Bad Hair Day

Kink emerged the victor over smooth in the 100 Degree Summer Hair Skirmish, Poppy thought, glaring into the cheap, non-glass mirror disgusted by the fact that the sheen of the hair salon had abandoned her fiery locks on the humid walk home. Her hair, that wild and unruly jungle that looked like a cat had puked a bird’s nest up, was now so untameable that it would have taken even the most talented beautician pit crew hours to brush out. Her only recourse was the hot comb as the countdown to prom commenced.

©2020 Rhyan Scorpio-Rhys

5 responses to “Bad Hair Day

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