Frank Ocean Bleached Hair Novels & Stories

Perhaps I don’t have the heart to like anyone. Still silent, I pick her trembling form off the ground, bridal style, intending to take her into the washroom and assist her in washing her sins away under the shower. That is what I do. Before the shower comes on, It catches my eye, the newly discovered peculiarity of Oceane’s hair with her blonde strands stained with blood. Red hair. She should perhaps try it. I’m certain it’ll look good on her. If she truly likes me as claimed, then she’d have no problem changing her hair color if I as much asked it of her.

The sound of my stomach reminding me we had to move. Selova slipped backwards and we shifted, the paint from her fur stuck to my skin and in my hair. As I looked at the ends of my hair painted blue and pink I lost hope that it would all wash out. In the shower the water swirled around the drain in all the colors of the rainbow. As I had feared I could still see bright pink and blue in my hair after scrubbing it a half dozen times with shampoo. At which point I gave up and focused on trying to get it scrubbed off my body. That proved to be a far easier task, having got all but a few hints of color off my skin I called it a success and got out.

"What the hell is this?" In the photo, a black burlap sack had been cut halfway open, revealing a corpse swollen and deformed from the seawater. The face was blurred out, but the exposed skin was a ghastly, bloated white. The limbs were stiff and twisted at unnatural angles. A white bridal gown clung to the body, its hem rotted beyond recognition, though the tiny gemstones still caught the light of the camera with a cold glint.

She wanted something else to capture this exact fog, cobwebs, and color of the sea. A gust of wind blew by and sent her hair flying. Ophelia beamed. Maybe things wouldn't turn out badly here. She mused and immediately wished she hadn't, because a ball of magenta water resurfaced the sea and went slamming into a man at her side, immediately his memories were on display, visible enough for everyone to see in each of the pink fogs. The man whose name was Brandon was paralyzed on the spot that he was, unable to move with his eyes closed tightly.

India threw the hairbrush in the sink. She snatched the gel from the cabinet and squirted the orange goo in her palms, rubbing it vigorously into her hair. Bah. It didn’t help. She still looked like a porcupine who’d lost a fight with a weed whacker. Plus, she needed to recolor the tips. The fuchsia was fading into a hideous bubblegum pink. What the hell did it matter what her hair looked like? It wasn’t like they were going to be in public.

Anything else. My mind jumped to Ben – his dark hair and ocean-blue eyes – and I swore out loud. The curse words bounced back at me from the tiled bathroom floor. I held my breath and sank under the water, wetting my hair as it floated around my face. My new hairstyle was just above my shoulders now since my latest haircut. I wished the thoughts of him couldn’t find me underwater.

He rubs a towel through his hair, trying to get the heavy water out. “I made some fruit salad” I motion to his bowl as I tear through my bad, trying to find some clothes to change into. I rush into the bathroom, desperate to tame my hair. I don’t mind the salt feeling on my body, I just can’t stand the way my hair reacts to salt water. I quickly shower, careful to wash my hair and body more then necessary. I change into a white, loose crop top and a pair of grey shorts. I quickly braid my hair after applying the usual products.