Hair Cutting Stories Novels & Stories

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".

"Do you want to hit me instead? I'd rather you take it out on me. You know I can't stand seeing you cry." When I was a child, Andre always used to calm me down by softly stroking my hair whenever I was upset.

“She’s dead.” The words hung there, heavy and final. I pulled a pair of scissors from my bag, the same ones I used to cut bakery ribbons at events, back when life was simple and sweet and full of silly dreams. My hands shook as I raised them to my hair. For a moment, I hesitated. Each strand that fell would take another piece of her with it, the girl who trusted, who loved, who believed in saving others before herself. Then I cut. The blades sliced through the silence, sharp and merciless. Chunks of my hair fell into the sink, tumbling like memories I didn’t want anymore. Each snip was a small rebellion, a desperate act of erasing everything they had turned me into.

He had waited for me to come home with a smile on his face. He had started this. He made me look at the chaos of my life and suddenly feel like there was something to look forward to. Now, he was leaving without a word; he didn't want me anymore. - I went to the salon and had my hair cut short. The stylist told me that the way they cut it left my hair completely messy. So, even though I wanted a trim, they had to cut it extremely short—right above my ears. The hair that had once reached my waist was now cut so short. It stung a little inside.

but instead they brought us together. I had recently decided it would be a great idea to cut my hair off. It had been as long as Abbey’s before but I needed a change. Plus all the dancing and cheering I did … my hair was getting slung all over the place. The short cut was much more manageable. It came just above my shoulders now. And tonight I had pulled part of it up on top of my head in a little bun. The rest of it hung free.

– But she told me about when she had to cut her hair short and her mother kept saying it was fashionable among young French women, but it was just an excuse so that no one would know she had caught lice. I found that strange. Lisa never had lice. When she was fifteen, in an act of pure rebellion, she locked herself in her room and cut her hair. She had long black hair that went down to her waist and wanted to get a bob, but our mother forbade her. So she locked herself in her room and decided to cut her hair herself with school scissors. It was a disaster! My mother had to call a hairdresser, and the only solution the poor guy found was to give my sister a very short haircut, but it looked g

“I still do not know. But she never let me near the kitchen again.” I laughed again. The sound felt strange coming from me while sitting next to him. “That is actually funny. I never thought you could make me laugh.” “See? I can surprise you,” he said softly. “What about you? Any funny stories from when you were young?” I relaxed a little. “When I was ten, I tried to cut my own hair because I wanted to look like a princess. I cut too much on one side. I looked like a broken doll for weeks. My sister laughed so hard she cried.”

She brought out the hair brush and her hair products that took up all the space on the dressing table. She brushed her hair ,and contemplated about dyeing her hair some pretty bright color. Like orange or fiery pink. "Hana and Emily could probably help" She just hoped that it wouldn't be a disaster. There once a time when they tried getting the famous ' wolf cut ' that was going viral online and yes, it was a total catastrophe. They had to cut their waist long hair to a short Bob. She smiled at the memories. When they were still silly little ladies trying out different things. Things that looked hilarious now ,when one was thinking back to the days.

I spot the scissors on the tv cabinet next to the door and the thought hits me; I should cut my hair. The last time I cut it was when I was younger and had gotten lice. My teacher took me to the change rooms after school and cut it like a boy. She also washed it plenty of times and told me that if she ever found my hair dirty like that again, she'd make sure I never saw my mother again. Over the years, I guess I could've cut it, but a silent fuck you to Ms Coldridge was in order.