Cut

The cold glint of light
On the blade of the scissors
Seemed metallic and heartless
To the boy that held them.

"Are you sure? Is this what you want?"
He asked his younger sister.
"Of course!" she exclaimed, laughing in anticipation.
"Just cut it! Make me look older! I want to look like everyone else!"

Reluctantly, he took the first strands;
They spilled long, soft, and beautiful over her back.
Gripping the scissors in clammy hands,
He winced as the hair was severed.

So this is what it's like,
To cut off someone's hair,
To cut off someone's essence.
Unforgiving...relentless...that's what those scissors are.

Trying to ignore the pain,
He chopped and cleaved some more,
Once-prized tresses tumbling to the floor in ragged wisps.
"Shorter!" called the girl. "Oh, much, much shorter!"

"No!" he cried, and he backed away.
It was only a haircut, but she was losing more than hair.
He felt like a killer,
And he cried out for her hair.