Steven stood in front of the mirror, black comb in hand. He prepared yet again to fight the battle he
waged on a daily basis. He forced the
plastic through his thick curls, and let out a cry of frustration as it got
caught in his thick curls. He breathed
heavily again, trying to push the frustration out before this ended like it did
every other morning, with him throwing the comb across the room like a tiny
plastic javelin. The universe had
conspired to make this difficult for him.
He knew no matter what he did it would not matter. In 20 minutes his hair would have reverted
into a thick mass of black atop his head, like a demonic birds nest. But, Steven thought, he needed to make the
attempt, otherwise he would go insane.
He sighed, and began again.
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