The Lion's Pride vol. 1 (Fall 2013) | Page 7

4 in my bed night after night, dreading the approaching school picture day. A painful knot grew in my stomach that hurt me when the thought of the day arose. I tried to comb my hair myself and copy the elegant style my grandmother had made, but all my attempts fell flat. I begged my father to take me to grandmother’s again but he exclaimed “your hair is fine, quit being so vain!” Finally the day had come; it had caught up to me. I would now be immortalized in a class picture as the girl with the horrible hair. I wept at the sheer thought of standing before the photographer with everyone’s eyes watching. Later that afternoon my teacher, Mrs. Rogers, beckoned to the class to line up to head over to the auditorium for our pictures. I felt an upsurge of fright take over me. I felt frozen in my seat. I looked down at my desk and noticed a pair of scissors we had been using for an assignment. I quickly ran to the bathroom with the scissors in hand. I didn’t know why I had taken them in with me or why I was standing there in the bathroom at all. “What now?” I told myself, and almost immediately a voice answered back “cut it off, just cut the dang hair and end your problems!” I shook my head instantaneously as to get it out of my thoughts, but somehow it overpowered me.