Author Games Compilation [Cycle 1]

Task 5 ~ Painting the Flamingos Red (GF)

WONDERLAND - 5

Garlic has learned three more things since waking up from the race, nestled beneath a cluster of berry bushes that were, fortunately for his once ravenous state, not poisonous. To begin with point one, he'd discovered a system of streams, intricate little paths of glistening water that he would soon find himself sitting by almost constantly, dipping his fingers in the cool liquids as the ripples spread away from him and went along with the current. Point two, that same water worked wonders on his dirt-ridden skin, clearing away the grime and scabs that usually accompanied running and falling in mud and tripping over oneself. And point three: his hair was insanely long, getting in the way, and he needed to do something about it before it cost him his life.

So that brought everything together - how his skin was washed down as best as it could've been, why he sat beside a stream, his feet being tickled by passing goldfish (with eyes too big for their heads, something he found oddly adorable), and why he held a dagger in one hand and a clump of his own hair in the other. He'd pressed the blade to the thick strands, and time and time again had told himself "now, now I'll do it, now I'll chop it all off."

But something just made him hesitate. With each movement of the knife-hand, he flinched away, putting him back at square one. It wasn't a big deal; it was just hair. He knew that. But all this hair had been with him through thick and thin, keeping him warm when it was cold. It was something he'd been hiding behind for years. Years of those cascading black locks, and with one swing, they'd all be gone. Five years: missing. Some part of him felt that if he cut through it, he'd be cutting through his past. I'm being stupid. Just cut the hair. It's hair.

But what would happen to Garlic Felucia without his hair? What else would he flip over his shoulder when he was feeling particularly sassy? What else would give him the cover of a woman when he needed it?

If you die, it won't matter anyways.

"Good thing I'm not dying," he said. It came out without his permission, and he was shocked at this sudden burst of confidence, surprised at how it rose when he spoke those words. Remembering cameras were on him, he settled his face into one that was sure. "I'm not dying."

He was too scared of death to let it come at him any time soon.

And so, he tore through his hair. It was coarse from weeks without washing, and he had to saw through it in order to get even a few hairs off. He groaned and grunted with every press of the knife against the dead skin that'd been adorning his head for quite a while. His nose scrunched up with pain, and he bit down on his lip to keep from making any other unnecessary noises.

Black strings came loose and littered his palm, weaving and tangling about his fingers. Instead of staring down at the strands in yearning, he wiggled them off, dropping them into the water. He continued. With every clump of hair that came free of his head he felt some bit of pride surge within his chest. It was a foreign feeling, but it made him happy, so he sawed through his hair with little complaint.

When he'd gotten about halfway through he paused and reached up to feel where long, dirty hair had once been. The sides were cut unevenly and felt choppy, but they just overlapped his ears by a centimeter or so, and him accomplishing that much without breaking down was enough for him to be proud of. Now, the dreaded other half... Despite his thoughts, he dug in with eagerness, ready to remove the weight from his head.

However, before he could begin again, his eyes caught something in the water, something dark coming softly down the current towards him. With a brow raised, he lowered his knife - he briefly thought of a pulley system. It was a rush of red, a flurry of it that seemed to increase the speed of the current itself. Huh. Must be fish migrating time or something. He leaned forward, squinting. Here, fishy fishy fishy... A snort left him, and his mind became infested with something he otherwise wouldn't think of. Never say that to a girl. Especially if she'd leaking something as red as those fish.