her way to her room. Absent-mindedly, she tucks a lock of her dark hair behind one of her ears.
"Dad, look, let me explain..." The 16-year old stammers, holding her hands up defensively.
"No! You listen to me!" A rage Amanda had never seen before seemed to contort Jerry's face, and she swore she saw flames in his eyes. Like, REAL, flickering hellfire-type flames. "It's that boy, isn't it? Jared or...or Johnny, or whatever the fuck his name is!"
"It's Josh, Da-..."
"I don't give a FUCK what his name is, look what he did to me little girl! My precious...my INNOCENT little girl! He's gone and stolen that away from you, and for what? A few minutes of fun? Did either of you even stop to think what sort of repercussions that might have? What people might think of you? No, of course not. It's just ALL fun and games with you two, isn't it?"
"Dad, seriously, just hold on a secon-..."
"Shut up, Amanda! Just shut up. You're not seeing him again, do you hear me? Never...and dating? Hah, you can just forget about that! As far as I'm concerned, you're officially a nun, got it? I don't want to see you with a boy, I don't want to hear about you hanging out with a boy, I don't even want to hear the WORD boy until you're forty!"
Amanda slams something onto the kitchen counter. A small, rectangular box with a woman modeling her salon-styled brunette hair on the front.
"Hair dye, Dad. It's winter, brunette is in." | She was blonde yesterday.
Blondness is a rare trait in this city. Sure, every now and then, you'll run into someone with locks of wheaty gold, but brown was the shade of this town. Even I had browned last year. I tugged at my dark curls, a reminder of that glorious night during which my blonde was taken in a bout of rough, passionate browning.
She was different. With all the brown that went on in town, she never quite felt it necessary. She got her kicks in things that only made her more blonde. Springy curls of sunlight bounced off her head and everyone could tell that she was blonde by choice.
I searched for her in the hallways this morning, seeking out the yellow glow that was always so easy to spot. Instead, I found a different glow. There she was, brown springs bouncing in the wind, a smile on a face that shone as bright as her hair once did.
In that moment, we all knew that she was brown by choice.
|
Edit: Loving all of these takes, guys! Definitely a lot darker than I expected! | [WP] Everyone is born with blond hair. A person's hair turns brown when they lose their innocence. | "Amanda, get back here...NOW." Jerry was almost shaking with anger as his daughter shuffled back into the kitchen, having just rushed by her father on her way to her room. Absent-mindedly, she tucks a lock of her dark hair behind one of her ears.
"Dad, look, let me explain..." The 16-year old stammers, holding her hands up defensively.
"No! You listen to me!" A rage Amanda had never seen before seemed to contort Jerry's face, and she swore she saw flames in his eyes. Like, REAL, flickering hellfire-type flames. "It's that boy, isn't it? Jared or...or Johnny, or whatever the fuck his name is!"
"It's Josh, Da-..."
"I don't give a FUCK what his name is, look what he did to me little girl! My precious...my INNOCENT little girl! He's gone and stolen that away from you, and for what? A few minutes of fun? Did either of you even stop to think what sort of repercussions that might have? What people might think of you? No, of course not. It's just ALL fun and games with you two, isn't it?"
"Dad, seriously, just hold on a secon-..."
"Shut up, Amanda! Just shut up. You're not seeing him again, do you hear me? Never...and dating? Hah, you can just forget about that! As far as I'm concerned, you're officially a nun, got it? I don't want to see you with a boy, I don't want to hear about you hanging out with a boy, I don't even want to hear the WORD boy until you're forty!"
Amanda slams something onto the kitchen counter. A small, rectangular box with a woman modeling her salon-styled brunette hair on the front.
"Hair dye, Dad. It's winter, brunette is in." | And now! A word from our sponsors.
I'm Catherine Harris from "the wind that blows". Everyone knows me as the truest blonde in Hollywood but truth is even I get a hint of brown. That is until I found Genuine by Kriz Montz. It's difficult enough finding a good man but nothing ruins a great first date like a dark streak in the morning. Doesn't matter if you a business woman, stay at home mom, or just a student Genuine is for you.
Kim always laughed at those commercials but after noticing her thin blonde hair growing dark she began to worry if others noticed too. |
Edit: Loving all of these takes, guys! Definitely a lot darker than I expected! | [WP] Everyone is born with blond hair. A person's hair turns brown when they lose their innocence. | "Honey?"
Susan's voice shook a little bit. She was in the doorway of Hannah's room, chewing her nails. Brown hair spilled down her back in waves. Hers had been brown for years, like mine. But the little girl, curled up in bed under the blankets, had blonde curls that spread over the pillow. She was only six. Susan folded an arm across her belly as she looked up at me.
"Does her hair look darker to you?" Her voice was a whisper to keep from waking our daughter. I slid an arm around her shoulders, shaking my head. I was mostly humoring her as I squinted into the room.
"No," I said finally, kissing her temple. "No. She's okay."
She frowned as she leaned into me, but she didn't say more. I sighed, squeezing her small frame, and I let go. I knew why she was worried. A woman at her work had a daughter about Hannah's age, a girl named Christina. Christina's hair had turned brown two weeks ago, and almost immediately after, Christina's father was arrested for raping her. It was sick. Of course, the man's hair had been almost black, so we really shouldn't have been surprised. Still, the idea that something like that could happen to Hannah, that something so awful could cause the change so early, made the both of us uncomfortable.
Our older daughter, Sam, she was entering high school this year. We were expecting her change to come any day now, really. How could it not? Mine had, and so had Susan's. Cursing, boys (or girls), drinking. We all knew it happened. The hair was just an unfortunate indicator that made it really hard to hide. Some students used to bleach their hair to keep their parents in the dark for as long as possible. Sam couldn't do that, though, and I'm not sure if I was grateful or sad about it. Her hair was a strawberry blonde color that you just couldn't get from a box.
"Mom?"
Sam's soft voice made us both jump. She wasn't supposed to be home. She was supposed to be at a sleepover. I whirled. My heart dropped into the pit of my stomach faster than it ever had in my life.
She stood in front of us with her head down. Buried in a sweatshirt three sizes too big on her bony body and jeans stained with grass and mud and *please God don't let that be blood*. But it wasn't just that. Her hair, tied back in a rumpled ponytail, was brown.
It wasn't a light brown, either. Sometimes, if whatever triggers the change isn't too bad, you end up with a cocoa color. Susan's is like that. No, Sam's was a deep, dark brown, rich and full and terrifying.
"Oh, Sammy." Susan's voice cracked, broke. She moved forward and pulled Sam into a hug, but Sam didn't hug back. She just leaned in a little, keeping her arms tight around herself. I swallowed past a throat as dry as sandpaper, barely managing to croak out the words,
"Sam, what happened?"
She looked up at me over Susan's shoulder. I realized she was wearing make-up--it was a new thing for her, ever since junior high had ended. Eyeliner ran in streaks down her face; the lip gloss on her mouth was smudged across her chin and jaw.
"Amy has an older brother," she said, and that was all. | And now! A word from our sponsors.
I'm Catherine Harris from "the wind that blows". Everyone knows me as the truest blonde in Hollywood but truth is even I get a hint of brown. That is until I found Genuine by Kriz Montz. It's difficult enough finding a good man but nothing ruins a great first date like a dark streak in the morning. Doesn't matter if you a business woman, stay at home mom, or just a student Genuine is for you.
Kim always laughed at those commercials but after noticing her thin blonde hair growing dark she began to worry if others noticed too. |
Edit: Loving all of these takes, guys! Definitely a lot darker than I expected! | [WP] Everyone is born with blond hair. A person's hair turns brown when they lose their innocence. | "Amanda, get back here...NOW." Jerry was almost shaking with anger as his daughter shuffled back into the kitchen, having just rushed by her father on her way to her room. Absent-mindedly, she tucks a lock of her dark hair behind one of her ears.
"Dad, look, let me explain..." The 16-year old stammers, holding her hands up defensively.
"No! You listen to me!" A rage Amanda had never seen before seemed to contort Jerry's face, and she swore she saw flames in his eyes. Like, REAL, flickering hellfire-type flames. "It's that boy, isn't it? Jared or...or Johnny, or whatever the fuck his name is!"
"It's Josh, Da-..."
"I don't give a FUCK what his name is, look what he did to me little girl! My precious...my INNOCENT little girl! He's gone and stolen that away from you, and for what? A few minutes of fun? Did either of you even stop to think what sort of repercussions that might have? What people might think of you? No, of course not. It's just ALL fun and games with you two, isn't it?"
"Dad, seriously, just hold on a secon-..."
"Shut up, Amanda! Just shut up. You're not seeing him again, do you hear me? Never...and dating? Hah, you can just forget about that! As far as I'm concerned, you're officially a nun, got it? I don't want to see you with a boy, I don't want to hear about you hanging out with a boy, I don't even want to hear the WORD boy until you're forty!"
Amanda slams something onto the kitchen counter. A small, rectangular box with a woman modeling her salon-styled brunette hair on the front.
"Hair dye, Dad. It's winter, brunette is in." | I'm the kind of boy most people would expect to have blonde hair; I always turn my homework in on time, follow all school rules, have never said a cuss word, etc. Well, it all happened last year. I was a new fresh freshman ready for high school.
When I arrived at school, I was greeted by kind smiles. My first class, Geography, was fine. The teacher was nice, I had some friends, and not a difficult subject for me. Next was Algebra 2, a class I would do well at, but not like because of the amount of homework.
Next was P.E., in this class we got our P.E. locker combinations and went to change clothes. Well guess whose locker was next to mine. A very handsome Spanish guy with shining brown eyes, lushes dark brown hair, and light-brown skin. He had gotten there earlier and was already changing so I got to see him take off his shirt to reveal his perfect abs and necklace. The necklace had a rainbow flag on it. My mind was about to burst. Things lead to another and we made out in the bathroom stall.
When I came home that evening, I had a lot of explaining to do to my mom. |
Edit: Loving all of these takes, guys! Definitely a lot darker than I expected! | [WP] Everyone is born with blond hair. A person's hair turns brown when they lose their innocence. | "Honey?"
Susan's voice shook a little bit. She was in the doorway of Hannah's room, chewing her nails. Brown hair spilled down her back in waves. Hers had been brown for years, like mine. But the little girl, curled up in bed under the blankets, had blonde curls that spread over the pillow. She was only six. Susan folded an arm across her belly as she looked up at me.
"Does her hair look darker to you?" Her voice was a whisper to keep from waking our daughter. I slid an arm around her shoulders, shaking my head. I was mostly humoring her as I squinted into the room.
"No," I said finally, kissing her temple. "No. She's okay."
She frowned as she leaned into me, but she didn't say more. I sighed, squeezing her small frame, and I let go. I knew why she was worried. A woman at her work had a daughter about Hannah's age, a girl named Christina. Christina's hair had turned brown two weeks ago, and almost immediately after, Christina's father was arrested for raping her. It was sick. Of course, the man's hair had been almost black, so we really shouldn't have been surprised. Still, the idea that something like that could happen to Hannah, that something so awful could cause the change so early, made the both of us uncomfortable.
Our older daughter, Sam, she was entering high school this year. We were expecting her change to come any day now, really. How could it not? Mine had, and so had Susan's. Cursing, boys (or girls), drinking. We all knew it happened. The hair was just an unfortunate indicator that made it really hard to hide. Some students used to bleach their hair to keep their parents in the dark for as long as possible. Sam couldn't do that, though, and I'm not sure if I was grateful or sad about it. Her hair was a strawberry blonde color that you just couldn't get from a box.
"Mom?"
Sam's soft voice made us both jump. She wasn't supposed to be home. She was supposed to be at a sleepover. I whirled. My heart dropped into the pit of my stomach faster than it ever had in my life.
She stood in front of us with her head down. Buried in a sweatshirt three sizes too big on her bony body and jeans stained with grass and mud and *please God don't let that be blood*. But it wasn't just that. Her hair, tied back in a rumpled ponytail, was brown.
It wasn't a light brown, either. Sometimes, if whatever triggers the change isn't too bad, you end up with a cocoa color. Susan's is like that. No, Sam's was a deep, dark brown, rich and full and terrifying.
"Oh, Sammy." Susan's voice cracked, broke. She moved forward and pulled Sam into a hug, but Sam didn't hug back. She just leaned in a little, keeping her arms tight around herself. I swallowed past a throat as dry as sandpaper, barely managing to croak out the words,
"Sam, what happened?"
She looked up at me over Susan's shoulder. I realized she was wearing make-up--it was a new thing for her, ever since junior high had ended. Eyeliner ran in streaks down her face; the lip gloss on her mouth was smudged across her chin and jaw.
"Amy has an older brother," she said, and that was all. | I'm the kind of boy most people would expect to have blonde hair; I always turn my homework in on time, follow all school rules, have never said a cuss word, etc. Well, it all happened last year. I was a new fresh freshman ready for high school.
When I arrived at school, I was greeted by kind smiles. My first class, Geography, was fine. The teacher was nice, I had some friends, and not a difficult subject for me. Next was Algebra 2, a class I would do well at, but not like because of the amount of homework.
Next was P.E., in this class we got our P.E. locker combinations and went to change clothes. Well guess whose locker was next to mine. A very handsome Spanish guy with shining brown eyes, lushes dark brown hair, and light-brown skin. He had gotten there earlier and was already changing so I got to see him take off his shirt to reveal his perfect abs and necklace. The necklace had a rainbow flag on it. My mind was about to burst. Things lead to another and we made out in the bathroom stall.
When I came home that evening, I had a lot of explaining to do to my mom. |
Edit: Loving all of these takes, guys! Definitely a lot darker than I expected! | [WP] Everyone is born with blond hair. A person's hair turns brown when they lose their innocence. | Most children had their hair change around the age of 13 or 14, some older, some younger. Those who had their hair change at extreme ages on either end were usually mocked, but for the most part, we as a society saw the change as a charming rite of passage. Some experience the pigment switch when they first had sex, others didn't until their first break up. The one or two children at my school who had a parent die, their hair changed the same night of the death. From what I understand, the death of a loved one will always cause the blonde hair of youth to turn to the dark tresses of adulthood.
I myself was a bit of a late bloomer, my hair didn't change colors even when I was almost done with my schooling. It wasn't from lack of trying, for I had dark skin and I always thought that the blonde hair looked strange with my complexion, however nothing I did seemed to change it. Not after sex with my first boyfriend (nor the second or the third), getting my first job, or even the death of my aunt, although admittedly we weren't close.
I didn't have much time to worry about it though, because at the end of my schooling, my mother was in a serious car accident. She lived, but sustained serious damage to her body and brain. She had to have her hand amputated, and she wasn't the same. My father remained stoic as ever, and dolled out household responsibilities between me and my younger sister, also still blonde, while he took over as main caretaker for my mother.
Each day passed, and my mothers hair became streaked with white. Unlike the sunshine kissed color of childhood, regaining "innocence" once it had already been lost was an empty, blank color, like a projection screen. Her language had deteriorated, and her actions became base and simplistic. The woman who once took care of me, once again became a child who needed taken care of.
At first my family lived in denial. The doctors had told us that while the chances were slim, there was a possibility that she could eventually regain her cognitive abilities. For weeks my sister and I treated our mother as normally as possible, as if she had only injured herself, helping her bathe and eat as she had once done for us. We continued to take her out in public, and ignored the stares.
Despite our hopefulness, our fathers face grew more grim by the day.
One day while he was at work, my sister had left the house to meet with some friends. My mother and I were left alone and I realized that I had forgotten to pick up the pot roast I needed to cook for dinner. I guided my mother into the car and drove to the grocery store, praying that she would not have another outburst as she had become prone to doing.
We hurried into the grocery store, and I could sense she was becoming restless. I picked out the meat at the deli section, and tried to placate her while we waited.
My mother was not cooperating. She began to cry, and pull at my hair with the hand that remained, her distress manifesting itself in a loud wail, drawing the attention of the other shoppers and the deli workers. Despite the obvious meltdown on the horizon, I was determined to accomplish the simple task we had come there for, so I allowed her to crumble at my feet while I paid for the meat, the worker looking at me with a disturbed face.
I shoved the bag into my large purse, and angrily picked my mother up by the arm, all but dragging her out of the store while she sobbed like a child, over what I couldn't guess at. I had allowed my frustration to get to me, and for once I didn't attempt to stop her tears.
As I buckled her in the back seat, ignoring her tantrum, I turned to glance around me, hoping no more people were witnessing the embarrassment in the parking lot. My eye caught the passenger side rearview mirror, and I finally realized the the source of my mothers tantrum, which had certainly been much worse than usual.
My hair had changed from a golden blonde to a jet black color, darker than even my fathers. I reflected upon the deli workers look of shock at the counter and realized the stares that my mothers tantrum had attracted were not only looking at her, but also myself.
Exhaling, I prepared myself for my fathers reaction as I got into the drivers seat and drove us home, my mother whimpering in the backseat. Normally I would have tried to comfort her, however this time I just couldn't bring myself to focus on her. Too much had happened today.
My sister wouldn't be long behind me. Now that we were the mothers and she was the child, we couldn't be innocent any longer.
| I'm the kind of boy most people would expect to have blonde hair; I always turn my homework in on time, follow all school rules, have never said a cuss word, etc. Well, it all happened last year. I was a new fresh freshman ready for high school.
When I arrived at school, I was greeted by kind smiles. My first class, Geography, was fine. The teacher was nice, I had some friends, and not a difficult subject for me. Next was Algebra 2, a class I would do well at, but not like because of the amount of homework.
Next was P.E., in this class we got our P.E. locker combinations and went to change clothes. Well guess whose locker was next to mine. A very handsome Spanish guy with shining brown eyes, lushes dark brown hair, and light-brown skin. He had gotten there earlier and was already changing so I got to see him take off his shirt to reveal his perfect abs and necklace. The necklace had a rainbow flag on it. My mind was about to burst. Things lead to another and we made out in the bathroom stall.
When I came home that evening, I had a lot of explaining to do to my mom. |
[WP] The Grim Reaper has announced his retirement and is conducting a universe-wide search for his protégé. | The man in blue towered over the man in red, relishing the noticeable height difference that stemmed from the fact that the man in red was tied down to a chair, whereas the man in blue was not. The man in blue pressed the revolver to the man in red's temple.
"Look, man, this ain't nothin' personal, but we gotta send a message. Can't have the rest of you doin' this sorta shit on our turf anymore, know what I'm sayin'?" He cocked back the hammer. "Any last words?"
"*Fuck* you."
The man in blue let out a cocky laugh. "You're a real goddamn wordsmith. I'll make sure they write that on your tombstone."
A flash of light, the beginning of an insanely loud bang—and then time stopped.
The man in black walked in, flipping frantically through an oversized manilla folder, stuffed with hundreds of pages. "Shit, who the fuck do I have now‽ Where the fuck am I *now*‽" He glanced around maniacally. "Oh, great, what is *this*‽ A *gang* fight‽ Oh, wow, thanks for the fuckin' vacation, assholes! So glad to be out of the famines to get involved with *this* shit!"
He paced back and forth intensely, then looked at his watch. "Oh!" He let out a sound of pure relief; an unsettling mixture of laughs and sobs. In its infinitely short span of non-time, his tearful jubilation seemed to last infinitely long. "Oh, sweet holy fuck, it's over! The last minute is finally over!" He laughed harder than he ever had before in his life, or his non-life.
The man in black looked down at the man in red, then pulled out a scythe-shaped blade from his jacket. "This is nice, right? Like it?" He grinned like a complete lunatic.
"Who the *fuck* are—"
"Look, let's not do all that formal shit of who I am and who you are and what the fuck this all is. You hate those guys, right? They're wearin' a different color than you, and you hate 'em, and you wanna kill 'em, right? I mean, they just killed you, so you wanna kill 'em back, yeah? Revenge, and all that shit? Lemme hook you up. Says here..." He pulled out a page from the manilla folder. "...yeah, yeah, says here your friends are gonna come in and fuck shit *up!* Kill *all* these motherfuckers. I mean..." He flipped the page over. "...you gotta kill some of your friends, too, but I mean, that's just *some* of them. But you get to kill *all* these *blue* sunnuvabitches! That's what you want, right?"
"Man, what the *fuck* are you—"
"Hey, look, no time to explain, just forget I said anything. Or I mean, just pretend you understood and agreed with everything I said. Oh, yeah." The man in black used the scythe-blade to cut the man in red's binds. "You're welcome. Look, you just gotta kill people for *one day!* That's cool, yeah? You're down with that, yeah? That's just like, a hundred sixty thousand people. No sweat."
The man in black bent down, and stared intensely into the man in red's eyes, giddy with excitement. "Yeah, you a *cold* motherfucker, right? One sixty ain't *nothin'* for you, right‽ Oh, this is good, man! This is *perfect*!"
"Can I *fuckin'* say somethin' to—"
"Chill, man. Chill. Just take this. And this." The man in black dropped the manilla folder and the scythe-blade on the ground, in the general direction of the man in red's feet. "Okay, I'm out! Peace!"
The man in black slammed the door. A loose hinge wobbled slightly. | All the preparations had been made.
It took me a couple months longer than I thought, but writing goodbye to all your loved ones is a thicker process than I had imagined. I wrote a list of the people I loved the most first, I took a look at said long-ass list, got lazy, and start grouping them into phylums: “Friends”, “Family”.
Obviously I started with the important people, they’re the most emotional: “Mom”, “Annie”. Lots of trembling, some tears, an unfortunate ton of re-writing. I learned my lesson after ruining two expensive (well…by my standards) pieces of parchment and worked out the kinks of the rough drafts on my iPad before actually writing them down.
Turns out it’s incredibly hard to tell the people you love all the reasons why you killed yourself without coming off a little pretentious. “This didn’t turn out this way”, & “This blew up”. Blah. Blah. Blah. I actually started to have second thoughts about it, putting them on paper started to give me a different perspective. But one night I took stock of my life, realized I still hadn’t had a discernible “win” in any area of my life in the past two years, and didn’t see any coming any time soon.
It had to be the park near my house. Midnight. I was friendly with the A.M. groundskeeper, we used to talk when I would go for morning walks. I could trust him to take care of my body and alert my family as soon as possible. …I couldn’t let my mother walk in on me, like that. She’s been through too much.
I was in the driver’s seat. My window was open. I stole razors from work for the task, there was some romanticism in that, I thought.
I had been practicing on my left arm for days. I was ready.
I cut a swath up my left wrist. I cut a twin wound across my right wrist.
My heart didn’t race, I wasn’t sweaty. I wasn’t nervous. I had made preparations. I was ready. More ready for that than failing in life. More ready for that than realizing that nobody’s special, there isn’t some white hat behind the scenes ready to save the day for us. We’re on our own, and I had made too many mistakes, I wasn’t going to screw that up.
Except…I didn’t die. The bleeding came to an end, my heart stopped pounding, and everything was numb. But I didn’t die. Gusts of wind thru the window, I didn’t feel anything.
“You speak several languages.”
He came into view in the rear mirror. I think he was looking directly at me, I couldn’t really tell, my eyes were fixed on the hood of my car.
“That’s interesting.”
I thought to myself “no it’s not”.
“Yes. Yes it is.”
Okay that’s weird.
“It is. But your body is dead.”
Just my body?
“Currently your spirit still resides in that husk.”
Why?
“I retired today. And because I no longer wanted my duty, you and everyone like you cannot pass. There’s no one to see you to it.”
Please…
“Young man. I’m retired. Don’t bother begging an old man in retirement. It’s far, far too late for that. No, I’m not hear for your begging. I’m here to make you an offer.”
You want me to replace you.
“Yes. Yes I do.”
Why me?
“Because you’re quite good at preparing lists. You don’t miss things.”
You’re picking me because I’m a glorified accountant?
“No. That’s why you would be good at this job. I’m picking you specifically because you want it.”
What?
“The meaning of life. It’s why you’re doing this.”
There have to be others.
“Oh there are. You have the right to refuse, obviously. You just happened to be the first male on the list.”
Why not a woman?
“I’d never let a woman do this job.”
That’s a little……old-fashioned.
“Not where I come from.”
If I do this…how long do I have to do it?
“Until you get the answer that you seek.”
Did you tire of it?
“It’s not about being tired. It’s not about rest. I’ve done my duty. I’ve seen the meaning in all of this……dust.”
And if I don’t…
“Then you don’t. Nothing happens. You don’t get the answer, you don’t understand.”
I wasn’t sure how much time had passed before I answered him. But I had to say yes. I had to know why. Why everything.
I’ll do it.
“Wonderful.”
So what now?
“Now you make preparations.”
|
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