And there she stood, captivated by her own lack of vanity. The
brand new Wal-mart scissors with the comfort grip blue handles
reflecting the anger building up from the pit of her stomach.
Beautiful blonde ringlets framed the delicate features and
expressions her face makes on a daily basis. These expressions go
unnoticed, unlike her beautiful natural mane with curls women kill
for. These tresses dangled covering the black and blue, bruises and
scrapes of what he said was love, what he said was his only choice.

The compliments never ceased on these golden tresses. He loved
nothing more than touching them, running his threatening fingers
through this vulnerability. He saw her as nothing but his blonde
haired, blue-eyed trophy. Her words, thoughts and feelings as
transparent as glass itself. Just her looks, her locks, and the
fact that she was his.

The last straw had been pulled, had broken the camels back and now
there was nothing but rage in her. Rage from being neglected,
pushed aside and deemed as hollow. The life changing blades rose in
her frigid hand, and the first sunshine ringlet fell to the floor
in what seemed to be slow motion. Like a torrid domino effect the
ringlets fell, one after the other until there was a sea of dead
beauty on the harsh tile floor. Not even tears escaped from her
eyes as she continually stared at what she had done, and she
suddenly realized that this could be the beginning of the end, or
the end of her life.

12/19/2002

Author's Note: This is the first short, really short, story i've ever written. It got some great feedback, the challenge was to write a short story involving scissors. I'm pretty proud. I never knew I had it in me.

Posted on 12/20/2002
Copyright © 2024 Quinlan L Gibson