Kyle at the ranch by ShaggyDS

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A short story with the help of Chat Ai

Kyle Redman had been looking forward to this trip for months. Freshly 18 and having just graduated high school, he was eager for a new adventure. The Colorado cattle ranch promised an authentic cowboy experience—riding, roping, and working alongside seasoned ranch hands. After arriving with his family and settling in, he was paired with Randy, a young ranch hand close to his age, to help fix a section of fencing.

As they worked under the clear blue sky, the wind whipped relentlessly through Kyle’s shaggy, sandy-brown hair. His long bangs, nearly reaching his chin, blew into his eyes, forcing him to stop every few seconds to brush them aside. It wasn’t just the wind—his thick hair clung to his sweaty forehead, making him feel sticky and irritated. Every time he leaned forward to hammer a nail or adjust a wire, his hair flopped over his face, forcing him to shake his head like a wet dog. It was getting old, fast.

Randy, securing a loose section of wire, glanced over and smirked. "Man, that mop of yours is gonna blind you out here," he remarked. "We better stop by the tack room later and take care of it."

Kyle, not quite sure what "taking care of it" meant, nodded absentmindedly, but a prickle of unease settled in his gut. Did he mean… a haircut? Kyle hadn’t really thought about it before. He had spent the last few years growing out his hair, liking the way it looked. But if this wind kept up, he might actually go insane. Still, he wasn’t sure about letting some ranch hand take clippers to his head.

Once back at the barn, Randy led him into the tack room. The space smelled of leather and sawdust, with saddles, bridles, and tools neatly arranged along the walls. Randy pulled off his cowboy hat, revealing a sharply cut high-and-tight, the kind sported by military recruits. He reached for a wooden stool and motioned for Kyle to sit.

Kyle hesitated, suddenly feeling even more unsure. "Wait… what exactly are we doing?"

Randy chuckled and grabbed a pair of heavy-duty clippers from a shelf. The sight of them made Kyle’s stomach twist. Those weren’t just barbershop trimmers—those were serious, no-nonsense clippers.

"Don’t worry, partner. When I first got here, I had hair just like yours—maybe worse. The head ranch hand did me a favor by cleaning me up. I’m just paying it forward."

Kyle swallowed hard as the clippers came to life with a loud pop and a steady buzz. The sound alone sent a nervous shiver down his spine. He ran a hand through his hair one last time, feeling its thickness, the way it brushed against his jawline. Was he really about to let this guy mow it all off?

"Uh… how short are we talking?" he asked, his voice a little unsteady.

Randy rested a firm hand on Kyle’s shoulder. "High and tight, cowboy. You’ll thank me later."

Kyle exhaled, nodding reluctantly. "Alright… just go for it."

Without another word, Randy placed the clippers at Kyle’s right temple and drove them straight up the side of his head. The vibration sent goosebumps racing down Kyle’s arms. Tufts of sandy-brown hair tumbled down, exposing a stark strip of pale skin. Kyle’s eyes widened as he saw the contrast in the dusty mirror across the room.

"Whoa," he murmured, gripping the edges of the stool.

Randy grinned. "No turning back now."

The clippers roared again, stripping away more of Kyle’s thick locks. He could feel the weight of his hair disappearing in uneven clumps, the cool air rushing against his exposed scalp. He had never felt anything like it before—strangely liberating, yet completely nerve-wracking at the same time.

Moving to the other side, Randy repeated the process, peeling away the last of Kyle’s overgrown hair until both sides were completely bare. Kyle squeezed his hands together in his lap, his heart hammering. It was happening so fast, too fast for him to change his mind.

After the sides were done, Randy switched the guard and blended the remaining stubble into the top. Kyle barely recognized the person staring back at him in the mirror. The mess of shaggy hair was gone, replaced by a sharp, clean cut that made his face look different—sharper, older.

Kyle let out a nervous chuckle. "Feels weird."

"Looks a hell of a lot better, though," Randy said.

For the final touch, Randy replaced the clippers with a razor and warm shaving cream. "Gotta do it right," he said, lathering up the sides before scraping them clean with smooth, practiced strokes. The sensation was completely foreign to Kyle—his scalp had never been this exposed before, and each pass of the razor left his skin tingling. When Randy was done, the sides of his head were nearly bald, leaving just a barely-there patch of ultra-short fuzz on top.

Randy handed Kyle a mirror. "Well? What do you think?"

Kyle ran a hand over his scalp, feeling the sharp contrast between the almost-bare sides and the short bristles on top. He hardly recognized himself—but, oddly enough, he liked it.

Stepping outside, Kyle took a deep breath, letting the warm ranch air wash over him. The wind still blew, but this time, there was nothing left to whip into his face. He smirked. Maybe Randy had been right—this was better.

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