The Haircut.

The Haircut.

Fictionary dialogue of a conversation I have experienced.


Literary fiction


Rhael Laramy (United States)

“It’s a germ baby, I don’t know if it’s a disease.”
She turned doe eyed to him and entranced him with her binding glare.
“You belong to me.”
“I belong to my Atman, my holier than thou reticent mistaken mistress.”
“But you need me.” She pouts and stamps a foot. “Your taste is mine and our flavors complement.”
“I need no one.”
“Asshole. Eat your own shit then.”

When the winter wind blows and the hail falls like lice from the head of a filthy babe we are one. And as the sun hides its shameful face behind the swarming clouds I know the Catholic castles are collecting children today.

“God damned spiders are such a nuisance.”
“Not everyone can be a tarantula baby, we are so bless’ed.” She mockingly reiterates her caress.
“You need me.”
He only smiles his rogue dare and waits for her to continue her ranting stare.
“Would you like a soda sweetheart?”
“You know I would prefer a cigarette.”
“You are not allowed to smoke.”
“I am not allowed to smoke; perhaps you should remind my lighter, make you a better man.”
“Why don’t you feed me and get it over with, I am hungry.”
“You are starving.”
“I am merely insatient and missing your kisses. Kiss me.”
“Darling you don’t deserve a kiss. I’d rather give you a scar.”
“You make the joker look like batman and the thief look like a king.”
“But darling you know you love me, I’m the only doorbell you daren’t ring.”

She sips her caffeine black coffee and waits under the clock. The time is slipping forward and she still hasn’t tasted his cock. Oh how he does touch her body like it’s his only toy but this poor pathetic woman’s hands are bound and all she has is ploy.

“Release me won’t you let me free.”
“Never in a million years.”
“But don’t you love this caged bird’s wings.”
“Fuck you, cut your hair.”

Competition: Friendly feedback, Round 1



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