My Greatest Fear

MY GREATEST FEAR

I trembled in utter fear, mumbling a few reassuring words under my breath to alleviate the suffocating tension and apprehension that was within me. My eyes rested unseeingly at the dilapidated and dimly lit shop in the distance. After brooding over the woeful matter for minutes, I decided to confront my greatest fear without a slight hesitation. I took a deep invigorating breath and hastily plunged into the much undesirable shop.
“Good morning, little Sheng,” Miss Marie squealed with immoderate delight at my arrival. Oblivious of the untold number of pitch-dark hair that was strewn over her palms, she gleefully patted my shoulder and caressed my brown wavy hair with affection. Instinctively, I showed a defiant and impertinent gesture while tactfully dodging her further unwelcome strokes.
“Wait here patiently. I will come to you very shortly,” uttered Miss Marie. Without a second prudent thought, I grabbed a wooden seat and mindlessly buried myself in a pile of intriguing comic books. However, my concentration lasted only for a short lapse of time. Involuntarily, I cast a furtive glance at Miss Marie like a sly thief browsing his surroundings with his roving eyes. On my left, there was a middle-aged man with receding hair sitting monotonously like a royal sentinel. Frankly, I could not fathom the reason he chose to aggravate the hideous hairstyle he bore. Curving her plump lips into a menacing curve upwards, Miss Marie was grasping the man’s nearly bald skull and barbarically performing a massacre of his hair. Vaguely, I could hear a strain of vain moaning reverberate around the shop.
The ceaseless spluttering buzz of the “hair mower” brought me down memory lane.
Vividly, I recollected the very first day I visited Miss Marie’s barbershop. Totally
enchanted by the bewildering array of assorted groovy comic books that were stored
haphazardly in the shop, ranging from the majestic “Spiderman” to my all time
favourite-“Dragon Ball”, I was gullibly enticed to become Miss Marie’s customer or
more precisely, her guinea pig. Unlike her amiable and approachable personality, Miss
Marie possessed a poor and insufficient hair-cutting skill. I nearly burst into torrential
tears when I learnt that only a few centimetres of hair were hanging tenaciously to my
skull. As a token, I earned myself unexpected eminence as I became an overnight
success in the school. All and sundry did not miss my appearance. Courtesy of some of
my boisterous friends’ unbridled imagination, I was crowned with manifold spiteful
titles, commencing from the stale “Little Monk” to the conspicuous “Botak” *. The
situation aggravated when my demanding and authoritative mother, who palpably had a
strong craving for distasteful haircuts, indefatigably insisted me go to Miss Marie
whenever my hair began to thrive
“Alright, what sort of haircut do you fancy?” Miss Marie loomed up abruptly, assessing my wavy hair with a salivating complexion. A sudden glacial chill ran down my spine. Before I could utter a word to extricate myself from the impending menace, she had made up her mind. She broke the * silence with an intensity that smashed my hope like a mighty hammer crushing an eggshell into little fragments.
“Let’s stick to the crew cut,” she articulated smugly while snapping a pair of shimmering scissors excitedly. A bead of perspiration trickled down my cheeks as I warily anticipated the commencement of a nerve-wrecking journey.
“Snip!” the scissors flashed around like a twinkling fireflies, followed by the continuous falling of a deluge of hair. I watched in horror as the merciless slaughter proceeded. I was compelled to remain frozen lest the razor blade should shed blood. Much to my dismay, Miss Marie paid scanty attention to the angelic tears that swelled around my eye lobs that were on the verge of bursting the bank. Occasionally, I let out a stream of bellow to express my exasperation but to no avail as she relished the moment very fondly and was reluctant to call it a day.
After what it seemed like an eternity, Miss Marie eventually put her artistic venture to a halt. Admiring the fruition of her industrious effort silently, she clumsily poured some white powder on my neck and instantly brushed away the hair. Involuntarily, I stole a glance at the mirror. Frustration engulfed me as I gaped at my staggeringly repulsive reflection in utter shock. At the same time, an ominous cloud hung over me. Wallowing in the thought of becoming a laughable clown in the school, I frowned with apprehension. As I dug into my tiny pocket for a few precious notes, I grimaced at Miss Marie to signify my dissatisfaction. Eventually, I sighed in distress while trudging out of the barbershop.
“Sheng!” a familiar voice echoed, ensued by a distant murmuring and an occasional laughter. In the milling crowd, there stood a group of vital children who busily pointed at me amidst the ebb and flow of conversation.
Instantly, I knew the spooky nightmare had begun.

THE END

Written by NG TECK SHENG

# “Botak” means bald in Malay language.
# The muse of this story is inspired by “SEAN TAKES THE FALL”