Flash Fiction Magic (Returns!)

Hosted by Emily Barnett

Hello, dear friends,

Emily Barnett, author and flash-fiction magic queen, has invited us back for another round of Flash Fiction Magic. From the prompts she provided, I chose “Cocoa and Second Chances.” I wanted to give it a fantasy-RPG twist, explore a story world I’ve been eager to play in, and introduce a brand-new character to you.

For those who might not know, flash fiction is a very short story—usually under 1,000 words. It’s honestly so fun to write!

I wrote this piece in second person, letting you step directly into the character’s boots. It was a fun challenge, and I hope you enjoy the result.

Without further ado…Flash Fiction Magic!

You’ve seen them all.

Dwarves with beards so long they sweep the floorboards.

Kings who require your finest golden scissors to trim their ear hair.

A cat—highly intelligent and highly indecisive—who once pounced into your chair demanding a buzz cut. No, a trim. No, a lion cut. Yes. Definitely a lion cut.

You don’t just cut hair and fur. You change lives. Personalities!

Yep, they’ve all visited your shop at one time or another. Nothing surprises you anymore. Nothing. Absolutely nothing.

The bell chimes above your door, ushering in a gust of winter air.

“Just a moment!” you call, snipping around the troll’s extra-large ears. Not many barbers know what scissors to use for this job. They’re closer to garden shears than anything respectable. But you know.

Snip.

You glance in the mirror at the new arrival—hooded, cloaked, and apparently unaware of your fully booked schedule.

Snip.

You’re the only barber this side of the Dark Lands! Whoever this shady bub is, he’ll have to wait. It’s the end of the day, and you need to get back to the cottage for late-afternoon tea. A new chamomile shipment came in. Your favourite.

Snip.

The human… or elf? Whoever they are takes a seat in one of your plush red waiting chairs.

Could be the King of Spears himself, and he’d still need to book a month in advance. It’s nearly Wintertide, and your waitlist is so long that people, and creatures, are scheduling into the next calendar entirely.

“Would you like a bit of gel, Throg?” you ask, measuring the troll’s hair between your fingers. It still trails past his shoulders, covering the tip of his breastplate. Just the way he likes it.

Throg grunts his agreement and flips his newspaper with fingers the size of rolling pins.

You start shaping his hair into the traditional spiked style of his clan.

The new patron just sits there like a statue. It’s unnerving.

You finish the last spike and release the bib. Black hair tumbles to the floor.

“Meet you at the till—just gotta sweep up.” You hop down from your step stool. Trolls make up most of your large-sized clientele, and Throg is especially tall, his leathery green skin the deep shade of swampwater. A few silver streaks have settled into his black hair. His scars are many.

He rolls up his newspaper and stomps toward the counter, each step rattling the floorboards.

Here, everyone is welcome. You’ve worked hard for that. The sign above the door even declares, Creatures one and all, come here and feel safe.

Ten years of building this business. Ten years of making people—and beings—feel seen. Feel beautiful. Feel powerful.

You glance again at the hooded patron who still hasn’t removed their cloak. Bad haircut, perhaps.

Your heart quickens. Hopefully not one you gave! You quickly sweep hair into the bin and join Throg at the counter, pushing the thought away.

“Four gold for the cut, two copper for the gel,” you say. “It’ll definitely help with bridge-guard intimidation.”

He grunts, pleased, and you swear his eyes gleam with satisfaction. The spikes give him almost an extra foot of height.

“See you in a few weeks.” You dip your quill and add him to the calendar.

He leaves, ignoring the man in the chair completely. Another blast of winter cold follows him out. You turn and stoke the hearth.

“What can I help you with?” you ask the cloaked patron.

Silence. You’re not sure they heard you.

“It’s closing time, but I can add you to the schedule,” you continue. “Or maybe you’re here to purchase gel? Hairspray? I have a new line that protects against extreme heat—great for battles with—”

They lower their hood.

A man. A human man.

Heat rushes to your cheeks.

His name is quick on your lips. “Nile! I… didn’t expect to see you again. S-so soon.”

You take back every word about nothing surprising you. Something definitely does. And it’s sitting in your shop. Right. Now.

“I had to thank you,” he says, rising to his feet. “And apologize.”

“For what?” Last time you’d gone for tea after his haircut, you’d hit it off. Laughing, chatting. Then he got up, paid, and… vanished. Ghosted. Gone. Zippo.

“First, the last cut you gave was spectacular! Raised my defence and charisma two levels.” He lowered his gaze, “But I left in a hurry,” Nile says. “I never got to explain why.”

You glance down and realize you’re still holding the fire poker. Smooth. You set it aside and meet his warm brown eyes. Dark curls, too—some of the most beautiful you’ve ever seen.

“You did,” you say softly, hoping he’ll keep talking.

“I forgot I was supposed to meet my companions for a quest. If I missed them, I’d be stranded here.”

You notice the sword strapped at his hip. “Weapons aren’t allowed in here,” you murmur, unsure if his explanation counts as an apology at all.

“Oh.” He unbuckles it immediately and sets it beside the counter. “Right. Sorry. Guess that’s two apologies.”

You pretend to busy yourself with the till. “It’s fine. Really. About leaving quickly, I mean. It’s been a couple months. Adventurers like you have places to go, battles to fight. But it was nice… going out on a…”

You don’t say date. You’re not sure you read that situation right.

“I see you could use a trim,” you add instead.

His smile brightens. “Actually, I came with a proposition.”

You raise an eyebrow.

“What if I book another appointment… and then take you out to that new shop on the edge of town? Newly built by dwarves. I hear they make the best cocoa. I told my clan I was taking an extended break.”

Cocoa. Not tea.

Well… people can try new things.

You’ve worn the same braid for years, but that doesn’t mean you couldn’t try a bob tomorrow. Perhaps Nile deserved a second chance, and those curls were fun to cut.

You can’t help your smile. “Cocoa it is.”