*This short story earned the highest rating, superior, for Creative Writing, in the Ball State Student Media Contest.
Asami, or ‘Chroma’, is one of the greatest characters I’ve ever written. He is such a tragic character, I dedicate a lot of love to him. This story in particular combines two core memories for him. Hair holds memories, and hair is a very sacred thing.
It was Asimi’s favorite time of night, hair care with his mama. Asimi had long, thick, luscious, naturally purple hair. It was not just one shade of purple, starting from lilac to the ends being a matte purple. Hair that long needed much care and attention, more than an eight-year-old was able to provide. He was already sitting in their living room – an extravagant room warmly lit by a crackling fire, waiting for his mom to walk through the door. Luckily for him, he did not have to wait long.
A tall woman with equally luscious purple hair walked into the living room, holding a small basket of bottles and various haircare products. Asimi smiled instantly upon seeing her, moving to the side so she could sit down on the couch. “I was waiting for you! Like you told me to!”
She smiled at him, cradling his face with the utmost gentleness. “I saw. What a smart boy you are.” She kissed the top of his head, motioning for him to sit on the floor in front of her. Asimi quickly obliged, climbing off the plush couch cushions and sitting with his back towards her. She ran her fingers through Asimi’s damp hair, ensuring that he had properly washed it. Once she was done, she picked up one of the brushes to begin brushing.
The brush slid through his hair easily, like a bird gliding through the open skies. The first few strokes alone were enough to cause Asimi to begin nodding off. Once she was done brushing his hair, she set the brush back into the basket at her side. She picked up a small dropper bottle; the liquid inside smelled faintly of lavender. She put a few drops on Asimi’s scalp before massaging it into his scalp gently. She pressed carefully, raking her long fingers through his hair to make sure the serum was properly applied.
“Asimi, darling,” she called out. She pulled out the few hair ties they had in the basket. Asimi slowly turned around, looking at the options presented in her hands. There was a black one, a white one, and a pale purple one for tonight’s options. Asimi picked up the white one, twirling it around before handing it back to her. She nodded, putting the other two options aside and taking the white one.
She portioned his hair into three sections, holding each strand carefully between her fingers. She braided his hair into one long braid, ensuring that it was tied just right so as not to pull his hair. She let out a quiet hum, the crackling fire accompanying her voice. After a few minutes, she tied the braid off and placed her hands on her son’s shoulders. She smiled softly, picking Asimi up and taking him into her arms.
She walked out of the living room, traversing through the dimly lit manor with padded steps. She walked up the stairs, avoiding the creaking one so as not to disturb Asimi. She reached Asimi’s bedroom, pushing the door open with one hand.
The room was scattered with toys, despite Asimi telling her he had cleaned up earlier. His window was open, a soft breeze blowing through the curtains. She carefully avoided the toys, making her way to his bed. She sat down on the mattress, carefully tucking her sleeping son under the covers. She sat there for a moment, watching him soundly sleep. “Sweet dreams, my prince,” she whispered as the weight on his bed began to even out.
Asimi woke up in a cold sweat, startled awake. He sat upright. However, he was not in his manor, and his mother was nowhere to be seen. The room around him was bleak, with dark gray walls and a few half-hearted drawings thumbtacked to the walls here and there. Stacks of books and paper littered the room rather than the toys he had dreamed about. Asimi gazed out the window, the outside showing a pitch-black world. He rubbed his eyes, then turned on the bedside lamp. “Of course, like it would be real,” he mumbled.
Slowly, he dragged himself out of bed. Still rubbing his eyes, he made his way to the bathroom he and his assigned roommate shared. Asimi flipped the light switch on, and the harsh light of the overhead fan came on, briefly blinding him. He blinked slowly, letting his eyes adjust to the newfound light. Asimi stared at his reflection in the mirror, unhappy with what stared back.
No more did he have his long, luscious hair, his pride and joy for all his childhood. Instead, as a “welcome” gift, it had been cut up and chopped to bits, thanks to his wonderful classmates. His hair was reduced to a shoulder-length mess, with uneven sides and frayed edges. Even that elegant purple, something his classmates could not take away, felt faded. Asimi had been left to live with this embarrassment for the last week, just praying he would somehow save money to visit a barber. Puffy eyes and a somber face had been what he wore, throat sore from sobbing. He had wept for days on end into his pillow, mourning the loss of one of the few traits that defined him.
No longer was he in the comfort of his home, instead far away in this terrible academy and god-forsaken nation. Nor was he in the presence of the only person who was familiar to him, his mother. His mother, his beautiful and loving mother. It was not completely her fault that he was here. How could he have stayed when their home was literally and metaphorically falling apart? She did what she had to do, promising Asimi she would one day follow him to this city when she had sorted everything out back at home. All had been stripped away from him, his own dreams mocking him with memories of a home he could never return to. Only the harsh, colorless present remained, the evidence staring right back at him.
