Bad haircut indeed

  As I glanced at the prestigious salon which was hung in front of me,I had a hesitation whether to go in there.In fact,I should have never stepped into this mall.A wide variety of shops lined the few floors of the mall: antique and art stalls, jewelry and accessory shops, luxury boutiques, souvenir kiosks and stores selling leather goods, all showcasing an array of the finest Italian wares. Tourists flocked to them like fireflies to a lamp, enthusiasm accentuating their features. The silvery melody of the drawl of sightseers and the strong, distinct accents of the locals drifted through my ears as they ambled past. There were chimes of bells that tinkled incessantly as the people sauntered in and out of the stores, entranced by the Italian merchandise. They purchased bags of picturesque paintings, fragile but colourful figurines created from Murano glass, and shirts with ‘Varenna’ printed in big, bold letters, among many others.It was the exact different of what I was wearing,a grubby corduroy cloth cap, an old checked shirt with two buttons missing and baggy jeans that had seen better days,not to mention the foul smell of beer from 4 days ago,which I wasn’t bothered to clean off.Unlike the high and mighty,my movements were stiff and boring.Everything about me was wrong. My head perched at an angle on shoulders that were themselves crooked and hunched. My right arm was shorter than my left. My left leg, however, was several inches longer than my right. Once my feet were encased in black leather shoes, one would be heavier and larger than the other. Nothing in his body was coordinated, so although he was moving forward, he seemed to be trying to go backward or sideways.Everything was wrong,except for one.

       The only good thing I had was my hair.

   I’ve always prided myself in my hair,and that was the only thing that gave me the confidence to live a little. I had curled my dark locks, that always danced in between a black and brown, so that they hung in more waves than curls that could sit atop Shirley temples head.Each hairpiece was delicate,and most of my money had usually gone to famous and popular barber shops.I heard from my friends from the pub there was a hair salon in this particular mall,and it’s far cheaper than expected.This mall was so famous for its ridiculously high priced shops,so who could blame me if I wanted to try this barber shop out,it’s not like it would cause any harm,would it?

     I went into the shop and asked for a barber.An old woman appeared almost after a few seconds I asked for a barber.Her porcelain skin was ashen, almost anemic; a cold sweat glistened on her forehead and her recessed cheeks; the moss of her eyes had turned into a leaf that was desperately trying to cling onto the last bit of its chlorophyll, its life. She had hair so black against skin so white and it made a contrast that only served to make the old women look all the more ghostly, all the more haunting; her lips that looked like they were once pink and soft, were now chapped and bleeding. She looked so tired and sick almost so that I felt a hint of sorry for her.

    I didn’t have a good feeling about this.Who would?I bit my lip as I debated if itwas a good idea to sprint out of the shop and leave this place.No one was in the shop,and the only thing you could see was a chair and a few scissors.This place is haunted.The place was however so big it could fill an entire city worth of people.I told myself,”That’s not a good feeling,not at all,I should leave.”But who am I to leave now?thats rude!”my inner angel in my head told me.I sighed and planned to finish this as soon as I can.She led me to a the rusty old chair that had a few cobwebs stuck on it,and the creaks on the floor could be heard from a mile away.

     I told her I just wanted to cut a little bit shorter and trim the edge,so that it would be a bit neater.She nodded and let bared his nicotine stained teeth, all crooked, so the scene between his dry, cracked lips resembled a derelict cemetery. She then coughed, like an aged pit pony and the wallpaper began to peel from the wall. Her legs reeled, and she gasped, as it's blighted lungs collapsed.She then got a pair of scissors that looked like it had been put away for decades,centuries,aeons.I gulped as the scissors touched my hair,as shivers ran through my spine,I could feel my poor heart beating,as nerves jumped from one place to another.Sweat was dripping all over me and I couldn’t bear to think anymore.It was horrifying.I closed my eyes,silently waiting for it to be over,begging to myself that she would do a somehow good job.

   It was so soon it was finished.I slowly sprung open my eyes to see the haircut was several inches shorter than I had asked for. But it was too late now. My dark locks lay on the black and white tile floor and I could feel the cool breeze on my neck where there should have been hair. The haircut could only be described as lopsided and I stifled my tears as she held the mirror up to see the hack-job she was so proud of. I daren't ask her to fix it for fear of how much more she would chop off. I slunk from the chair and paid my bill,and immediately sprang home,hoping nobody would see it,mullingar was a small little town in Ireland after all and everybody knew each other.

   I was panting when I finally went back home,which was in a junky mess.I couldn’t care less as I crouched down and grabbed whatever was left of my hair and silently,quietly sobbed.

    It was indeed a bad haircut

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