The Mane Of Red
A boy who is about my age is hanging upside down, his legs squeezing the branches of the tree. His face is about 4 inches away from me. I could've backed up, I don't know why I didn't. I just awkwardly stand there as if my body turned to stone. His big, piercing blue eyes, that contrasts
well with his dark complexion, scanned me as if I was something interesting.
Then he looks at my hair.
"What's up with your hair?" He asks.
I stared at him, not knowing whether I should be annoyed or hurt. I chose annoyed.
"What? Have you never seen someone with red hair?" I demand.
"Oh I have, but all the people who had red hair just dyed it red."
"Well I can assure you that my hair has always been the red, tangled glory it is now."
He looks into my brown eyes and he cracks a smile.
"So then you've always had a mane of red?"
A small smile escapes my lips."Yes. I suppose I have."