Tag Archives: hair

151. The scissor-wielding street gang

The scissor-wielding street gang hit Caracas every Sunday morning, when most of the female population walked from their homes to the churches, flaunting their beautiful hair in the Venezuelan sun. Even though the women knew they could lose their locks in a heartbeat if a gang member on a scooter passed by, the threat did not stop them from indulging in their Sunday vanity.

Hair had always been an important part of Venezuelan society, a status symbol up there with cars and houses, but these days it rivalled cocaine as the main currency for organized crime. A full head of hair could fetch as much as a pound of coke on the black market.

Consuela wasn’t afraid to admit she was one of these vain women, walking the Sunday streets with her long black hair that ended just about where her curvy behind started and turned heads wherever she went.

Yet when Javier Sanchez, one of the youngest gang members but one of the most experienced when it came to hair snatching, snuck up on Consuela on Palm Sunday, traditionally a prime date for hair theft, he did not leave the scene with a grand worth of long black locks in his pockets. He left with his guts spilling all over his scooter. The gangs may have wielded scissors but Consuela preferred a machete.

Vanity comes at a price they say. For Consuela that price was set at a gallon of hoodlum blood. Each and every Sunday again.

 

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Did you enjoy this story? Then why not try the 101 stories in 300 words or less in YOU’RE GETTING SLEEPY, THE HYPNOTIST’S APPRENTICE YAWNED.

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75. The guy with the trapezoid hair

The guy with the trapezoid hair stares at his reflection, trying to glimpse the back of his neck.

“Is it really thàt bad?”

“It stands out,” his friend replies honestly.

That’s not the answer Billy wants to hear. He is getting nervous. Tomorrow he will attend the most important meeting of his life. That’s why he let a barber trim his hair instead of doing it himself. But the trim-line, from the middle of his ear to the bottom of his neck, is unnaturally straight, giving the lower end of his back hair the appearance of an inverted trapezium.

“They’ll be in front of you when you give your address,” his friend reassures him. “No-one will notice.”

Billy isn’t convinced. He whips out his smartphone and snaps a picture of the botched barber job. Self-consciousness about advancing grey hairs is already crippling him emotionally and now this.

“O God!” he gasps. “I’m a walking geometry lesson.”

He looks to his friend for comfort but gets a blank face. There are only so many things one can say to ease trapezoid anxiety.

“They’ll mock me,” Billy hyperventilates. “They’ll mock me and withdraw funding. I’m gonna kill that barber. I’ll kill him!”

This bar stool conversation goes on for the next two hours. Billy slowly losing his mind. His friend gradually losing his patience and the will to live.

But as the evening wears on, and his friend’s annoyance turns palpable, Billy finally comes to terms with the situation.

“You’re probably right,” he sighs, slinging his arm around his friend. “No-one will care.”

“Nice presentation,” the investors will say the following morning. And Billy will pretend not to have noticed their constant snickering.

When next he looks in the mirror a flurry of fresh grey hairs has sprouted.

Fuck…

 

cover

Did you enjoy this story? Then why not try the 101 stories in 300 words or less in YOU’RE GETTING SLEEPY, THE HYPNOTIST’S APPRENTICE YAWNED.

Available at the Createspace Store, at amazon.com, amazon.co.uk or any other Amazon store in your territory.  E-book is also available.

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