Z Is For Faked ZZZZs

“Awww!” I screamed and raised my hand to my head. A sharp, ripping pain had wakened me. I reached over and turned on the lamp. Claire’s eyes were closed but I could tell she was awake. She held a long lock of dark, curly hair in her hand. Its end trailed across the pastel blue summer coverlet. “Why did you pull out my hair?!” I demanded. Claire emitted a soft ZZZ. The man’s footsteps stomped in the hallway, “What’s all this noise?!” He grabbed my shoulder, “What do you think you’re doing,” he demanded shaking me, “waking everyone at this hour?!” Claire sat up, rubbed her eyes with the hand that still held the lock of my hair. “She pulled out my hair!” I squeaked. “It’s there, in her hand.” “I was asleep,” Claire told him calmly. “I don’t remember pulling her hair.” “She must have done it in her sleep,” the man told me. In the morning, I checked my scalp in the mirror and found a red patch the size of a dime.

Comments

    1. Thanks so much. This has been lovely & helped me generate. Thanks for visiting. I look forward to your Z post.

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