Blue Hair

Dear Dazai,

I’m sorry for not writing to you yesterday I was busy relocating (temporarily) and also busy being social, so as a result I quickly collapsed into bed and then didn’t get to writing.

So to apologise for that I’m going to do something I’ve never done before. I’ve been talking about Mae and working on her story but usually only a select few people ever see it as this early stage. So I’m taking a brave pill and I’m going to post the opening scene I wrote for it.

Hope you enjoy it!

It all started with a trip to the hairdressers, what had generally been a semi-annual event for most of her adult life, little concern and consideration for the notion of it. Having her hair done wasn’t something that she disliked, but it always seemed like a waste of time, especially when all she did was have the same haircut, trimmed and maintained.

She’d had the same haircut since she was eighteen. The same long, ashy brown cut, with a slight fringe cut in the front. It always sat just below her shoulder blades, stubbornly neither curly or straight, or even an interesting wave, but easy to pull back and be unobtrusive.

That was her hair had always been.

Now though, her 34th birthday was fast approaching and she didn’t like her hair. Didn’t like the slight fringe, didn’t like the ashy brown, didn’t like how easy it was to pull back. She wanted it to make more of a statement about her. She wanted to make more of a statement about herself.

Mae was bored with being this version of herself.

So when she went to the hairdressers it all changed.

Fern was surprised.

‘You want me to do something completely different?’


‘Anything thoughts as to what you’d like?’

Mae looked at the reflection in the mirror, it was easy to overlook, easy to forget. Then she remembered a book she’d read as a child. One about a woman who’d had trouble conceiving and made a deal with a fairy. And the baby was initially born with bright blue hair, like that of a bluebird. The woman had despaired and the colour had been changed to a rich brown, as with all the other children.

Mae knew then what she wanted.


‘Blue?’ Fern asked dubiously.

‘Blue, like that of a bluebird.’

‘And you want me to cut it completely differently?’


Fern swallowed, but they’d know each other long enough, even with the infrequent visits, to know that Mae was serious about this. Mae was serious about everything.

So that day, not long before her 34th birthday, Mae for the first time in her life left the hairdressers, hair short, jagged, not easily pulled back and the vibrant blue of a bluebird.

As mentioned, this is where the story starts. With blue hair.


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