Friday Flash: Fruition, Shorn, Reciprocate

I always hated this time of year. The bleating always froze in my eardrums and repeated itself on loop for some months following and I had enough trouble sleeping as it is. I prepared myself as best I could, but failed the preliminary tests I tried to give myself along the way. From the time I pushed the screen door open, I could hear the screaming and it rolled around in my stomach like an accidentally swallowed peach pit and made me want to retreat to the relative safety of the house. No such luck.

I grit my teeth and move forwards, a splinter of fragmented wood spiking into my heel as it shuffled along the broken, rough wood of the porch. Nothing ever changes. I cursed myself under my breath, nearly falling over and hopping around like a demented pogo stick in order to facilitate its removal, but it was hopeless. It was jammed in there deep; blood was already welling in the creases in my foot. I had no choice but to move on.

As I approached the barn, a trail of bloody footprints marked the dust and provided a grim reminder of my progress. All of this was coming to fruition regardless of my personal preference. The door swung open as I came within reach without needing a single prompting on my part. I took a deep breath and moved from the light into the encompassing darkness. Within moments, a hand clamped down on my shoulder and the chance for escape had come and gone without the chance to make a decision. I braved a look up at my father – a big hulk of a man and chanced a smile, which he reciprocated.

He pointed to a chair in the middle of the darkened space, surrounded by clumps of discarded hair clumped to the rough wood and the surrounding floor like little tombstones, waving and mocking me in the slight wind. It was time to be shorn, and the sheep in the surrounding pens seemed to mock my impending humiliation as they bleated in glee. Their time would come. For now, it was mine.

I hated the start of the school year.