Contest Entries

Dreadlocked

Liriko 2's Showdown Entry 

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Dreadlocked

by superjelly

             As they say, the first cut is always the most painful one.

            He always had a beautiful hair. When we first met, it was the first thing I've noticed in him— his crowning glory, as dark as the shadows that fill the land when the sun cracks into a twilight, his hair in a beaming light under the pale grief of the moon above. It was long, maybe the length just fell above his shoulder, or even longer, but it flowed with such grace I swear I thought it was fine black silk that costs millions.

            It was truly a beautiful sight to look at. Each strand fell in such artistry, that if an artist could've painted him, it was those beautiful strokes that he could call his own masterpiece. The long hair perfectly framed his pleasant face.

            I watch the fine threads drop with each cut I make.

            "I've always wanted a haircut, y'know," he says in his casual tone, followed by a cheerful laughter. "You know how messy my hair could get sometimes."

            I did not say anything. I know he was lying. He loved his hair.

            The razor left his head bald like a land that is barren of any seedlings, like a forest denied of its trees. I shave the very last of his hair that the scissors could no longer trim.

            I wish it were that easy to cut someone out of your life.

            He touches his head and turns to face me. "Wow, there wasn't any hair left."

            Right there, I want to stab him.  I want to cut his face, to cut through his hair so blood would eventually gush and that he would feel the wounds, but I know that it could not equate to the pain that I am feeling right now. It isn't a single cut. It is a sudden drop of the most fragile thing: my heart that he easily broke without any warning.

            But I smile. "Well, I'm still a hair stylist, after all."

            ***

            "I love you," he whispers when we lay on our bed.

            I look at his face and strokes his cheek. Looking at me is a different person from the man that I have met a decade ago. It isn't just his hair or the maturity that age has brought forth to him. It is also about his smile, how crooked it had formed and didn't seem like he was happy at all. It is also about his eyes, how the billions of stars in the galaxy inside the windows of his soul have died and have ceased from glowing. It is about his words, how he utters the words he loves me, but it sounded like it was as simple as a single "Hello".

            He had lost everything that was special about him. Or maybe it was just me thinking that way. If I couldn't stop from loving him, maybe I could fill myself with so much hate. I hated him. He wasn't the man that I loved, especially after he broke my heart.

            Especially after he had stopped from loving me and started loving someone else.

            He stands for a while and takes a bite of his Wonder Bread. He was this strong man who could defeat everything with his will and with his power. But looking at him now, he looks so frail that I feel like a touch would wither him.

            He goes back to bed with the same gaze he has given me moments ago. "You're beautiful," he says.

            I'm beautiful. He always had said that, and yet, his words are empty.