Hair (ReEdit)

 “No, I didn’t do it,” spews the madman as he grips his hair. The collar of his loose black t-shirt barely covers the scar running from his neck to his navel, or the scratches on his left bicep.

Florescent lights flicker has water drips from the ceiling in the long hallway. A woman screams. John walks and smiles at a woman hanging from the ceiling by her hands, mud dried to her from being drug down the hallway.

Still grabbing his hair, he walks down the hall. The smell of gunpowder lingers in the air. “How could i do it? Why did nothing stop me? he mutters more.


“Why are you doing this to me?” begs the woman.

“Simply because I can,” replies John, still smiling. “It won’t hurt, don’t worry.”

“Why me?”

“Call it wrong place wrong time, careful planning. Call it whatever you want, the details are not important.”

“Do you know who I am? Do you know anything about me?” Annie quivers.

“Well, Annabel Leanne Bradly, I know you will do anything for a buck, even let criminals go free. I don’t care.”


“I’m not going to do this, I don’t want it,” rambles the crazed maniac with a few steps down the hall. Hair falling out of place, sweat dripping from every pore. He pulls back his hair, opens a door. Inside the room, a crying lone woman. John looks at her and smiles. A quick flicker of lights. John pulls out a revolver from the back of his pants. With another smile he pulls the trigger. Annie’s lifeless body hangs in the center of the room, a hole between her eyes.

Drip. Drip. Drip. Water falls on his head as he awakens to the sound of a gunshot. The smell of stale blood and a slight rotten egg smell penetrates his nostrils. Hanging from the ceiling, mud cakes his skin. The door creaks open. A man, dressed in a black t-shirt unable to hide a scar on his chest, enters.

THE END