Ansley Asher

writing thoughts

Ms. Todd

by Ansley Asher

Frank’s plan that morning was routine enough–a haircut, then lunch at the cafe next door. The stylist was pretty, everything was clean, but the shop had no customers. Frank heard a click as he sat in the barber chair, and he ignored it–until cold steel pressed into his neck: She’d locked the door. “A little off the top?” she mocked him. “How ’bout I take it all?” Frank choked on his protest as the scissors slid with a butcher’s precision into his neck. So that’s why the cafe’s sandwich board advertised “man-made pies.”

Ansley Asher cuts her own hair.

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