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New Hair, Pretense, and Heart of Dolls

New Hair

I know we should go, my daughter and I. But I can’t manage to make myself move.
The scissors in my hand clang to the floor.

What have I done? They’re expecting us, my family. But wait until they see me.

Linnie knocks on my bedroom door, but she doesn’t wait for me to answer. She rushes in. “Mom, we’re late-“ her words change. “Your hair.”

I laugh. “Yes, Linnie. My hair.”

“It’s on the floor.” her words shatter me.

I forget about being strong and not scaring her. I start sobbing, pulling at the hair that remains on my head. For so long I loved my hair... it was my pride. I kept it long, healthy, beautiful. Now it falls through my clothes, itching my skin. It clings to the carpet floor. It’s all gone.

Linnie doesn’t freak. She’s too mature for a child. She gives me a quick hug. “We need to go.”

Somehow she drags me to the car. She fastens my seatbelt.

“It’s OK, Mom. Just drive. I’ll tell you when to turn.”

I don’t pay attention to the speedometer or road.

I thought cutting off my hair would make me feel better. Prepare me to lead a new life.

I’m still the same me; broken, betrayed.

“Mom, I feel you’re going too fast.”

“Maybe your feelings are just sensitive,” I snap. I quickly say, “Sorry.”

She’s not bothered by my words. “Everything will be OK.”

I wish she were right, but I know she’s not.


Come on, smile, if you want.
Keep the facade alive.
For the longer you pretend to be happier the more chance you have of it being so.

Show the world you’re OK. Happiness is good. Be positive. Be positive. POSITIVE.

Nothing is bad. No negativity.

We live in the best country, the great U.S.A.
Freedom lives because we’re told it’s true.
Our prisons aren’t full of innocents — we’d never allow that.
Those that say otherwise are just cranky, trouble causers.

Everyone has a home. Everyone has a a fair chance to become more. We need to send missionaries elsewhere, for there’s none that starve or freeze among us.

All of us have the chance to make a better life just by breathing American air. No injustice, no wrong, no premature death.

We are a selfless people living for liberty, respect, unity.

Happy. Be happy. Choose to be happy.
Take more pills if you’re not quite happy.
Drink. Party.

Pretend there’s nothing to be done.
Believe the lies.

Rights turned into privileges. What does it matter?

Care. Who cares?
What is there to care about?
Nothing is wrong with you, with the world, with us.

Just keep smiling. Keep playing the game of a perfect, privileged life.

Heart of Dolls

“Do you ever feel life is like a game?” Paige asked Grandma.

“No. But then I take life seriously. Unlike most young people.” Grandma's eyes never left her yarn and needles amidst her flying fingers.

Paige stared out the living-room window, deep in thought, ignoring her Grandma's insult. That's why they made such a good pair. Paige could ask ridiculous things, Grandma could be blunt, and neither ever felt offended.

Going to Grandma's helped Paige to be able to think. Right now she had so much to think about. “I told Seth he's being stupid. I couldn’t help myself.”

“Of course, Paige. If one could help themselves they wouldn't need Jesus. You need to let others help you.”

Paige turned away from the window, “Grandma, I'm being serious.”

Grandma dropped her knitting, raising her eyebrows. “You are? I heard you say life is a game.”

Paige laughed. “Yes. I meant to say that others seem to treat it that way. 'Do this, say this, follow these rules, then stuff will happen and you'll finish amazingly.' Don't you ever get tired of just moving a long with the crowd?”

“Yep. That's why I left the crowd years ago. Paige, life isn't a game, but people have become dolls. And that's why you feel that way.”


“And,” Grandma resumed knitting. “They all have the hearts of dolls, too.”

“Dolls don't have hearts-”

“Exactly,” Grandma chuckled. “But they sure look pretty, don't they? Pretty and perfect. But inside they have no spunk.”

I feel today's flash fictions are just really weird. But maybe you'll like one of them or all of them. The middle one really isn't fiction . . . but I won an honorable mention for it at the place I write all of this stuff for ;D Have a great Saturday, everyone! 


  1. Ahhh, your writing voice is always so lovely! ❤️

  2. I feel like these kinda connected, in an odd way. Am I the only one?

    1. Oh, I didn't notice that. How so do they connect?

    2. Well, I kinda of imagined the person who cut her hair is the person talking in the second story, trying to just smile and act like everything is okay. And so she becomes the people Paige and her Grandma talk about, she's been acting like there's nothing wrong for so long that she's lost her heart and spunk and is just going along blandly. So the stories connect in some sort of sad, downward spiral.

    3. Oh, my. That's so sad . . . and I see that now that you point that out. Wow. haha :0

  3. I like the last one the best! It's really poignant and it makes you stop and think.



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