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Description
A scene from my novel~!
_________________________________________

Walking out of his bedroom, Jack gracefully tied his hair up into a side ponytail and barretted the stragglers up on the other side. Ara watched in amazement the ease with which Jack utilized one of those damn stretchy loopy things. He touched his giant knot absentmindedly. He then purposefully began tugging on it in random spots, trying to free his tresses.

Jack soon took notice of the struggle, and motioned with the universal, ‘NO DON’T GO THERE OH GOD STOP WHAT YOU’RE DOING!’ two-handed wave. He examined the labyrinth of hair and elastic. How in tarnation had he even configured this in the first place? This called for drastic measures. Jack got the peanut butter.

Ever the proud destroyer of gooey messes in a child’s hair, it was the last ditch effort before the scissors were introduced to the situation. Scissors are never one’s first choice – they are notoriously bad company. They’ll dazzle you with their fun colors and shiny metal, and let’s not forget those lefty-friendly shapes. Then WHAM-BANG! You’ve got a nasty gash, of which you remember neither being warned of, nor requesting. It takes a lot to get those fellows to stay in the lines; they can turn on you in a moment’s notice.

Upon seeing a knife covered in an unknown brown substance approaching him, Ara brightly started backing away slowly.

“Mat an tœm pumireem!” he exclaimed. No effect.

Jack was not easily swayed. Ara desperately grasped at his hair with his long fingers. Loops of hair flopped this way and that in a flurry of motion. The peanut butter drew closer with every snap of elastic. Jack’s shadow loomed over the redhead’s frantic movements. The brown goo moved past Ara’s face. It had nearly reached the tangled hair.

Ara’s hand suddenly flew outward, arm outstretched toward his aggressor. He was on his knees, panting in terror, clutching an intact black hair tie in hand. Jack smiled sweetly and grasped the hair tie. It was slipped into his pocket, and the peanut butter returned to its confinement in the plastic jar. The red cap of doom sealed the fate of our foiled hero, trapped in darkness until once again its power was called upon. Or until there was a piece of toast with warm butter on it and a jar of sweet jelly waiting to join our hero in a feat of culinary genius. Either way, it went back to the cupboard.

(C) Rachel Chapman.

Description
A scene from my novel~!
_________________________________________

Walking out of his bedroom, Jack gracefully tied his hair up into a side ponytail and barretted the stragglers up on the other side. Ara watched in amazement the ease with which Jack utilized one of those damn stretchy loopy things. He touched his giant knot absentmindedly. He then purposefully began tugging on it in random spots, trying to free his tresses.

Jack soon took notice of the struggle, and motioned with the universal, ‘NO DON’T GO THERE OH GOD STOP WHAT YOU’RE DOING!’ two-handed wave. He examined the labyrinth of hair and elastic. How in tarnation had he even configured this in the first place? This called for drastic measures. Jack got the peanut butter.

Ever the proud destroyer of gooey messes in a child’s hair, it was the last ditch effort before the scissors were introduced to the situation. Scissors are never one’s first choice – they are notoriously bad company. They’ll dazzle you with their fun colors and shiny metal, and let’s not forget those lefty-friendly shapes. Then WHAM-BANG! You’ve got a nasty gash, of which you remember neither being warned of, nor requesting. It takes a lot to get those fellows to stay in the lines; they can turn on you in a moment’s notice.

Upon seeing a knife covered in an unknown brown substance approaching him, Ara brightly started backing away slowly.

“Mat an tœm pumireem!” he exclaimed. No effect.

Jack was not easily swayed. Ara desperately grasped at his hair with his long fingers. Loops of hair flopped this way and that in a flurry of motion. The peanut butter drew closer with every snap of elastic. Jack’s shadow loomed over the redhead’s frantic movements. The brown goo moved past Ara’s face. It had nearly reached the tangled hair.

Ara’s hand suddenly flew outward, arm outstretched toward his aggressor. He was on his knees, panting in terror, clutching an intact black hair tie in hand. Jack smiled sweetly and grasped the hair tie. It was slipped into his pocket, and the peanut butter returned to its confinement in the plastic jar. The red cap of doom sealed the fate of our foiled hero, trapped in darkness until once again its power was called upon. Or until there was a piece of toast with warm butter on it and a jar of sweet jelly waiting to join our hero in a feat of culinary genius. Either way, it went back to the cupboard.

(C) Rachel Chapman.