Running Late: a Bad Hair Day Horror Story
A 100-word response to the October 26th fiction prompt
Published in
Oct 26, 2021
I’ve always said my hair has a mind of its own.
“It’s a shame you can’t call in ugly like you call in sick,” a curl said, examining my face.
I froze. Either I was hallucinating or my hair was sentient. And rude.
“Leave the girl alone; she’s tired.” Another curl.
I screamed.
“What’s wrong?”
“Is there a fire?”
“Are we out of mousse?”
“We’re all going to die!”
My hair panicked. I panicked. I grabbed scissors.
The battle was brutal, the results horrific.
Running late, I donned a hat.
“I can’t believe you killed them,” my left eyebrow said.
