The Salon

I walk into the shop. I see eyes piercing deep into my marrow. I take a sit. I beckon on an attendant. She frowns. She comes any way but lakadaisically and stands hand akimbo.
I scowl.

I say I want to a new hairdo. She smirks and walks away.

I stare into the mirror, looking over my shoulders I see lips move without making an iota of sound.

I strain my ears, I try to gleen but hear nothing.

I see a pile of magazines, am sure they are old as usual. I stretch my arm to pick one.

Now, I turn my head to stare at my attendant, she stares back at me and walks over to her boss who had earlier beckoned.

Now the voices have risen. I hear more of boys and men. I hear of heart breaks and girls gone wild. I hear of weaves and curls.

My ears itch as I listen to more blabs and more tales of escapades and aristos.

More ladies troop in like an alarm has just been blared. Some skimpily dressed, some modestly dressed but to each, fashion has been defined.

All of a sudden it is dark. I see nothing, am sure nothing could see me – but I wasn’t sure. Just then a hand came over my mouth. I try to scream but my voice was lost to the jungle. I try to wriggle but I am tied; tied to what I didn’t know.

Then the lights come on.

Where was I?
This wasn’t where I was supposed to be. I look around I see grinning faces fiercely looking and I wonder, what I had done again?

He walks up to me, his 12 packs chest pounding as he moves closer. His bloodshot eyes pierced through my soul, I try to scream.

I couldn’t.

In my head I hear voices, inaudible voices.

He walks on, stops right before me and lovingly touched my shoulders. I am scared to death. How can he look so scary and yet act so caring.

He asks my name, I answer.
He says I am pretty, I thank him.

Then I realised I just talked.

What happened earlier. Why couldn’t I scream?

Just like he read my mind, he smiles and says not to wonder why I lost my voice.

A calendar is placed before me. I see nothing but today’s date circled in red marker.

He urges me to take a closer look.
Still I see nothing. He walks away, laughing hysterically. I pray for help.

Just then, I hear footsteps. I hear audible voices marching closer, I wonder why am held.
I wonder if help is near.

From behind I heard a uniform scream- ‘happy birthday Ma’.

I was taken aback. Was it my birthday.
Oh yes, It was my birthday. I had become too busy to notice.

They turn me around. I see faces lit in love and affection. They burst into merry songs.
Then he walks out of the mob. Same steps, same packs but this time handsomely looking, the bloodshot eyes were gone.

He touched me again, it was holy grail.

I open my mouth in shock to ask what happened to his eyes earlier, he stops me just in time and says it was a mask.

I smile.
Tears freely flow.
I was kidnapped but it felt safe.

I look from one face to another, I see a cross section of all my friends, writers and non-writers. I see them smiling mischieviously.

I see orijin. I see wine- different shapes and sizes. I see a cake, taller than I stand. I see food displayed on a buffet stand. I see even palm wine.

They were all involved. And no one told me.

They are crazy like that.

Just then I hear a voice screaming into my ears “madam where you say you dey go, we don reach our last bus stop, it was the bus conductor.



16 thoughts on “The Salon” by Maureen Alikor (@Wailingink)

  1. lolx…funny ending… enjoyed your style of writing…quite poetic and straight to the point but frankly, i almost gave up on it…it seemed brisk and shallow. Perhaps you should work more on details.
    Just checked your profile and oh! you are a poet…that explains alot…
    Keep writing love…

    1. @Kycee, thank you for reading. Indeed I am no short story writer. I do these for the fun of it, to get better at my tenses and to be a better writer all round.
      And, yea I laughed when I read it

  2. Maybe, it was first written as a poem, then a little more detail was added. Maybe its your style. The point is, there’s a touch of poetry in it–but that does not mean its bad, just how it comes across.

    1. Nnamdi, hahaha. Not really. I write more poems and I find myself spicing up my prose tryouts with poetry-the home I am comfortable living in. Thank you for reading.

  3. Rhoiy (@Roy-journals)

    Lol! I can imagine how much she had hoped for a surprise party that she now had to dream it. Aww!!!

    1. Rhoiy, hehehehe. Thank you for reading. The mind is powerful, it can cook up what you were not thinking about then make you pen it down.

  4. Kycee, thank you for reading. Indeed I am no short story writer. I do these for the fun of it, to get better at my tenses and to be a better writer all round.
    And, yea I laughed when I read it.

  5. You scared me! I saw a picture of me as the cover picture and I thought I had posted something on NS in my sleep…

    okay back to the real deal, I’ve read every other comments above so I won’t repeat their words. I love poetry and will like to read your poems. I smiled at the end of this piece. There are so much more everyone can learn.. might take years but we’ll get there… Lets keep writing!!

    1. Lol. I also wondered when I saw you on the cover picture.

    2. Ufuoma, I was surprised too when I saw the pix. I didn’t attach amy picture to the post, I guess the admin did.
      Sorry, it scared you. It’s a beautiful picture though.
      Thank you for reading. Sure we have so much more to learn. I DO more of poetry.

  6. This is crazy and very sweet. I appreciate the twists and turns.
    ‘Twas fun reading it.

    1. @chime thank you. It was random and spontaneous thought, so I chose to pen it down

  7. Lol. Nice writing there. I thoroughly enjoyed it. You kept using “am” instead of “I’m” though.

    1. sir Sam, thank you reading it. I will correct it. I could see just one, where else did you see it so I can effect the correction.

  8. Loved the rythm. It flowed well. Since it was really not a story then I won’t fault the briakness of it.

    Kool suspence and ending.

    1. Prince, thanks for reading…..

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