Dying Greasy Unwashed Hair Novels & Stories

nest of hair. It was absolutely the "thrashed my head against the pillow" because I'd had amazing sexy and nothing else over and over because nothing else mattered look. I smiled at my reflection. My skin seemed to glow and my hair, despite its disheveled state, was shiny. I looked healthy, not like somebody who was under stress and tension, and was juggling multiple jobs, and didn’t know about the state of her relationship. I didn’t look like somebody who was worried about her foster father, or her biological father, or a piece of land that should have been sold to a happy client, but the US government was still adamant they wanted to make into a cemetery.

I wonder. People usually described ghosts to be ugly in their stories. With torn and worn out cloths. I seemed rather different. My black Heathens t-shirt, with which I died, was still new and clean. No blood stains. My black jeans and black trench coat was still crisp with newness. My hair was well combed.

Standing out never meant anything good. Lisa suddenly gasped. “Oh no. I’m dead. You’re dead. We’re all dead.” She rushed toward the bed, grabbed my wrist, and tugged me to my feet. “We only have an hour! You haven’t even showered, and your hair is, goddess have mercy, it needs a miracle.” “What’s wrong with my hair?” I frowned, free hand flying to the thick curls. It wasn’t perfect, sure. But it was healthy. I’d never had the heart to cut it. My one vanity.

I quickly stripped off and climbed into the almost scolding water, nervously watching the door as I didn’t know how long I would have alone; my heart thumping within my chest. I shook as I used a small yellow sponge to wash my blackened skin, scrubbing at the dirt until it fell into the water, I didn’t have any shampoo or body wash; supposing that was because they didn’t expect me to need it. Or perhaps they just didn’t care. I slipped under the water to wash my hair, the water darkening from the dirt that clung to me; my eyes tightly clenched shut.

Or be his next victim? I stood in front of the dressing table and was combing the tangles out of my hair. Ugh, I'm loosing a lot of hair because of all the stress. I think I'll go bald soon. I collected the hair from my comb and put it in the dustbin. "STOP!" I flinched and turned to him frightened as he screamed. He was staring at me wrinkling his nose. "Don't you dare do this here? How can you be soo unhygienic!"

The stylists moved with robotic efficiency, their fingers digging into my skin… “Small,” the lead one muttered, scribbling on a tablet. “Malnourished. The skin is dull. We’ll need the chemical peels.” “And the scent,” Tira added, waving a hand in front of her face. “It’s very... diner. Greasy. Cheap.” “I’ve had a shower,” I said. “It’s in your pores, dear,” Tira said. She picked up a lock of my hair and dropped it as if it were soiled. “It’s the smell of failure. Your father had it, too.

A daring, almost feral smile tugged at her lips. It surprised me that her once flawless hair, the kind she used to spend hours perfecting, now fell in tangled, greasy strands that framed her face like a crown of thorns. The stench of whiskey clung to her skin, heavy and sour, carrying in waves on the breeze. The silk dress she wore a shade too glamorous for this hour was wrinkled and sagging, one strap sliding down her shoulder as though even her clothes had given up. Her eyes, though. God, her eyes.

“I had wanted to do this for the longest time, you have beautiful hair don't get me wrong but it's just needs a trim, actually how about shaving it all off little one. Its okay if you don’t want to but between you and me I’ve seen a trolls nest that’s prettier than your head right now. I glared at him and he held up his hands in silent defeat. He was right my hair was a mess. Not only that I have tried and tried over a dozen times while I was in the shower to wash away the dirt and grime that was in it, even the shampoo didn’t lather up, the dirt was too much. I failed miserably. So with a reluctant nod I accepted his offer, after all it was hair and it would grow back. There were patches fu

All her work was transferred to her email, and she worked over it at home. She had been working crazily for three days that she didn’t even realize that she hadn’t taken a bath for those three days. It was when she stood up to stretch herself and her eyes fell on her disheveled hair that was all across her head and shoulders. A loud scream escaped her throat as she scanned her full body in the mirror. She was a stinking mess and that was what she hated the most in the world.

I felt its heaviness in my chest, so much that tears began to stream down as I pushed the metal through my mass of hair and began to cut it. The strands felt fluffy on my shoulder, but as soon as they touched the floor, they turned grey. My hands went round from my right shoulder to the left, until everything below my shoulder was lying on the floor, representing the ashes I was soon to be. Another round of effort, but I managed to have a bath with the warmest water I could draw up, even though it still burnt my skin. I changed into the new set of uniform I could find, applied a little mascara and glossed my lips. Taking my hair brush, I laid down what was left of my hair, running my hand th