Head's Up (standard:horror, 991 words)
Author: Safiyah	Added: Jun 19 2003	Views/Reads: 3145/2081	Story vote: 0.00 (0 votes)
Narcissism, dopplegangers, death, and beauty.

Head's Up 

~:~:~ 

Karen Cummings pressed the footpad of the barber chair, raising it a
notch.  She selected a pair of scissors from her tray as she pivoted 
around the lady seated before her. The scar that ran the length of 
Karen's left cheek caught her attention in the three-panel mirror.  
Even though three years had passed, it was still difficult to see her 
face so grotesquely marred.  She was silent today, as was her client, 
Michelle.  They were always quiet, as if they were in awe of her. 

Her shop was in the basement of her SoHo apartment on Broome Street. 
Her clientele was by invitation only, and not open to the general 
public.  Trust fund dollars made it possible for her to operate this 
way now that she was twenty-two.  No more lawyers, no more doctors, no 
more constant meddling in her life.  The last of her family died eleven 
months ago and Karen had been a busy young woman ever since.  Her 
freedom was liberating and intoxicating; she did not miss her family. 

As she held a length of hair up to the light, her fingers slipped and
the scissors clattered to the floor.  Bending to retrieve them, she 
sidestepped a stream of red liquid that trailed across the concrete and 
flowed lazily down the drain in the middle of the basement floor.  It 
was dark and damp down here, but her customers never complained.  They 
were always grateful for her work.  She transformed each of them from 
plain, mousy women, to sexy, scintillating redheads, and afterwards she 
saw gratitude in their once blank eyes.  Cassandra had been like 
that... before. 

They were always grateful.  Each of the women she'd invited to her home
had repaid her with only fleeting pleasure, but the love they gave was 
everlasting.  In the candle glow, wrapped together within the shadows 
of night, she toasted their unsurpassed beauty with shimmering eyes.  
They, in turn, simply stared back at her, a forever smile pasted on 
their beautiful faces. 

Michelle's hair was complete.  Karen pumped the footpad again, raising
her client up to a workable level.  She took out her cosmetics tray, 
and set about turning Michelle's unremarkable face into a vision of 
loveliness.  She applied a soothing, non-alcohol based cleanser in 
circular, upward strokes. Her practiced hands moved of their own 
volition, removing hard, stiff mascara, day old foundation, and the 
last traces of hideous blue eye shadow.  As she wiped the makeup away, 
she saw that the cloth came away far too red.  In fact, a steady stream 
of red fluid flowed from under Michelle's perfect new style and stained 
the cover that was fastened around her neck. 

Karen swallowed a surge of anger.  She disliked anything that
interrupted her routine.  Cassandra had discovered that, just after she 
gifted Karen with that hideous scar, and just before Karen had made her 
pay for the scar and her constant infidelity.  A few more swipes with 
the cleansing cloth and Karen was pleased to see innocent white skin, 
her canvas upon which to work. 

Excitement grew in her belly.  She felt liquid heat seep from between
her legs and forced herself to quiet her craving.  “Tonight, my lovely 
Michelle,” she whispered as she picked up a lining pencil in a muted 
shade of gray kohl.  Michelle's eyes were closed in rapturous ecstasy. 

Yes, tonight would be unusually special.  Michelle was the definition of
perfect at five foot two, with a slender waist, green eyes, and now, 
the beautiful red hair that Karen loved so much.  It thrilled her to 
know Michelle wanted her.  All of her clients wanted her, in spite of 
the scar. 

Each night, she lovingly guided their faces to the treasure between her
thighs.  She felt the touch of their lips trail along her skin as the 
air added its own unique caress.  They wanted to taste her.  They 
needed her.  They loved her.  And Karen binged on their adoration.  She 
let them please her for hours with only the tiniest bit of help from 
her own skilled hands.  As her passion mounted, she parted further, 
thrusting madly as the burn consumed her.  Sharp, painful lust drove 
her ever on towards completion.  Frenzied and desperate, she finally 
grasped their heads between her thighs, rolled atop them and writhed 


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