Hair.

They tell me I was born with lush black hair as a child, and my mother was so glad that her daughter had the same beauty. I was told that she nurtured them like she nurtured a little child. She would brush them, oil them , wash them with fragrant soap and keep them covered whenever we went out. As I grew older she made sure that my hair were always kept short, because some aunt told her that if she kept them short, they will grow long and lustrous later. So like my clothes, which she paid special attention, my hair were kept and cut with utter care. And until I was 10, my mother made sure her daughter was ready to reveal her beauty and let her hair open.

I grew up and became as beautiful as mother wanted me to. Wherever I went as I child, people stared at me and wondrously admired the sheer beauty of my hair. Though I wasn't old and my body was still tender, people treated me as an object of admiration. My brother was always protective of me, and made sure that I didn't wander about without supervision, he wasn't controlling, he was just scared and always wanted the best for me. Whenever we played and got bruises, my mother rushed to nurse them and like every other detail made sure they left no mark on my body. My body, so well kept and so properly preserved.

Few more years after I hit puberty, I saw my mother becoming more cautious and careful. She made sure that I had all the right people beside me, the right and proper company. This selected company, had mostly girls my age and few boys, who she thought as harmless. With time, my brother became controlling, like a little kid, he accompanied me to every corner of every place I went. Every step I took, every person I talked to. My hair were always kept in braids, as mother believed this gave them longevity and beauty. At times, when I was alone, I would open my tightly tied hair and take off all my clothes. Mother found out about this once, and gave me my first beating. She bruised the body she preserved.

Soon I was on the verge of finishing my teens. Like my hair and body, my life was kept under strict instructions. Mother always said that my hair were the most beautiful she had ever seen, and  this pride made me smile. So whenever I stepped out with my hair open, I made sure people noticed. In no time, I fell in love. He too loved the hard work of my mother. As he caressed me, he always brushed though my hair. He made me promise that I would never cut them, even if I ever wanted. Being in love, I promised I never would. But like younger days, I still sometimes stood naked in front of the mirror, and imagined myself without these beautiful locks.

It was a typical winter night. I was coming back from work. Yes, I started working right after graduation, as mother thought it was a nice idea. Though it wasn't very dark, but I could feel the warmth fading away swiftly. Waiting for the bus, at an empty road, i heard few men approaching and nearing me. Being unaware, I stood politely. They came to me asked my name, before I could answer, I was smothered and took away in a van. Inside, four men, stared at me waiting to devour. The first thing they grabbed were my hair, the luscious long hair. They caught me with it, so I didn't escape. And with their tight grip, they mutilated this body, that my mother preserved for years.

I stood again, doors locked this time. Naked, with marks and wounds all over my breasts and vagina. They had bit me and hit me. My mother kept asking and banging. But her voice, like all the others faded into an oblivion. I always kept a scissor in my cupboard, for some cloth cutting. With my hair open, I took it. Staring right at the unknown reflection, I cut my hair, bit by bit. Dried blood fell with them. Their grip was tight. Their softness touched my body as they fell on my feet. Strand by strand, I cut off. I thought of her, who vowed to bathe her hair in the blood of insulters. That night, I broke promises, broke hearts and ripped myself off my beauty. My mother broke in, fainted and fell on the pile of hair on the ground.