God of Hair — a short story
When I saw Salty after two weeks, something bothered me. There was too much hair on his head. My friend, since I got to know him two years ago, had been balding. I can count his hair follicles in my head.
So, when 200 became 2000+ I became concerned. Wait, concerned isn’t the right word. I was curious. Did this guy use some hair fall medicine? Still, this much difference in two weeks. I mean, this guy looked like there was still a good twenty years before drought could enter his scalp.
I couldn’t control myself and almost asked him.
“Hey dude, what’s up?”
The guy blinked. “Nothing machi. Why, what happened?”
“Well, for starters, the hair.”
“The hair?”
“Your hair.”
He looked disgruntled. “What about my hair?” He caressed the two outlandish spills into place.
“How did it grow man? What did you use? Ervamatin. Dipped and kept your hair in it for two weeks?”
I thought he would laugh. He kept his expression stern.
“You aren’t going to say anything?”
“Nope.”
“C’mon man. Just tell me. Is that all between us?”
“Well, nothing like that. If I tell you, they will kill me.”
“They?”
He nodded. Salty was involved in something lethal??!!
I looked around. No one looked remotely interested to ask him about his hair. But I was.
“Okay, then. Keep your secrets.”
I stole Salty’s diary. That evening, once I got back home, I tore through the pages, halting the brakes on my fingers, once I reached December.
There were three entries, two of them during last two weeks.
Entry #178 — 12.12.2022
So, diary, today was weird. Someone who looked like me appeared in my dreams. He was covered in a black hoodie and his bottom was out of my sight. He came close to my eyes and said, “I need your help.”
I asked him who he was. He said he was Myrus, God of Hair.
Yeah, diary, I was bewildered too. I mean, God of Hair. Since when assorted body parts got their own gods. Even God of Small Things is a metaphor.
He said some stuff, which went like this:
“I, Myrus, need your help in eliminating my enemy Pyrus. He plans to incinerate me. Only you have the power to save me. And you have to save me. It’s a prophecy. You save me, you get your hair back. And you obviously need it to look good and get yourself a girlfriend, don’t you? So when I appear before you, help me.”
First of all, I am offended. I have a girlfriend. Well, had. But still, getting a girlfriend is not in any way related to having good hair.
He said he would meet today. In dreams, I guess. Let’s see.
Entry #179– 14.12.2022
So, diary, yeah, I met Myrus. In real life. He wore the same black hoodie and had some skirt thing going on instead of pants. Anyways, he said he needed me in his realm to help him defeat Pyrus, who was approaching with his army of flame-throwing-carrying skeleton-army to set every hair on fire. I wanted to say no. But he said that if he got killed, everyone who was born thereafter would be bald.
Now that would be a shame, wouldn’t it.
So, long story short, Myrus and I transported back to his realm. Pyrus entered the castle, and even before he could enter the court, fire had spread via the hanging carpets (which, believe it or not, was weaved from hairs). He entered and when he saw me, his expression became serious. Myrus blared, “So you thought I didn’t know the prophecy, Of course, I did, you son of a fire extinguisher.”
Pyrus looked bleak for a while. Then a grin appeared, after which he broke into a crazy laugh so loud, the entire place shook.
“You fool, you know shit.”
Myrus blared again, “What do you mean, I know shit? You are the one well-versed in shit, you shitty ass fir-”
Myrus stopped. Because I knifed him with a glowing piece of charcoal, courtesy of Pyrus.
Apparently, Myrus is at fault. He had taken the hair off Pyrus as a prank, as a result of which, Pyrus’s wife left him for another good haired demigod. Pyrus’ wrath was justified, I felt, when he narrated his side of the story.
Myrus dissolved slowly, as fire engulfed him.
“Et tu balde?”
I stabbed him again. HOW DARE HE CALL ME BALD?
When he dissolved completely, a bag remained. I took it. Pyrus said it was the Bag of All Hairs, which contained the hair spirits of all things done, doing and yet to be done. And who carried it, became the God of Hair.
Guess who became a God, dear diary?
Damn, son. Salty became a God. And they probably would be the Council of all those Gods. I probably am traversing deep waters now.
My phone rang. It was Salty.
“Did you take my diary?”
“Um, yeah. But I swear I never read anything.”
“You swear?”
“Yeah, I wanted to, but then I remembered someone say, Privacy is important. I felt guilty for not respecting yours.”
“That’s all right. Return it tomorrow.”
“You got it, machi.”
Entry #180–28.12.2022
So, diary, he stole you. But thank goodness, he didn’t read you. I hope he doesn’t know I have become a God. Because he is one among the many who has called me Baldo all these years.
Revenge is best served bald. Right, diary?
