• I remember the pair of scissors on the table in front of me.

    I remember how they sparkled in the sunlight.

    “I just want her to have a nice trim. Nothing too short and give her some bangs.”

    Those were my mother’s last words before she left the barbershop to make a call on the payphone outside. I was now alone with the barber.

    His face wasn’t one that you would remember but at the same time it wasn’t one that you’d forget. The barber’s face was long and thin; dark brown hair, almost black; and a nose that was crooked to one side. His name, on the other hand, was difficult to remember. It was either too hard to pronounce or one that is easily forgotten.

    The minute my mum began talking into the phone, the barber gingerly glided toward my chair from the front desk. He lifted the scissors off the table gently and held them like it was fragile piece of treasure. The barber then looked at me. His eyes seemed to have burned through my plastic cape, as if he were staring straight into my soul.

    He leaned down so he could stare into my eyes. His eyes were as black as night.

    I tried to back away a little bit from the barber but he held onto my shoulder.

    “Don’t worry Ms.Kate;" he said to me, "Just relax. This wont hurt a bit."

    I remember closing my eyes.

    I remember the sharp pain on my face.

    I remember the blood.

    That was eleven years ago…