Novel & Cerita Dying Greasy Unwashed Hair

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.

I found it funny how he adapted to calling them mom and dad so fast. It had to be foreign on his tongue. There was rustling and suddenly the unrbans door flew open. There in all her glory stood Aprils mom. Her hair was messy and knotty. There was a stench that came from their room that made me feel sick. It was a mixture of wolves bane and sweat. Both mr. and mrs. Unrban were in robes. Their hair was greasy and unclean. In all honesty... they were unclean."Yes?"She slurred. Her breath stunk of Wolves bane and alcohol. I flinched as I witnessed the Unrbans in a state that I have never thought I would see them in.

The meal I had a few days ago but never finished. I stared at my reflection in the mirror and I saw how shabby I looked. My hair, usually styled with care, resembled a tangled bird's nest at that very moment. My red-rimmed eyes, puffy and raw from crying, stared back from the mirror. My once vibrant face was pale and drawn, etched with the lines of sorrow. Dark circles were beneath my eyes and spoke of sleepless nights spent wrestling with grief. My scrub, stiff with dried tears and grime, reeked of a salty sorrow. A foul odor hung heavy in the air, a combination of the unwashed cloth, my unwashed body, and the general neglect of the room.

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

“Yes, you knucklehead. Take a bath and tidy your hair since you stink. Your bedhead is quite filthy.” After he finishes speaking, I have a disgusted grimace on my face. Is my hair that disgustingly dirty? I hung up on the call and turned off my phone as soon as Chase left the premises. I looked at myself in the reflective surface and was embarrassed by how unkempt my hair was and how greasy my face was. Yes, I was so ecstatic that I have forgotten to brush my hair and wash my face. I smelled my breath out of curiosity and nearly screamed when I realized how nasty it was.

Someone started to laugh loudly. It was a young man with disheveled hair. He was dressed in very ordinary robes, barefoot and looking a little unkempt. The ankle part of a trouser leg was worn out, showing a calf densely covered with black hair. He was bold and unrestrained, imbibing fine wine and devouring all the delicacies on the short gold table like a rampaging tornado. His hands and mouth were covered with grease, as he casually wiped them on his tattered clothes, stretching himself lazily.

“I’m starving. My legs are gonna fall off, can we go now?" “You’re so dramatic,” she said, flipping her straight black hair over her shoulder as she picked up another top she probably didn’t need. Her hair looked perfect, shiny even though she hadn’t combed it in, like, a week. I couldn’t help but feel a little jealous Tbh, Liv’s hair was smooth and straight thanks to her South Korean genes, while I had to fight with mine every damn morning. My blonde, always dry and needing ten different products just to look half-decent. "It's called retail therapy, honey," she added with a grin. "You should try enjoying yourself."

“I have extremely dry hair. In fact, I can only wash it once a week or it’ll break off until there were only about four frazzled strands left. Plus, I iron it, which dries it out even more. So I have to condition and wrap it—in silk, mind you because cotton draws out the moisture which would dry it even more—every night to keep it as healthy as possible.” “Really? Huh, I had no idea. I have to wash my hair every morning or it’s a fucking grease pit.” His gaze wandered over my scarf again. “You know, I could just rub my head against yours and give you some of my—” When he tipped his head to the side and tried to buff his hair against my shoulder, I screeched out a laugh and shoved him away. “