In the Beginning, 

All Our Hands are Cold

1. The story, “In the Beginning, All our Hands are Cold,” is a fantastic short story with an interesting premise. The story is progressive, and peaked my interest immediately. The character’s in the story seemed to choose their own hands, but the character’s did not really have control over their destiny. I loved the premise of the characters putting new scars and callouses on their hands which affected future characters. The use of pacing to develop the story quickly was also unique and affected my interested in the story. 
   
   
2. In my story, I am capturing the same idea as what I saw in the original story. In the original story, the hands told a story of the person they would eventually come to be. I tried to capture the same essence, where the hair that grew from their head created the person they would become to be. The characters would not have any choice in their destiny, and would wind up hating being younger than others. Another idea I was capturing in my piece was how much age factors into everything we do. When your younger than someone, just by a few years, you can still have an amazing connection, but eventually, you will be left feeling left out, or abandoned, or just disconnected.
   
   The Prompt:  Write a short scene from a world of your own where something that usually physically comes naturally for the vast majority of people, must instead be obtained. This could be another body part, or something less obvious, like voice or sight. In your excerpt it should be clear how the character(s) feels about this part of life, how their culture views it, etc. Otherwise, the details are up to you.  Keep it brief. 250-400 words. SEE BELOW.

“Wild Curls”

Oliver loved the feeling of his bald head. He smiled slightly whenever he ran his hands over his head, feeling the smoothness of the skin, and the way it shined perfectly. He loved seeing his best friend, Suzanna, running her fingers over her own head, her  sparkly, pink nails blending into her scalp.

Oliver hated looking at the adults. They all had weird sprouts of hair growing from their head. Different textures, shapes, styles, and colors. The adults judged each other’s hair, calling them names. If someone’s hair was greasy, that made the individual dirty. If someone had a certain hairstyle, they might be considered gay. Oliver hated those pretenses.

Adults were weird and being a teenager was easy. He could look at Suzanna’s bald head all day long.

It was obvious who was a child and who was not in the society. Those with bald heads were not allowed to sit at the adult tables. They had separate rooms in restaurants for the bald heads. Oliver was okay with that, because hair creeped him out. His mom’s bleached blonde hair was the most lifeless thing Oliver had ever seen. He hated her, and he hated hair.

When an individual turned 18, the hair grew from their head. There was no choice in the matter. Hair determined everything about who a person would become. Oliver knew eventually, that his previous life would not matter.

By the time he was 21, of legal drinking age, Oliver would be a full-fledged new person. Up until 18, he was a blank, magical canvas, and he could try out new personalities again and again – they’d always be erased. At some point, his hair would grow.

Oliver hated that he couldn’t control his destiny.

Suzanna’s hair came first. It grew in wild, orange spirals on top of her head, curls that cascaded everywhere. She smiled and showed Oliver every day how long it was getting.

She was two years older than him, so it made sense. Everything about Suzanna made sense, from her gorgeous locks to her organic taste in food to her yoga trends. Everything made sense, up until the day when she walked away from Oliver.