Short Little Stories

In my younger days, when learning the fine art of writing and literature, it was a policy in the classroom environment to review and critique the stories of other aspiring young authors. Most of the works I read were absolute drivel. Most of what I wrote was uninspired trash.

But every so often, something came along that had the hint of greatness… a glimmer of the power of the written word.

I know this, because one story touched me to my very core.

It was a short piece. It was about hair. It was disturbing, and out of courtesy for my audience I shall not burden you with the horrors that it unveiled to my waking mind.

But suffice to say, years later, every so often, a short recollection of that story will float back through the haze of my memory and freeze me in my tracks. I will shudder at that momentary remembrance of the horror, and then struggle to find a way to put it aside – to find my happy place! – and to move on.

I leave you now with your imaginations, to ponder how one could turn mere hair into such a thing of one’s darkest dreamings. But rest assured, whatever vileness your minds can conjure, they are incapable of truly understanding the depths to which that piece of untested literature descended, and the abiding scars it forever etched upon my psyche.