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Silky Ink by Joelsweet


(This one is a bit sad... :c Sorry if there are any mistakes.)

The funeral had been a lonely one. There had been no point for Lark to give a speech, because he was the only one there. Only a few of Lark's husband's close family and friends had even bothered to show up. Lark's husband's name had been Octavian. Octavian had always hated his name. Thought it was too old fashioned and formal sounding. But Lark had loved it. They had only been married for a year, and then Octavian's car had been hit by a drunk driver. He had died almost immediately. Lark wished over and over that he could change the past. But that would never happen. There was no time travel, no way to get his love back. And now, driving home from burying the only person who had truly loved him, the whole situation still felt like a bad dream to Lark. A nightmare, really. He kept looking over to his right, expecting to see Octavian smiling back at him from the passenger seat; asking what was wrong, why Lark was crying.

Lark's parents had disowned him when he had come out to them as gay. He was kicked out of the house and went to live with his uncle to finish out high school. Lark had always been a good student, and graduated with high grades despite challenges. Lark's uncle had then accepted a job which required him to move, and so Lark headed off to college and lived in a dormitory. Lark made quick decisions, and decided on a degree in English Language and Literature. To pay for a dorm and living expenses, Lark worked two part time jobs and still managed to go to class. He hardly got any sleep. Those were some of the worst years of his life.

After getting his degree, Lark quickly got a job as a social media manager for a company that created organic dessert mixes. He was paid well, and the job didn't take up too much of his time. It was then that he had turned his focus to dating on the side. He soon met Octavian, at the age of 23. Lark was swept away by the appealing, charismatic man. They were married a year later, and were able to purchase a home. Octavian worked as a studio photographer, and didn't have long hours, so they could spend a lot of time together. Lark and Octavian had begun to make plans to adopt a child.

And now, a year after their marriage, Octavian had been killed. And Lark didn't know what he was going to do. Their life together, so bright and full of promise, had been taken away in an instant. There was a huge hole in his heart. Lark pulled up to their house and got out of his car. He stumbled up the steps, and unlocked the door to the house. He entered, the familiar scent of Octavian slamming him in the face in an almost sickening way. Everything was the way Octavian had left it. His papers were piled up at his desk, his toothbrush still lying on the counter, his bottles of coca-cola still in the refrigerator. The large house seemed so empty and quiet. Everything there reminded Lark of Octavian. Lark walked up the stairs, hardly feeling anything around him, only the pain in his soul.

Lark pushed the door open that led to the bedroom he and Octavian had shared. He entered the connecting bathroom and looked at himself in the mirror. He hated what he saw. His almond shaped eyes, red rimmed and puffy, and his face, with its small, wide, rounded nose. And that hair… Long, shiny, thick, and midnight black; reaching past his waist. The hair that Octavian had loved so much. He took off the suit jacket he was wearing, as well as the tie and white shirt under that. They were dumped onto the floor unceremoniously. He was left shirtless, with his slacks still covering his legs. That hair, combed through and knot free for the funeral, was silky smooth against his back. Lark was overcome with despair. Never again would Octavian run his hands through those lengthy, straight locks, or call him his Rapunzel. Even looking at his own reflection, Lark was reminded of his lost other half. How could Octavian be taken away from him?! What had he done to deserve death??!!

In a fit of rage, Lark grabbed Octavian's clippers and switched them on. A loud buzzing sound filled the air. Octavian had used them to shave his face and trim his hair. At the moment, the clippers had no guard on them. Lark brought the clippers to the side of his head and roughly tore them through his hair, leaving a strip of stubble behind. Breathing heavily, sobbing, and full of adrenaline, Lark watched as his thick tresses slid down and fell onto the tile. He brought the clippers through again and again, and two foot long raven locks soon littered the floor. Lark stared, horrified, into the mirror and saw that half of his head was shaved incredibly close to the scalp. What on earth had he done? On the left side of his head, his long, amazingly abundant, straight hair hung down to where it was neatly trimmed at the top of his ass; appearing as a waterfall of ink. But then, the right side was unevenly shorn so short… Lark's tears continued to fall. He had loved his hair almost as much as Octavian had. But there was nothing left to do except clip off the rest. More gently this time, Lark ran the vibrating, screaming clippers through his lovely hair, until all of it had fallen to the floor. He switched them off and kneeled amongst his fallen locks; picking them up and sobbing. Lark took a shaky breath, and stood up.

He would live on.




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