She pins her hair up tight against her scalp and wraps a scarf around it. Still, their whispers slip inside and tangle in the dark loops of her hair. She’ll brush them out at home. Silly hollow things; a turkey for tomorrow or else cake on Friday. Overlapped and overspeaking, weighing down her ears. She stoops, but just a little. Not enough that anyone will notice.
No more. I can’t… four darker words blend in amongst the others.
Later, she cuts away her hair with little scissors, wraps it in the scarf and watches as it burns away to nothing.
Author’s note: Everything gets caught in my curly hair, so why not thoughts? Each person in a crowd becomes, to some extent, anonymous. In a flood of thoughts, it becomes impossible to pick out just one and offer help. Therefore, why would anyone want to hear them.
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