• I held my breath. I took a handful of lengthy jet-black hair in my left hand, twisting it into a thick chunky curl. I gingerly reached for the sharp gleaming knife laid out on the granite counter top. I held it tightly, squeezing it until the palms of my hands turned a pale red. I raised it to the portion of hair I held. I let my breath go and indiscriminately, and sliced the blade through the thick black curl. I released the handful of hair watching it fall. It seemed to transform into black feathers flowing, flying. Falling.