Personal Narrative: The Day I Killed My Hair

It was July and I was sweating dramatically due to the heat, my hand was getting sticky from my half eaten ice cream. I looked to my left and I could see my friend already halfway done with her Bugs Bunny ice cream that she specifically got to match her shirt. She asked me if I wanted help with my Cyclops ice cream but before I could respond, it was snatched out of my hands and already being consumed. “You have some in your hair”, I heard her say in between bites. I reached up to touch my hair and felt a strong grip on my arm, she told me that if I touched it I would destroy my hair so I refrained from touching any part of my head, bubble gum wanted to cut it “the damage has been done” she told me. I remember feeling scared not for the
We walked up the stairs and I felt a chill go through my bones, I started to count the blue fuzzy steps that were stained brown with coffee stains. You could see the dull boring white paint with flakes that pointed out the chipping and revealed the age of the building. The smell of lemon and lavender hit me like a wave in the ocean crashing onto the shore.We eventually reached the top of the stairs and approached the purple door with a white flakey knob, and as she turned it you could hear it squeak and then finally stop as she revealed a perfectly polished pink room. A carpet was laid on the ground it was so orange and soft that I kept myself seated on the ground admiring the carpet as I briskly, yet lightly, brushed my fingertips across it. All of a sudden my thought were interrupted by the sound of a snip. It took me a while to register what was going on, but as soon as I saw the long brown curl on the delicate carpet I felt myself cringe. I continued to sit there as lifeless as my fallen hair on that beautiful carpet. It felt like torture sitting there with all my words stuck in my throat; it was as if I never even had