Spectrum

Challenge Prompt: Write a story taking place at three a.m. and involve a situation where the color of people's hair changes based on their emotions. (Since this is just a little prompt given to me by my friend, it's not really meant to be taken too seriously. Although, reviews and possible edits are still very much welcomed!)

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    “Ow, hot! God da--”

    “Careful, girl.” An elderly woman reprimands, carefully watching me with intimidating wrinkly grey eyes. Her hair is slowly growing into a darker shade of red. I stick out my tongue for a quick second to try and stop the burning sensation before trying to speak. The cashier did say that my hot chocolate was very hot, as we all know hot chocolate is, but I didn’t think it’d scorch my tongue. Talk about underestimating.

    “Sorry, miss.” I lower my head and scramble further from the old lady to find an escape within the nearest alley way. I flick a strand of short reddish-orange hair from my face and once again stick out my tongue to give it some air. The gentle 3’oclock breeze somewhat helps the pain, but I don’t think it’s going to stop it from numbing up. Great, I’m not going to be able to taste anything for the next day or two. I’m done with this stupid hot chocolate... but it’s so good. Screw it.

    I open the lid of the nearest trash bin and throw my cup in it. What the--the trash bag is sizzling!

    I suddenly hear footsteps scrambling towards the alley across the street from me. Out from behind the building comes a tall guy as flushed as the hair on his head, his pale blue eyes widened in fear at something behind him. His gaze quickly flickers across the street at me and back the way he came. My face immediately starts to burn. Please don’t look back at me, please for the love of--

    “You! H-help me!” I struggle to pull my hood up as quickly as I can to hide my transitioning pink hair. I look up again to find him staring right at me. He completely ignores the traffic as he bolts across the street, his hand running wildly through his wiry curls. I can’t get myself to speak. What the heck spooked him so much?

    He lurches forward in front of me, stabilizes himself with his hands on his knees, and starts to wheeze a little bit.

    “Are you alright?” I force myself to squeak. He holds out a pointer finger for a minute and breathes in a huge gulp of air.

    “D-dog,” he stands up straight again and points down the road, “Some stupid dog started chasing me, and I do NOT like dogs. Help me get rid of it and I’ll... I’ll... I’ll buy you a cup of coffee.”

    “I don’t like coffee.” Come on, Liza. I don’t think now is the time to be picky. He raises a single pierced brow.

    “Who doesn’t like coffee?! Everyone I know drinks it.” I just shrug. I wanted to tell him that I’m not “everyone”, but as I said earlier now is not the time.

    “Fine, I’ll get you whatever the hell you want. Just do something about the dog!” I hope that he’s not putting me up against some three hundred pound mastiff or something. That thing would eat me alive. I walk up to the corner and peek back towards the way he came. I see nothing but cars... oh wait, I see it now. Dude.

    “What the-- come on. That? That’s what you’re scared of? It’s just a little bull dog!” I turn around to find him hiding behind me. He stumbles back and rubs the back of his neck, his hair becoming pinker with each passing moment.

    “Nuh-uh, that ‘bull dog’ is a brick. It’ll bite you with no hesitation.” Yeah, I’ll see about that. I motion for him to follow me to the corner of the street where we can cross the road safely.

    “I get to push the button.” He looks at me in disbelief.

    “Really? We’re going up against a whale of a beast, and you’re worried about who gets to push the stoplight button?” I nod. He rolls his eyes with a sneer and puts his hands in his pockets. Jeeze, this guy is quite a punk for someone afraid of a little dog. The light finally allows us to cross and once we do, I whistle at the dog. His big wrinkly face looks up at me, his tongue sticking out with what looks like a smile on his face. This dog doesn’t seem dangerous. I see the guy’s hair turn gray. I notice how he’s becoming more and more terrified the closer we get. The dog seems to finally understand that we’re coming towards him and runs up to us. He barks at me, and I swear this dude jumped at least a foot into the air. Even though I know that some people are just afraid of things that may seem silly to us, and that I shouldn’t laugh... I can’t help it. I try to muffle my chuckle but I know he heard it when his face falls.

  “I’m sorry, I’ve just never met anyone who was so scared of dogs.” I try to give him a reassuring smile, but I can’t help but feel like it looks more condescending. He puffs up his chest and pulls a serious face.

    “Please, I don’t need your pity. I was just bit in the face as a kid, alright? I never liked them since.”

    “Oh, that makes sense I guess. Well, what about this? If you pet the dog, then I will buy you a coffee.”

    His face lights up a bit, but a hint of fear still lingers in his tightly drawn lips. He takes a deep breath and nods. Based on what I’ve gathered about this guy, I don’t think he’s one to ever turn down a free cup of coffee. He slowly squats down in front of the dog and holds out his hand. I can see him shaking so much from here as he brings his palm to the dog.

    “I can’t do it.” He quickly draws it back and holds it with his other hand. I’m gonna have to help him. I really want another hot chocolate. I kneel down beside him and hold out my hand.

    “I’ll do it with you. Give me your hand.” He hesitates at first, but then reluctantly places his hand on top of mine. I try to steadily bring it closer to the dog, slow enough to not freak him out before we even get close. I can’t help but smile as the palm of my hand touches the patiently waiting pooch, his tongue still sticking out at us. Now that I think about it, he reminds me a little bit of myself.

    “Are you ready?” His lip still quivers, but he manages to give me a small smile as he nods. I carefully slide my hand from beneath his. I feel him shudder as the tips of his long slender fingers touch the dog. He lets out a deep, yet gentle chuckle. Once his entire hand is caressing the dog, his face lights up and his hair glows yellow.

    “Thank you,” he mutters. “I c-can’t believe it. I’m touching a dog!”

    “No problem, man.” He pets the dog one last time and stands up. He holds his hand out to help me stand. He lets out a breath, and with a giant shimmery smile on his face, he puts his hands back in his pockets.

    “Um, shall we go get that coffee now?” I could go for some hot chocolate right now. I feel I deserve it.

    “It would be my pleasure.” And back to the coffee shop I go, but this time with an ex-dog fearing punk.