Snip. snip. snip.  

The erratic sound of the scissors broke through the monotonous hum of the air conditioner, as clumps of hair fell silently to the floor of the barber shop. Her father had left a few minutes earlier to run a few errands.  

"I'll be back soon," he had promised her.  

snip. snip.snip. snip.  

She sat in the chair, imprisoned by the stale-smelling sheet wrapped closely around her. She looked up as the barber tilted her head back towards him.In the mirror ahead, she saw herself reflected a thousand times, as the mirror in the back of the shop captured her image and threw it back to the first. She stared at the myriad portraits of herself, seeing small, skinny children of eleven, with eyes too large for the stark angularity of their faces. The innocence of youth shone from these eyes, but a trick of the light dimmed the eyes of each succeeding figure, the purity in their expressions tainted by something darker and more sinister. The children grew smaller with each reflection, disappearing entirely somewhere deep in the heart of the mirror, just beyond the reach of vision. 

snipsnip.  

She tried her best to stay motionless in the barber chair, but she felt suffocated by the sheet that was tied too tightly about her chin. As she squirmed in the chair, the hand reached out and grabbed her. Her eyes widened in surprise and, properly chastened, she stopped moving. But the hand did not release her.  

For some reason she was more uncomfortable than before, and could not help instinctively shifting away from the hand. It freed her immediately, almost in apology, and she felt an enormous sense of relief. She relaxed and leaned back in the chair, perfectly still. The hand, however, grabbed her with renewed vigor. Confused, she squirmed again, but this time the timid little wriggle was not enough to deter it, and she could not free herself. She saw that resisting the hand was useless, so she obediently sat