Something To Keep In Mind

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Literary Fiction  |  House: Booksie Classic
I would like to write a collection of short stories similar to this one, with the connecting thread being the phrase "Something to keep in mind:" appearing at the end of every story. But first I wanted to get some feedback on one of the stories.

Submitted: June 08, 2009

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Submitted: June 08, 2009

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New York: Two boys need hair. Not just any hair, but grey hair. They debate whether it can be animal hair and conclude that no, it can't be animal hair. Only grade-A, 100%, authentic human hair will work. It would be considerably easier if they only needed one or two inches, but they need eight or nine feet of the stuff. All from the same person. They could wait, when they're sixty or seventy, maybe then they could forgo a couple of trips to the barber, cut it all off themselves. But that's too long. It needs to happen sooner. They need a donor. Mr. Rallins? Much too light of a grey. Mr. Moore? Nope, toupee. Bastard. Ooh, what about Ms. Tanner? Perfect. “She goes to church, people there will miss her. And then there's her fish. What would we do with those? Maybe if we made it look like an accident...” says one of the boys. “No. Way too complicated.” “Well a fire wouldn't be too hard...” “No.” “Fine. What do you propose we do?” “We need to use something cliché, and horrifying. 'How tragic!' everyone will say. And fire would burn off the hair you idiot. Lets keep it simple, I'm thinking a sharp knife will be adequate.” says the other boy. “Who's going to do it?” “You.” “No.” “Why?” “I can't.” “Alright fine. I'll do it.” says the boy who does it all. “Cool.”

New Orleans: A young woman receives news of the murder of her mother in New York. “It appears as though it was random, no real motive”. She cries, not so much alone, but wherever there are cameras. It's no real tragedy, but tragedy sells so that's what it all becomes.

New York, twenty years later: “Do you think it's been long enough?” “We'll see in a minute” They begin digging. It's hard work, but something about the weather makes it so neither man really cares. Maybe it's the humidity, but it feels good digging up this grave. Over the years they had gotten degrees, jobs, wives, kids, and grey hair, but neither had forgotten about Ms. Tanner. Thunk. And it's over, they've reached the casket. One of the men pries open the lid and the other shines the flashlight. No hair. Bones, dust, but no hair. They both just stare. A full minute passes and neither of them says a word. What happens now? Something to keep in mind: Hair does not continue to grow after one has died.


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