Cut My Hair [North Korea]

[North Korea]

I cut my hair

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So that I'd forget you- That wasn't it[/i]
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He held the knife in his hand as he stared at the mirror, grasping a lock of his long, silky, black hair tightly. The blade of the knife glimmered against the light, its glare blinding, its clearness haunting, as he stared back at himself from the reflection on the blade, then the mirror.

He remembered a tale that China used to tell him, of a woman who cut her hair fearlessly with a knife just so she could take her injured father's place in battle. It was a tale of noble sacrifice, of putting the needs of one's family first before one's safety.

But... what was his motivation, his reason, for cutting his own hair right now? He stared long and hard at himself, and at the black sprawled on his shoulder, as he gripped the handle of the knife tighter. It was, perhaps, to look more like his twin. It was also, perhaps, because of his intense longing for his brother that he wanted to be reminded of him even as he stared at the mirror. It might also be, perhaps, that he wanted to break away from his conservative thinking and rebel, for once.

He knew that his long hair symbolized the days of past. It was the hairstyle of the old days, even before imperialism, colonization. He grew his hair out, proud of its radiance and health and silky texture and blackness, a symbol of his pride.

Perhaps... perhaps he kept it, as a reminder of the days of when they were together.

But it was getting increasingly hard everyday, of staring at the mirror at a strange man with long hair, a symbol of effeminacy these modern times, when it was a symbol of royalty back then. He knew he had to conform to the norm of today, somehow.

He wanted to cut his hair. He wanted to chop it all off, to watch the black strands make their way to the hard concrete floor waiting below, to see the hair that he had let grow suddenly fall to his lap, unattached to his head no longer.

He looked straight at the mirror as he lifted the hand gripping the blade almost mechanically, slightly shaking as he did so. He prepared to cut off a chunk of his hair, to cut it all off. The first time is always the hardest; once he's done it, he knew that it would get easier to chop off all the unwanted strands. And he knew that when he was done, his head was going to feel lighter. He was almost certain that he would feel as if a burden was lifted from his shoulders.

He closed his eyes tightly, not caring whether he cuts it straight through or not, as he knew he could fix it up with scissors later. He couldn't bear to watch the first time. His hand was still shaking, the blade still in his unruly hand, as he prepared to swipe. He counted to himself.

5.

4.

3.

2.

1.

And the blade clattered to the floor as the sound of footsteps hurrying out reverberated through the room.

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I can't forget about you

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It was so I could say "farewell" to my weak self[/center][/blockquote]