Hair Cutting Stories Novels & Stories

The hairdresser asked. Hannah’s eyes widened. She doesn’t want to speak about the incident that led to her short hair. When she arrived at Clarise’s home they assumed that she cut her own hair because she was sad about the divorce, and she did not correct them. She doesn’t want them to know what the Millers did to her. She doesn't want them to know how stupid she is, because in their group she’s supposed to be the smart one — at least academically. She smiled faintly, "I did. I tried those D.I.Y tutorials and failed miserably," she explained.

“Alright, Sky. There is no going back if I cut it now.” “You mean being a commander of a bunch of rag tag wolves?” He chuckled and nodded. “That and it’s gonna take a while for your hair to grow back.” I nodded, taking a deep breath. “I’m ready.” Grabbing the scissors, he began cutting my long blonde hair. It fell to the floor and I watched as it piled up. Then came the buzzing sound of the razor. Closing my eyes, I felt him slowly run from the base of my head all the way up to my forehead. He continued, making lines along my head.

“I didn’t even hear him cry.” “I got him before he could sound off, I thought…well, considering what happened this afternoon…” he shrugs. “I like your hair.” “Oh,” I self-consciously touch my much shorter hair. By the time we were done with the oaths, it looked like a mouse had been at my head. I didn’t care, but when Justine saw me, she almost burst into tears, so she insisted on cutting it for me. “It feels weird.” Kane nods. “Did you save the hair? Because you know it’s going to happen again.”

He asks me sounding confused. "It is but, there is more to it than that. When I was a young child it was always cut forcibly by the lady that ran the orphanage. She would cut it so short that potential parents would think that I was a boy and look right past me. One of the boys decided that they wanted to see what I felt like and Hunt saved me from the kid. After that, we ran. We got out and stayed out although we were still just children. Then, I had the freedom to grow my hair however I wanted. I loved it. I decided that I was never going to cut it again. It was my first act of defiance that led me to joining the Guild. It gets in the way sometimes but it is mine." I admit to him.

I said in a whisper as my hand went up to grab the now black locks held back in a ponytail. "My mother said my hair was so beautiful. She always loved to play with it. And I cut it. I cut it because I needed the money. I needed the money to cross the river and make it here. I sold my hair for a jump change while some bitch in the upper city gets to wear it proudly like a wig. Do you have any idea of the things I've gone through?" Damon didn't look phased at my sudden mini outburst. He still held much emotion contained, and I needed to let it out.

Emma. Cutting my hair wasn’t the same as losing an arm or a leg, but cutting it felt like I was losing an important part of my body. I knew it would grow back, that if I were lucky enough to live another year, it would be long again, just as beautiful as it was now. But seeing the scissors cutting through my locks and, right after, the clippers running over my scalp made me shed tears.

She thought like everyone else that we would go back to the good old days, hanging out and Mei would be with us. I remember her bald head and how much she hated it. I saw the look in her eyes when the barber started cutting her hair and made the drastic decision to cut mine too. We both stood there bald in the shop and she cried. I never liked her tears, it didn't matter if they were happy tears. I always wanted her happy and red. I would never get to see her turn red again.

I can hear muffled conversation around me, but I can’t make anything out through the blinding pain. My head is whipped back and someone has a firm grip on my hair. My body makes an involuntary noise of agony. I still can’t see anyone, but I can feel several of the tiny baby hairs pulling from my scalp, making my eyes water. Then the unmistakable sound of scissors cutting slowly, deliberately slowly. Snip, snip, snip, snip, before my head falls forward unexpectedly lighter, and freshly cut short, loose strands fall into my eyes and poke at my face. She cut off my hair. What is wrong with her? I’m already beaten to the point of not being recognizable.

It was around 2 in the morning when I found myself standing in front of the bathroom mirror, scissors in hand and a few strands of hair on my feet, there was no turning back. "What are you trying to do? You're going to get hurt." When Emma came in I don't know, but she held the scissors and took them out of my hand. "I thought: if my life has changed, my personality has to change too." "And you think cutting your hair will do that? Your personality will change?" And isn't it obvious? "Of course, all my problems are in my hair, and if I cut my hair, my problems will disappear, or at least they will pretend to disappear."

"Ah yes, the glorious smell of wet gym socks" "Come on it wasn't that bad, was it?" She and her mom exchanged a look then burst out laughing. "You know when I was in my second year of college the stress of studying and my part-time job was too much that I barely had the time for showers much less to wash my hair that I considered hacking the entire thing off". Her mother laughed shaking her head with humor in her eyes. "No way". "I'm serious. I made it to the salon and there I was sitting innocently with a fashion magazine but the moment I saw that mean looking scissors it was game over".