|
|
|
|
Jul 29, 2017 19:08:13 GMT -6
|
|
|
|
|
Shakey hands, no good.
Locke lowered his hands, letting the piece of metal drop out of his hand onto the top of his dresser. He had tried lying to himself earlier, saying that it was the vibrations earlier that kept his hands from being steady, but there was no denying it anymore. Locke was scared.
You've traveled three days by train across the country to a city where you knew nobody, had little money, and no idea what to do next. You fell through a glass window into a gunfight, spent time thinking that you were John Kramer surrounded by people that thought they were every horror movie monster ever, and chased after walking trees. If that's not enough you've risked getting arrested because of your crazy friend AND almost learned how to dance with a girl. And you're afraid of a little pair of scissors? "How lame are you?"
It was just hair. Hair! Dead follicles that keep getting longer. They get dirty, tangled, and fall into food if you aren't careful. Maybe if he was an elder man, who's outward appearance matched his voice hair would be a big deal. Male pattern baldness and what have you. But he wasn't a senior citizen, he wasn't even old enough to be considered an adult! Kids his age dyed their hair every color of the rainbow, shaved things into the side, spiked it.... It was one of the easiest things to change to express your individuality and personality. And Locke couldn't get rid of it!
To Locke though it was more then just something on the top of his head that kept his ears warm. For the last six years he hadn't done anything more than just a trim to keep it from getting too long. He needed it to be long enough to hide behind. Locke's hair had been his safety blanket, the thing that allowed him to step outside his room and talk to people. Without it he would have to say what had happened to him.
The simple fact remained though that he had to stop hiding. No matter how well he thought he was doing as long as he had long hair the progress was minimal. Long hair meant that there was still a part of him that he wanted to keep hidden away from the world. Long hair meant that he didn't want to get over his dad's death.
"You can do this," Locke told himself, staring at the unsure face in the mirror. Well, what he could see of it. With his hair wet and combed the way it was he couldn't see much of his face. "You're due for a trim anyways. This is just a little more than a little more than usual. And it's better that you do this instead of some strange person."
He rested his hand on the rock that was on the dresser. Kendra gave it to him for Christmas. Way back when she wanted to be a part of the pet rock fad and got one. Some kids would be pissed at their parents for giving them a rock for Christmas. Locke actually was touched. He realized it was his stepmother's way of letting him know that she was ok with him being a mutant. Holding the "pet" filled him with a sense of calm. An awkward laugh. "I mean what's the worse you can do? Poke your eye out?"
|
|
Profile Link Here Archive
|
|