Dying Greasy Unwashed Hair Novels & Stories

It was the only way I could scream. "I am done," I whispered to the empty room. "I am fucking done being used." I stood up and walked into the tiny dorm bathroom. I caught my reflection in the fluorescent light. Those oceanic blue eyes. That soft, blonde hair that everyone wanted to run their fingers through. My beauty was a curse. It was the bait that kept the monsters coming back for more. I reached under the sink and pulled out a box of the cheapest, jet black hair dye I could find at the pharmacy.

Elira The fire hissed as I tipped another scoop of steaming water over my head. Ash and melted snow clung to my tangled hair, staining it a murky silver-gray. I scrubbed harder, using the hem of my shirt like a washcloth—its rough edge grating over skin, catching on half-healed cuts and fresh bruises. But I didn’t stop. Couldn’t. I wasn’t just trying to get clean. I was trying to erase everything. The filth. The pain. The memories. As if enough scrubbing could peel off the last few weeks of hell.

The water that comes off is literally black with dirt and I wonder how disgusting I must seem to these people, these Wolves. I brush my hair, easing out the knots at first and eventually just get so frustrated I grab it all up and almost hack at it with the brush in my annoyance to fix it. If there were a pair of scissors nearby I’d be tempted to actually cut it off but there’s nothing. No sharp objects. Nothing that could do me harm or anyone else for that matter. I guess in this moment I should be grateful that Silas had my entire body lasered so I don’t have any body hair because there’d be no doubt right now I’d be looking more like a hairy beast than any of the Wolves in this house if h

“Pigtails and skinned knees in a gingham dress?” “Nah.” Wolf shook his dark head, took his seat again. “Hell, man, she was tall and skinny and gawky, and was wearin’ shit-brown cords and a mustard-yellow t-shirt. And she had the worst fuckin' haircut I’d ever seen anywhere, except on her kid sister. I think Hailey’s was worse.”

Scratched and rough at the collar. Then I took soot from a nearby chimney stack and smeared it across my cheeks and jaw. My hands worked without thought. Fast and focused. Last was my hair. That white as snow hair. The thing they all whispered about. A genetic malformation. I stuffed it under a charcoal-streaked cap, tucked every strand tight. Not a glint left to shine. I passed a shop window and froze. There. My reflection. I smiled at the dirty thing smiling back at me.

Rubbing his hair with a fresh towel, he crossed the room and stopped by the chair where he laid his clothing before. He was bare from his waist up. His skin flushed and bloomed from the steam of the hot water. A few shiny droplets bedewed the front of his sculpted chest. His short hair was in soaked disarray, some strands hanging damply over his forehead and temples, the pewter color turned a few shades darker than usual. Ava turned away instantly, feeling heat creep over her cheeks. She had seen him shirtless before, but still the sight made her stomach leap.

It was hungry. She made eye contact with a middle- aged stockbroker type. The kind with thinning hair and desperation to hold onto his stamina and youth. His hair had clearly been dyed, his suit probably off the rack, but had cost him a pretty penny, wearing several thick golden chains and rings. He most likely drove a flashy car and was so deeply in debt to try and keep up the image, he would likely drink himself to death or blow his brains out in a few years.

They will be the first to die when the hounds attack again. I adjust the clip holding my thick kinky brown hair, making the wayward strands half-conform once more. I've thought about cutting it a thousand times. A thousand times I resist. It's my one vanity. Running a brush through my hair at night grounds me. It's such a simple task even though keeping it clean and lice free isn't easy. I shiver at the thought of the small creepers that make so many shave their bodies. The new world sucks.

Helene I sat right in the middle of the flowing gutter, the filthy water soaking through my white designer dress, turning it into a disgusting, clinging mess that stuck to my skin like glue. My hair was matted and messy, strands plastered to my face, and the stench — God, the stench — was unbearable, a mix of rotten food, sewage, and god-knows-what else that made my stomach churn violently. What the fucking hell.

No matter if she was correct or not, I’d rather look like I was able to take care of myself. I removed the green cap from my small head, letting my hair fall loosely upon my tensed shoulders. My bright blond hair was crinkly, and appeared greasy, somewhat sticking to the side of my face. My face shines from sweat and grease as well. The bags underneath my green eyes showed that I hadn’t been sleeping. Though my clothes were baggy, you could tell that I looked to be abnormally skinny. And the appearance of dinginess was all over my clothing. Not to mention, if you stood close enough, and pointed your nose in the right direction you could smell the stench of something dying. Yes, that is the