84.
hair.
walking through the streets i look in peoples eyes. this causes a lot of problems, as a lot of people need an excuse to fight.
one man, bigger than me, asks me if i have a problem. my sarcasm does not impress him. within a few minutes he is punching me to the head and kicking to me the back.
the pain washes over me, the man shows no humanity.
i feel as if an iceberg is melting in my head.
lying on the ground i laugh. he gets madder and madder the more i laugh at him. his jeans are getting dirty. he stops, cursing me.
i wait until he has walked a fair distance away before i get my revenge. i take out a pair of scissors. the man looks at me as he walks away. he sees me standing behind him, the scissors glistening in the moonlight.
before he says a word i run up to him and cut as much of his hair from his head as i can before he throws me to the ground.
i sit on the ground, looking into his eyes, the scissors in one hand, some of his hair in the other.
he walks away spitting and swearing, scared to attack because of my scissors.
i walk home contented.
when i get back to my apartment i add his hair to my collection in the bedside drawer. |
