Language of her heart

(pic from boredart.com)

The feat of the beast,

the rising knots of hair.

The source that betrayed her,

when everyone was there.

The increasing thoughts of yonder,

in the palms of once strangers.

The plunge of relief,

announced the wakening of the feast.

The tappings of quiet change,

like the itching of rife mange. 

Birthed were the thoughts,

they drew a new her one self-taught.

The humble exploration of words and silent leaps to chest of lexicon,

ended something similar to fact comforting so vulnerably shone.

Met by admiration and spurned twists of visual ponder,

she became increasingly aware of the onslaught that was mental dangers. 

A brief moment of reflection, 

paired with later critique and inspection.

Finally softened and made meagre,

went the last of her hesitation.

As ruthless tools charged the paper,

fresh and void of stale contemplation.

The language of her heart.

Copyright Teherah Wheeler (©) 2017

Teherah xXx

Nope!!! Not Today (Story)

(pic from susannepage.com)

Dylan stumbled through the cornfield on his parents’ farm completely aware that someone would soon come looking for him. The smell of the moist soil was a pleasant distraction from the chaos he felt in company. Especially, with Hank the Milkman’s son who owned a finely-tuned silver tongue. An armour so beguiling that the townsfolk would often apologise to him when he made problems. 

Hank was largely a free spirit and always up for a good time. He frequented the small night life that their town had to offer, taking it upon himself to drink the modern pubs and historical dives dry at his own father’s expense. As a result of this regular pastime Hank mostly showed up to work in an abysmal state: clumsily determined, angry saucers for eyes and an unpredictable croak that all led to late deliveries. Dylan understood Hank’s position their town epitomised an oxymoron. It’s agricultural history and businesses were great for fostering favourable work ethic and close knit families but it was also tediously flawed by the absence of much else and this broke some of the youth. Paper advertisements or local newsletters showcasing places to visit didn’t exist… because it couldn’t. There wasn’t any real entertainment. The town had The Guard a retired gentlemen’s club that later became a public pub when Dylan entered his teens. Then there was the Snooker Hall that gave its best shot at updating the town, despite much backlash from the residents. Dylan could only assume that the uproar served as cover for their aversion to change. Nonetheless, the same protesters could be observed inside their dreaded Snooker Hall if you peered inside the windows long enough to ignore the glass art. 

Dylan sighed unable to comprehend how such luck could be afforded, how Hank could repeatedly think that it was okay for him to faff about. No other could possibly be more suited to the work smart of the city the townsfolk gossiped and Hank even licked the bowl of this perception. Leaving Peter to pick up the pieces…well stock. Peter wasn’t the son of a landowner, his parents owned a garage that easily served as a metaphor for their son. He was knowledgeable, helpful and not afraid to get his hands dirty. Similarly to a well repaired car his voice was even, his courage was quiet and beneath the hood was a complex system seemingly designed for function and modelled by prior errors but still with the capacity for the unexpected.

Peter was a grossly overlooked pillar of the community and it greatly irked Dylan to see his friend being treated so knowingly bad but Peter took it all in his stride and never complained about Hank, the customers or anything else for that matter he was always focused on something else. From the points that he made and questions that he asked, Dylan could tell that Peter was quite an adventurous dreamer. This habit was an asset to the young chap, as the heated confrontations with customers that required urgent target practise never seemed to faze him. Over time Peter acquired his own strategy for coping; he kept some music devices in easy reach and Peter liked his sounds drum shatteringly loud. Dylan knew this first hand because he had made the mistake of borrowing Peter’s homemade music device, only to throw it onto the car seat beside him as if they were infected with instant migraine. Never again

It wasn’t often that Dylan could take time for himself and having tried everywhere else, when he did he would secretly run the length of the cornfield to disappear. Scattered amongst the growing corn, the scarecrows sat on hills the size of a single bed and provided ample space for an afternoon snooze of two. Now Dylan was not socially awkward, in fact it was pretty much the other extreme, which meant that he was often left tending to others’ plots even when his own could use a smidgen of attention to get it growing. Initially, Dylan would religiously refuse but he knew their next stop would be Peter so in time he begrudgingly bent to an ‘okay’ when far from the corn field of course. Just as Dylan felt the comforting warmth of the sun dance through the shadows and beckon his slumber tiny sun kissed droplets slid down his arm. His first instinct wiped the rain that wasn’t immediately absorbed and felt sticky when smudged between his fingers and the palm of his left hand. As Dylan opened his eyes the birds glided tauntingly slow overhead so he pelted them back with rocks and hurried towards his parents’ house to wash up and avoid a second duel. 

By midday and in a fresh change of clothes the extravagantly desperate drawls of his name were still to be heard. None of the typical suspects made an appearance whilst Dylan’s took his break. This left him relieved but uncertain about what to do with himself as he journeyed on…to the shops. As he hit the top of the hill the streets were paved with vigour: modern music surprised him, coordinating colours impressed him and tasty treats decoratively displayed outside the shop fronts revived him. It was the first street party the town had ever seen and they took to it like a pup off a leash. Dylan noticed the calmer cheerfulness of his friend Peter who smiled sincerely and shook hands within the crowd, he was eager to find out whether the party was Peter’s doing.

‘This is incredible,’ Dylan gushed with pride. 

‘That’s exactly what I said, can you believe Mr Milton organised it?’ Peter answered clearly overwhelmed.

‘What Hank’s Dad? No way!!! It doesn’t even seem like something he would do, like what’s the celebration?!!!’ Probed a confused Dylan.

‘You’re not going to believe it but I finally found the investors for my motion recharging music player. It’s going into production in say…about two weeks or sooner,’ Peter responded as he tried to gage Dylan’s reaction. Dylan leaned forward and patted his praise on Peters back.

‘That’s awesome, you deserve it,’ Dylan bravely uttered as he battled with conflicting thoughts.

‘Thanks, I’ll be gone a while but I’ll come back.  Mr Milton has promoted me to Head of Technology (Peter delved into thoughts of this promotion to improvise a plaque with his new title in hand gestures), no more milk rounds.’ Returning to the present Peter noticed the thinking face and hesitation of his friend. He wondered when Dylan would speak and slightly worried about what he might say as he wasn’t often…in fact ever at a loss for words. Until now. 

‘I can’t lie, I’m completely shocked by all of this but I’m happy for you. I knew you would do great things, I just didn’t know how big they would be or how soon,’ Dylan recovered.

The townspeople partied into the early morning, which was well after Peter boarded his first plane to the city. Some hours later the jingle of the van rang through the town briefly deterred by ranting residents, surely Peter wasn’t back already. Groggy from little sleep, Dylan scooted to the edge of his bed where he pondered whether the intrigue was worth the effort. At the window the cool breeze swept through the vent and swirled around him sending a chorus of shivers to cling to him and immerse his finger tips and toes in the temperatures of morning frost. That was when Dylan’s visual focus became easy and he was able to breathe a sigh of relief, the man with the van wasn’t Peter and the latest victim wasn’t Hank either. Mildly disappointed and not wanting to add to the number of spectators, Dylan climbed back into bed. As he wrestled with his pillow for comfort Dylan wandered amongst the adventures that awaited Peter, happily hanging his theoretical cape he gave in to the slumber.

Copyright Teherah Wheeler (©) 2017

                  🌽🌽🌽🌽🌽🌽🌽🌽🌽🌽🌽🌽🌽🌽🌽🌽🌽🌽🌽🌽🌽🌽🌽

Some will arrive at their destination early and others will have to fight for their eventually. Although, it may not always seem fair and it can lead to the why me? frustrations setbacks are a common experience for many. Most will have their own way of coping and personally I’ve found it helpful to focus on me. Questions that I considered:

What am I passionate about?

What do I want to achieve?

What could I change or adapt to get closer to my goals?

Am I giving tasks enough time or effort?

How do I feel after I’ve worked on my task?

Although, it’s highly important to involve some real action in our plans it’s better to go at your own pace. Slower than your person of reference doesn’t mean never and not having a person of reference doesn’t make it impossible. Ultimately, only you will know what’s best for you but I would like to make a small contribution by wishing you much success on your journey, all the best.

Teherah xXx

Good Girls 

(pic by hbbscounselling.org)


Most claim to know one but the biggest challenge isn’t the shift.

Impressions or social aversion to the name. 

Antagonising internalisations of the sometimes steadfast,

the experience or thoughts that directly battles with a being so easily championed. 

Human.

The voice that rages after mishaps coaxing the return to self.

Spirits that rattle to be freed when faced with others’ obstacles. 

Biology that kicks into gear when greeting choice,

two distinct doors yet room for just a single decision. 

The option that weighs on them heavily.

Taking the plunge is to be made into different shapes. 

Kitchen.

To succumb to the cues: the mischievousness, risks of peers or the judgements of strangers who shouldn’t mean so much but do. 

A presence gradually robbed of prominence. 

Beautiful hindsight. 

Inside a box of projection and expectations, 

decorated with impulse and offending human tendencies. 

Moisture marks a losing battle, 

uphill against the horizon describes the struggle.

Unnecessary disclosures become commodity if only for temporary relief.

Rising frustration at the problem with the problem that’s of course engulfed in problems. 

Copyright Teherah Wheeler (©) 2017



I like to let my mind and tools drift to wherever they care to go…
I also want to share that last year I joined a counselling app, to support others by lending a compassionate ear. Please use or share the link below if you or someone you know would like someone to talk to. It’s free.

http://www.7cups.com/14339491

All the best to you.
Teherah xXx

Awkward questions for adults…

(Jay Z pic by buzz feed)

If you’re feeling serious abort, abort now!!!
1. Did you brush your teeth today?

2. Did you bathe today?

3. Have you ever gone without washing your hands after using the toilet?

4  Do you pick your nose?

     FOLLOW UP

    Can we confirm this with a relative or spouse?



5. Is…[insert name] really your friend?

           FOLLOW UP

     Have you slept with them?



6. How long does google maps say you’ll be?

7. What’s the most prejudice thing that you’ve said or done?



8. Do you have children? 

       FOLLOW UP

    How many children do you have?

        FOLLOW UP 

     Can we call your ex (or plural) to confirm?



9. Are you paying?

      FOLLOW UP

    Did you expect me to pay? 

    FOLLOW UP

If I didn’t have any money would you be able to pay right now?

10. Are you working?

     FOLLOW UP

(Yes)                                                         (No)

How much do you earn?     /      Are you on benefits?

11. Why did you buy me a drink?

12. Can you post a picture without using a filter?

These questions were just for fun so hopefully you didn’t get too riled up. Thank you for reading and my truth is all these questions are actually just that. Questions. However, it’s understandable that social pressures can make the process of answering them quite uncomfortable.

Like some I also have an idea of how I hope my partner would respond to these questions but that’s another blog. This post also provides continuity for the foundations of this blog and improves assertiveness…sorry that’s a joke. 😂

If you ever need to escape from a disastrous date feel free to work through these questions…sorry I’ll stop that’s another joke. 🙈😂

⚠️ Use words responsibly. 

I honestly hope you’re having a great day and as always all the best to you. 😊

Happy New Year!!!

Teherah xXx

Motivation for Today and the Future

No matter how hard things seem our situations will change so we must keep going.


No matter how many doors close as we reach for our dreams one will open.


No matter how vast our feelings heighten and how many tears we shed we will eventually find time for peace.


No matter how lonely we feel and how demotivating our comparisons someone quietly wishes they had your life:  your feelings or attention, your loved ones, your experiences or your attributes. 


Luckily for you, with all that being said you have everything that you will ever need. This is your alternative perspective and this might be the sign you were looking for so be confident in your journey. 


Yes you the wonderful person reading this but doubting their potential, you’re more than you imagine and worthy of greatness. ❤🙌😊

Teherah xXx 

👀 Freaking Good Fashion Watching

In 2017 as well as writing stories, participating in global thrill-seeking experiences, working and supporting as many good causes as possible I also hope to continue my journey as a fashion watcher. Yes, you read this correctly and no don’t get worried I’m not referring to the person sat across from me awkward but the billions of pictures online…


It started with catalogues and exploded with online shopping and then picture saving sites like Pinterest where I created my own fashion line up in the name of:

My Dream Wardrobe


Okay so what’s so different about my taste… Me of course. The feeling I get from scrutinising the shapes and cut of materials, the geometric patterns and luxurious lashings of silken fabrics. The signs of genius that I imagine to caress my skin and tease the corners of my mouth when met with a mirror, rescuing the average shopper from the alternative of the sometimes itchy shop/store face-to-material greetings or one wash items. Yes, I said it ONEWASH forget polite for a second someone had to tell them…cheese!!! 😬 Now do better. 😜


I don’t particularly follow trends but I do adore good tailoring. My choices speak to an inquisitive aspect of my personality; it could even be something so simple as the colour palette. Completely unashamedly I imagine where I might be wearing certain pieces and what I might get up to and sometimes it even connects to a story idea 💡 Dinggg!!!!


I absolutely adore the conviction of some fashion pieces that put the ou in slouchy sportswear, the it in fitted formal wear and the in of slinky silhouettes that elicit the over the shoulder smoulder. Not sorry,  far too busy looking back. 😂😂😂

Here’s to maintaining or bringing back the fun in 2017. 

Right enough descriptions. Now presenting some of my fashion favourites 👇


Do you collect fashion pictures? Feel free to share some of your favourite pics or drop me a link. All the best to you.

Teherah xXx

#Decipher The Plot Challenge

  
Vanessa sat alone in the apartment she bought for her love, she sobbed hysterically but briefly before correcting her emotional response. As Vanessa became quiet with her thoughts the rustling of the leaves outside her open window further calmed her senses, her conscience. She pulled the provoking image out of the photo album, neatly applied folded sellotape to the four corners before adding it to the collage on the largest wall of their bedroom. 

Vanessa let her hand trail down the side of her face with her eyes temporarily closed, as she recalled their second moment of intimacy. How glorious it felt to be kissed by him, how he had held her face so delicately in similar fashion to unmarked vintage silk. Her mind then wandered over the faces of her relatives; the disgust and anger of her father very vivid as he erupted on his reflection and threatened to kill him. 

Vanessa had been confused at the time, she had no idea why something so beautiful and exhilarating could wretch the stomachs of her family. She hoped they would be happy to see her finally being a teenager out of the house and dating. Maybe they were expecting her to present a boy, as she hadn’t corrected them when they made the error of assuming this but stood beside her was a man who loved her. He repeatedly told her so and was willing to continue showing her this despite their relatives threats to kill him and persistent attempts to have him arrested. Vanessa had been loyal to her lover, she laughed at the police officers that showed up at the house to question her about her relationship.

It was no business of theirs and the feelings of her family didn’t matter either Vanessa had deduced that they were all incredibly jealous. Yes, envious of her beauty, intelligence and qualifications, the money her love regularly brought to her and the nice things he also bought for her. She had tried to keep their passion a secret like her gentle Eddie warned her but she no longer wanted to pretend at the time. Vanessa wanted to share her increasingly extending happiness with her family, soon they would know anyway. Her best gift would soon protrude through her clothes, she would glow with his affections and swell in gratitude for the love of this man.

Copyright Teherah Wheeler (©) 2016

What do you get from this character feelings/mood, plot/social relationship? This is a sample from my first fiction outlet I was watching a horror film (which was a mistake lol) and this back story just came to mind (silver lining). I just looked for the attached image today at 23:01 and found it quite a creepy coincidence that the piece was titled ‘Vanessa’ like my character. Anyway after a prayer lol I’ve decided to run with it and make something bigger. All the best.

Teherah xXx

This Really Is Christmas… (Story)

The pouring of snowflakes elicited a shiver of optimism for Thalia, as she braved the cold to top up the food stock for her parents’ traditional dinner. She couldn’t help but think of all the wonderful treats that would be made. A glorious smell ingrained in the visuals of her mind: crispy roasted potatoes, a sweet array of steamed or candied vegetables and succulent helpings of old friends and an appreciated sacrifice, destined for centre stage. Just a mere few minutes of gratitude before gratification. 

Thalia called her siblings several times to orchestrate every detail of the preparation, until almost perfection. Her eldest brother wouldn’t be able to make the journey in, with the weather conditions progressively becoming as ferocious as it was enchanting. Darren was the first born and highly favoured, his word meant exactly what it implied and most could count on him to make it through the trials of living. His conviction in discourse brought harmony wherever he ventured so the first holiday without him fostered opportunity for visions of turmoil and worse case scenarios within Thalia. Inside her chest hope marched on and she was determined to make the holidays a good time despite, her brothers absence. She was in charge now and Thalia wanted everyone to remember the occasion so she spent much time tirelessly fussing. She created a schedule and a specially dressed backdrop. The new carpet in the hallway cost her several pennies more than she expected it would but Thalia reasoned that she would put it to good use with the photographs she planned to take.

It wasn’t long before the sacred day arrived and Thalia was roused by a barrage of calls: Marley her cousin would be accompanied by the children of his latest lady of interest but offered no particular numbers for an estimate, Sandra her another cousin would be bringing a friend, Uncle Gary would be arriving before cousin Gayle and her Husband who he threatened last year and shunned just to see the other man squirm, Aunt Myra requested some more meat free options to go alongside the expected roasted vegetables but would not be cooking herself as she was unwell heaving and wheezing for emphasis, Martin her little brother was now too busy for working but would bring a cake for afters and her younger sister Jamilah would try her best to get her family ready early enough to support Thalia in the kitchen but asked for a pardon if her five girls slowed her down with a sudden list of misplaced items. Grand Aunt Rita was the only relative besides for her brother Darren to offer season greetings for the day ahead.

Uncle Gary and Gayle’s husband argued over the remote, Aunt Myra complained about the texture of Thalia’s improvised tofu stew and stuffed mushrooms, Marley’s little friends ate more than any of the adult guests and even rummaged through cupboards and the fridge to satisfy themselves. Aunt Myra complained about the children’s ‘bottomless pits’ of a stomach in concern for the dwindling tofu stew and stuffed mushrooms that she hoped to take home with her. Thalia turned the television in the den on for Gayle’s husband who allowed Jamilah’s girls to break her brother Darren’s exasperatingly expensive music equipment. Jamilah fell asleep before dinner and woke up during dessert to throw up on the carpet on the newly laid hallway carpet. When Martin finally arrived he complained that all the food was gone and became so engrossed in the game on the screen that he forgot the apple pies that he bought. The fury of the fire alarm indicated that dessert would no longer be in their best interest, as Thalia overheard Darren’s impulsive response of heated horror upon hearing the ruin of his music investments.

Thalia was exhausted as she washed up with her eyes firmly fixed on the night before her. As she peered outside the window she thought of how disappointed her parents must be. She had failed to bring their family together despite, her best intentions. Thalia’s frustrations were caught in her throat before she softly wept so not to be heard…the clickety clack of Aunt Rita’s favourite black suede kitten heels jolted her out of her pity party for one. Thalia wiped her hands on the nearest kitchen towel and turned towards the sound, meeting the warm eyes of her Aunt Rita. Aunt Rita thanked Thalia for a wonderful evening but said that she would be leaving Thalia asked her to stay awhile longer for some family pictures but Aunt Rita must of misheard her as she kissed her goodbye, thanked her for the meal and uttered:

 ‘you mustn’t worry yourself so much.’

Not long after Aunt Rita left, out poured Thalia’s other relatives. Martin mentioned a trip to a takeaway, Uncle Gary suggested not inviting Gayle’s husband as an improvement for next year, Aunt Myra beamed once loaded with Thalia’s new tupperware full of mixed leftovers. Marley sauntered out trying his best to avoid eye contact with Thalia, clearly aware that she sought an explanation for his three shadows. The musketeers attempted to make off with her laptop but Thalia swapped her prized possession with canned food in concern and sent Jamilah and her girls home in a cab. 

The house was silent again and finally clean…well decent. Thalia made note of the stains that she would certainly have to tackle tomorrow, as a silent friend began to call to her. The charm of slumber in the sanctuary of her room, triggered Thalia’s first genuine smile of the day and the setting grew more beautiful in the wait of her night routine. Sinking into her new soft sheets, Thalia felt grateful for her impulsive purchases even if she would be the only one to appreciate her efforts. The contentment of this thought caused Thalia to smile ruefully as she recounted the chaos of the day. It was at this moment that she absentmindedly played with the new camera on her beside table. Thalia instantly felt a wave of energy that rendered her speechless…as she scrolled through picture after picture of poses, incidents and faces including several of her own. Despite, the day not unfolding exactly how she expected it to go the day had unexpectedly gone to plan. 

Copyright Teherah Wheeler (©) 2016

To you,


Happy Holidays!!!

Teherah xXx
(Featured pic from Apartment Therapy)

A TOWN CALLED CRAVE (the beginning)

The tracker network was installed overnight. The quick zooom!!! that sounded like the tight squeeze of something caught in a suction device was paired with an orange beam of light. The atom scanners were the town’s latest addition and sent tagging information back to Crave Corporation. Doctor Locke had already received intel that Mayor Heckle sent orders for the new devices to be incorporated into every public building, following the well publicised breach of official buildings and of course the extensive attention given to the alleged assassination attempts from the HcR….no, not a High Commander’s Regiment of something snazzy to imply weapon training. HcR actually referred to the Health Conscious Rebels a human subculture that didn’t physically exist in Crave but were said to have opposed the unhealthy direction of the town just over a century ago and sought to completely wipe the town from existence so that nature could flourish and reclaim the space.

Well let’s say Trish was all ears and serious…until the…as she put it ‘grandiose ending’ that suggested the war had been declared for the lives of vegetation. She had always found it quite incredulous that a group of people wanting to eat healthily at a time when such food groups thrived, could possibly cause such an almighty stir but this is what each new generation of Crave were being fed. This was the town’s unspoken right of passage and despite the alleged banishing of the last generation of HcR just over a decade ago, the ritual remained. At the age of eight years old the young of the Working Elite were subjected to grotesque experimental footage of why they would need to ensure a daily dose of the DB4 injection, whilst the children of the Leisure Elite were given the capsule form as a more respectable substitute by their parents. Apparently the offspring of the Leisure Elite were less likely to incite mutiny or become a HcR. Although, Trish would beg to differ based on her experiences with the children of LE parents; to her they seemed to be the most likely to bend the rules and willing to do anything to follow in the footsteps of their parents.

The large monitors inside the food stop suddenly sprang to life; assisting the transmission of the hourly scheduled Crave Corporation snack advertisement. Trish watched some of appreciative reactions of the customers at other tables and their younger relatives who pointed and danced to the jingle from their seats. Trish turned to the monitor herself and took in the new foods that would be coming soon.  Then the orange…the luminous orange returned and the colour soon transitioned into words Crave Corporation but Trish was no longer in the food stop…

 

Teherah xXx
Copyright Teherah Wheeler (©) 2016

 

Thank you reading my sample. It’s been awhile (months) since I’ve been able to share all the fun that goes on inside my head but I’m oiling my joints. 🤓  I’m grateful to those that have directly contacted me for a new post. I appreciate your support. 😊

In the meantime check out my other book The Cough.

 

 

Autumnally Unforgettable (part 2 of Summer Plans the short story)

Miranda had bravely managed to recount much of what had to be a very traumatic experience for anyone, let alone a teenager. After my typical thirty minutes were up, I decided it was probably best to take a break from the topic. I suggested that we could meet again tomorrow to get Miranda’s final thoughts for the magazine, if she wanted to divulge more of her story of course. Miranda expressed that this would be ‘fine’ but Miranda’s Uncle interjected he seemed very annoyed by the thought of another day where ‘Miranda wouldn’t be working’. I reminded him that the magazine would issue the fast payment as agreed when Miranda felt she had shared all that she felt comfortable discussing surrounding her unexpected meeting with the infamous serial killer, Lerrah Snider. I also reiterated that we could pass on the hotel’s details with a copy of Miranda’s story to their local tour company. He responded with an outstretched hand, a pleasant flash of teeth and finally introduced himself as ‘Billy’. I thanked him for his cooperation and informed them that we (myself and the team) would return the following morning at 9am.

Miranda was sat in one of the sun chairs when I approached her the following morning, the team assembled to complete the photoshoot first but Miranda suddenly seemed quite deflated in comparison to yesterday. When I asked her if she was okay she shared that she didn’t feel safe enough to have her identity online or in print, I queried further but she shrugged and told me that she didn’t know why exactly but she felt that Lerrah would be after her because she had cooperated with the officer that finally caught Lerrah. Prior to Lerrah’s arrest she had been on the run and seemingly off the radar for sixteen years and reported in the media as a local folk tale or a calculated mythical presence to be feared. Miranda admitted to being spooked by the ordeal and asked for the interview to be relocated away from the Hoedown Hotel, we obliged with her idea of using a local spot of her choice. It was a quaint little establishment outside of Morrisse Village and for obvious reasons I can’t disclose its exact name or location.

Once we settled with what I must say was delicious candy flavoured teas, Miranda explained that the teas were typical of the many villages near Morrisse Village but originated in Morrisse Village. Miranda also disclosed that she still worried about Lerrah Snider wanting revenge. Local news updates indicated that she could breathe a sigh of relief with Lerrah safely in police custody and awaiting sentencing with no bail. The voices on the screen were of little comfort to the anxious teen, as she watched the Lerrah story updates on the shops wall mounted television. As I made some phone calls to cancel the photographer and stylist Miranda resumed with her internal battle her eyes were vacant and it was only when I called her name for the third time that she temporarily returned to the present. I gave her the business card to her local counselling office, I had researched therapy in Miranda’s area yesterday but I didn’t have the opportunity to discuss this with Miranda. Her Uncle had brushed the entire ordeal off as a minor service glitch with potential to generate more attention for the hotel.

I made a final call to cancel the appointment with the hairdresser when Miranda interjected ‘Umm actually I would still like to get my hair done if it’s okay, my roots need doing.’ Typically if clients refused the magazine feature and opted to go anonymous they lost the right to all related perks but considering the seriousness of what Miranda had experienced, I felt that getting Miranda a hair appointment was the least that the magazine could do. ‘Yes of course you can’. The idea of some pampering appeared to lift the teenager’s morale as she became quite talkative and relaxed. Miranda smiled weakly and eventually lifted her mug of no longer steaming tea to her lips, the quick expression on her face acknowledged that the liquid had long missed it’s comforting qualities but she refused another drink on us and gulped it down with a distracted and forced smile. Miranda mimicked a goldfish as she hesitated with what might have been the beginning of her speech but decided to peruse the menu instead.

My assistant had done a wonderful job at finding a luxurious hair salon for Miranda; it was so pristine that it would have felt clinical had it not been for the contrast of abstract art on the walls against the stark white of the interior and the throng of welcoming staff and regular clients. The quality of the complimentary beverages and finger food also indicated that this was a successful business place. Miranda took a few pictures with the hairdresser and once the ‘hairstylist’ as she preferred to be called had left to schmooze Miranda informed me that the woman usually worked with actors and musicians so ‘this is unbelievable’ she shrilled with revere. I felt quite pleased for Miranda, it was about time that the universe granted her a break and on the hairdresser’s return they began to discuss celebrity gossip as I flitted in and out of sleep.

The hairdresser’s assistant brought me some orange juice and I couldn’t quite help but notice how different she was to the rest of her employees she was strikingly curvaceous with her face completely made up, where the rest were mostly slender and closer to the stature of a stereotypical fashion model. Seemingly barefaced excluding their eyebrows. I wondered if Miranda’s anxiety had suddenly become contagious and manifested in my new watchfulness of the salon’s employees. I just couldn’t put my finger on it but something just didn’t sit well with me maybe it wasn’t the actual employee maybe it was just my unfamiliarity of the environment.

I took a sip of the orange juice and left it. Miranda was in fits of giggles from her juicy conversation that I had missed. The hairdresser told her assistant to; ‘mix the dye, apply the treatment, wash Miranda’s hair then return Miranda to the chair for styling.’ The assistant merely nodded seemingly anxious and partially distracted by Miranda’s hair, I shrugged it off as a sign of possible employee politics since her name was not uttered even once by the hairdresser. As the hairdresser’s assistant made eye contact with me, I offered a sympathetic smile to the cowering shadow of a woman. The slender lady tucked one side of her blonde bob cut behind her left ear before disappearing out of sight, she soon returned with the bowl of mixed dye and an application brush and made little work of dyeing Miranda’s hair. The assistant had refrained from speaking even when she guided Miranda to a new position for her session under a hooded dryer, a move that I found to be quite peculiar for such an establishment but maybe she was new.

The celebrity hairdresser reemerged from her wander and pulled the hood of the dryer up to look at Miranda’s hair. Her face soon contorted as she scanned the room in search of her assistant. The words heating her lips were inaudible due to the pitch of her rapidly escaping frustration of the poor dye job and as she quickly rushed Miranda to a sink, that’s when I saw the damage. Miranda’s once blonde locks were now jet black tendrils. The hairdresser apologised and offered money off of Miranda’s next appointment that would lift the colour, Miranda muttered ‘It’s okay’ but her wide-eyed expression betrayed her verbal dialogue. ‘Miranda are you okay?’ I asked the concerned looking teen. She nodded but sat in silence as the hairdresser insulted the assistant who had yet to make an appearance. I didn’t blame her for hiding, the hairdresser had taken a beastly form and spat fire cinders of vengeance for the potential threat to her reputation.

The room became silent as the assistant armed with her navy trench coat and grey satchel appeared in the doorway. She quickly walked towards the hairdresser but kept her gaze fixed on Miranda and then me. As the hairdresser hurled abuse and detailed the consequences of messing up in her town the assistant quietly headed towards the entrance, she abruptly stopped at the product display before swinging her satchel at it and causing the entire contents of the shelves to create sweet smelling traffic on the floor. The assistant looked back one last time to mock the hairdresser and other infuriated staff with a grin, as she began to roar with laughter at the mess she had made. A group of salon staff ran out after the assistant. They soon returned with the former assistant’s abandoned coat and satchel. Inside the satchel lay a dirty mirror shard, a sliver pair of scissors and black hair extensions, the other employees labelled the assistant ‘a thief’ and proceeded to gossip some more.

Miranda sat in the same position she had not moved an inch from the chair and clasped her hands to hide the shakes that had developed. The poor teen’s nerves were devastated by the ordeal. I called to Miranda four times and she only returned to the present on the fourth call. She swallowed loud enough for me to notice and asked if I would take her home. I agreed to leave in ten minutes to give Miranda time to speak to her parents and calm down. As she ended the call she sighed heavily. The tears held in her eyes told me this day has taken its toll on the teenager. Miranda paused with the beginning of her speech ‘I…well…..something’s wrong’. I looked at Miranda extremely confused as to what she could be referring to and eagerly awaited more information from her. ‘What do you mean?’ I queried. It was all I could think of to encourage Miranda to divulge, whilst maintaining an air of nonchalance that was fitting for her generation. ‘I don’t know but about a month ago…’ Miranda started, as she highlighted the root of her anxiety. She had been receiving free clip in extensions from a company that she couldn’t find online but each week she would receive two boxes of black hair. Miranda described the boxes as ‘creepy’ she had made a connection between the black wig that Lerrah had worn on the day of their encounter and the black ‘human’ hair extensions. I asked Miranda why she hadn’t told anyone before now and she shrugged. Not wanting to alarm her I gave my best impression of unfazed but made a mental note to stop by the police station once Miranda was dropped off. I wasn’t sure whether Lerrah had escaped or hired someone to terrorize Miranda but I highly doubted that this would be the last encounter.

Copyright Teherah Wheeler (©) 2016