THE BAD HAIRCUT KILLER by Cindy Rosmus
Thanks to her, I did it.
Mommy, you bitch.
All I ever wanted was long hair, bangs in my eyes. Like young Cher, in the 1960s.
“Then you can’t see!” Mommy whined, scissors in hand.
My eyes scrunched tight as the blade-tips pierced my nose, eyelids. Snip-snip. Getting shorter. “You’ll look so cute!” Mommy said.
Like that kid in the 50s sitcom, Father Knows Best.
Shorter, and shorter, my bangs got.
Like fat Oliver Hardy’s.
“Mommy, stop!”
“Look!” she said proudly.
In the mirror, that little girl with tiny bangs was crying. Behind her, Mommy laughed.
Never wanted me so she made me ugly.
Since then, my hair grew and grew.
And when it needed cutting . . .
Who could I trust?
Filomena, the funeral stylist, who’d make me look corpse-like? Rachel, who learned haircutting in a concentration camp? Both times I ran out
‘Cos Mommy was watching.
So, I sprung for the salon, where it happened. A hundred bucks I counted out, next to those scissors.
Then I saw her. Face pierced, and inked, her hair Freeze Pop-blue.
With ugly, tiny bangs.
Before she could cut me, I cut her.
THE END
Bio:
Cindy Rosmus originally hails from the Ironbound section of Newark, NJ, once voted the “unfriendliest city on the planet.” She talks like Anybodys from West Side Story and everybody from Saturday Night Fever. Her noir/horror/bizarro stories have been published in places like Shotgun Honey, Megazine, Dark Dossier, Danse Macabre, The Rye Whiskey Review, Under the Bleachers, Punk Noir, The Yard, and Rock and a Hard Place. She is the editor/art director of Yellow Mama and has published seven collections of short stories. Cindy is a Gemini, a Christian, and an animal rights advocate.
Very cool, Cindy!
Love this