A streak of bad haircuts

She ran and ran, and realized she had to do something about changing her appearance soon, or her running would not get her far. Red hair and green eyes, the least common traits in the human population, were not the most useful when trying to be inconspicuous.

As she rounded the corner and spotted one of the many saloons that lined the streets, she prayed the one she entered would have someone nice, who didn't ask many questions. She didn't want to implicate anyone else, but she had no choice if she wanted to survive.

As she entered, she was greeted by four women, all laughing, or cleaning, or combing their hair. There were no customers, just the hairdressers, and she nearly wept at the first lucky thing that had happened to her in ages. If this was to work, she needed as little witnesses to her transformation as possible. Four sounded like an awfully big number in this situation.

"What can we do for you, doll?", chirped a thin woman, with long colorful hair. She observed the distraught young woman that had just entered, and something clicked with her past that prevented her from asking anything else. 

"I need to stop looking like me," she said finally, moisture filling her eyes and her voice constricting. The ladies looked at her sympathetically, but for some unknown reason, none asked anything else.

"One speedy total makeover coming over," said colorful lady, "and Tina, bring that old suit that we were giving over to charity. "How permanent a change, sugar?"

"Enough to get me far."

The colorful lady just nodded and turned the chair over so outsiders couldn't see the patient in her chair. Some of the other ladies moved to close curtains and scurry chairs, making entering the saloon impossible. Finally, the "enter" sign was turned, even though it was still early for closing.

For a while, all that could be heard were the scissors dancing, and she tried not to cry as the locks of ginger hair fell lifelessly to the floor. She was pretty sure she resembled her brother now, although she hadn't seen him in so long that maybe she didn't. Not seeing her family and friends was just another form of punishment. Making her be the one to cut all ties had been the ultimate form of submission.

Maybe all the things she had endured made her less anxious about the worst haircut in history; if beauty hurt, survival was a pain in the ass. And if cutting ties to her loved ones had made her a slave, maybe cutting her hair might set her free.

As the hair was hastily broomed from the floor, removing all evidence of the change taking place, she thought about her mother, who had worshiped her hair. She remembered sadly all her efforts to keep it as gingerly natural as possible. But ginger locks had gotten her into this mess in the first place. Either way, she didn't have that much self-esteem, or a strong sense of who she was anymore, to care too much about voluntarily trashing one of her most distinctive traits.

She then saw herself in the mirror and gasped both in shock and relief at not recognizing herself at first. Back at her stared a sad young person with dark hair that fell conveniently over her face, thick eyebrows, and green eyes. Those couldn't be helped.

"Now the clothes," said the lady, leading her to a bathroom. She gave her a wide, battered suit that was too big for her. But as she put it over her attire, she began thinking maybe she had a chance of running looking like this. She dug inside the clothes beneath the suit for the money to pay, but colorful didn't accept it.

"It's my fault he caught up with you," the lady said sadly, and she froze. "He came here, asking for a makeover like you did. It sounded fishy, coming from someone who seemed so assured, but I didn't complain. When he asked if I recognized him like that, something didn't sit right with me. It was too triumphant for having gotten the world's worst haircut, and there was something devious behind his excitement. It's too late, but at least now you know to look out for crappy, damaged platinum blond hair".

Her trembling wouldn't let her reply, and the urge to flee became insufferable. She had thought the pearly hair looked too real and professional, even if it seemed to look professionally crappy. She hadn't looked out for a woman when she finally left her hiding place after weeks, because before she had sought out for perfect looking black curls. She didn't notice her nightmare trailing behind her until it was too late, and all she could do was run for dear life, and try no to cry as he tore a lock of red hair right out of her skull.

"Go out the back," said Tina. And she left, and she didn't look back. 

As yet another awful looking client exited her place, colorful sighted and opened the salon again.

"My, I'm never giving anyone a bad haircut again," she exhaled tiredly. She hoped green eyes could escape the mean-looking man that could now pose as a woman, as she had given him frizzy long platinum hair. 

A while later, the man with platinum hair passed the salon, finding the ladies exactly like he had last time he came around. They carried on with their duties as though nothing had happened, but his forceful entrance sent chills down their spines.

"Ladies, have you, by any chance, seen a young woman with red hair come through here?". None looked his way, and they dismissed them with waves of their hand. "Ah pity, not even with hair such as this?" he said, raising a bloodied lock of splendid red hair. They cringed inside, but self-preservation kept them all dead quiet.

"She passed that way," said colorful after some tense seconds of silence, pointing to the other side of the street, from where green eyes had come panting and running. He narrowed his eyes and looked through the floor, but thankfully no locks could be seen anymore. Displeased, but satisfied, he waved as he left.

"Look forward to getting a haircut here sometime again."