Myra Monroe - Part 1

Well, this is something different I guess. Instead of Myra dying behind bars I decided to create for her a different fate.

The first thing Myra wanted to do when she was released from prison, was to get her hair restyled. The idiots hadn't even allowed her to re-touch her blonde dye at her first trial.
Now it hung in an almost-shoulder length layered brown and it irked the hell out of her. She even begged the courts for a restyle before her appearance; but they refused immediately. Contorting her and calling her a horrible child killer.
     She smirked at the memory; they promised she would surely die behind bars but the two charges she received were not enough to ensure so. And now that she had been released...Myra took a mouthful of jail-free air through her nose and trotted along the heated pavement toward the township.
     Even though it were now the late 80s, people would recognize her; but that wasn't her problem.
  All she could think about was redyeing her hair and continuing her life from where it was cut short and   abruptly. Her family would not want her, that was no surprise. But she could get another job, and an apartment to stay in. Stupid Ian... such cockiness could get one into a lot of trouble.
     I hope he stays inside, Myra thought, her words dripping in venom.
Luckily for her, she was released earlier than expected; the evidence 'suggested' that Ian himself had in fact carried out the murders themselves. Myra was merely an accomplice and 'hardly present'.
     Who knew such little money could buy such a great lawyer?

As she passed an elderly woman hovering over a walker, Myra ducked her head to avoid being recognized
but it was too late; the old woman raised her head in disbelief and grunted a gasp.
     Her eyes were like sapphire diamonds that had been polished of dust.
     "You!" she bellowed. "You b***h, how did you get out?"
     Myra snorted. "Read the damn paper. Isn't that what you old folk spend all your time doing?"
She leaned forward, bringing her face to the incredulous face of wrinkles. "You should be familiar with poking your nose into other peoples' business."
With that, she walked off with her nose in the air and left the old lady behind, stuttering.
At once, Myra felt a glow within her chest that made her feel as though she had wings attached to her ankles. She drew her knitted black cardigan around her slender body as she walked; her black dress slightly rising above her knees.  Maybe I can trick a man into letting me stay with him, Myra thought.
     But her words were hollow and meaningless; there was no momentum to them at all.



When she reached the town square, she was pleased to find people busily rushing past her without a second glance. Myra figured it might be because her hair was of chocolate, and not the iconic blonde they were familiar with.
     Still, they might see her face and come to terms... she hurried her steps while keeping her head down, eyes on the peppered concrete, until she came to a shop window decorated with scissors and strands of what looked like wavy white spaghetti. It appeared the place had been renovated since her last visit over twenty years ago; would they know who she was?

     "Hi!" the young English girl greeted her as she walked in.
The bell above the door chirped a greeting, too; something Myra thought she would never ever hear again. Damn... she felt good. But she kept her head down as she approached the counter, pretending to fumble with non-existent belongings. Instead of the usual classical station, there was a hum of irritating dance music in the air; somewhere in the atmosphere, Myra could smell the faint remnants of bubblegum.
      She reached into her coat pocket and produced a handful of pounds.
I'm never going to knock saving up again, she thought with a child's mind of glee.
      "Hi, dear," Myra mumbled, pushing the half of bills onto the counter toward the barber, and re-pocketing the remainder. "I want my hair cut short... layered, and dyed blonde."
      "No problem," the girl replied. Myra glanced up, aware that her behaviour may appear suspicious even though she was doing absolutely nothing wrong. The cashier/barber was wearing a tight hot pink t-shirt that was threatening to expose her midriff; and a brown leather mini skirt. Her hair was bound in two multicoloured pigtails that had potential to irk one's hangover.
      While she counted the money, Myra looked around the shop. There were no other customers, just empty leather high-backed chairs against stainless steel benches. The walls had been repainted a crimson hue which reminded her of...
      "Uhh... ma'am?" The girl broke Myra from her thoughts. "It costs eighty pounds to get a cut and dye. You've given me ninety."
      "Keep the rest," Myra replied, allowing herself the permission to smile.
      The girl, who obviously didn't recognize her, grinned back. "If you insist," she said with a smirk. "Right this way."
She led Myra to a chair near the back of the room. There was that familiar scent of hairspray; it's a good thing Estelle wasn't working her anymore. She would have literally booted Myra out before Myra had the chance to say "Saddleworth".
Myra took a seat in the comfortable chair, while the young girl flicked a black sheet over Myra's chest and buttoned it loosely around the neck. As she did so, Myra was aware of the prod of the girl's breast against her temple. She ignored the flutter in her chest.
     "Are you sure you want me to cut this all off?" the girl asked, encasing her fingers through Myra's dark hair. Myra glanced sharply to the mirror's reflection and saw the barber delicately stroking her mane as if it were made of gold.
     "It's so rich and-" the girl continued.
     "Please cut and dye it," Myra said firmly, entwining her fingers nervously. Did she have to stroke her scalp   so gently like that?
"Alright then," the girl said, final. "Do you want a magazine or something? Coffee?"
"I'll be right," Myra replied. Then she smiled into the mirror and prepared herself for the slideshow of a much-needed transformation.





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Author's Note

NOTE: Most of this is fictional so please don't 'correct' it for me. I know my facts through extensive research over the years for this case. I am merely putting my fictional imagination to use.

Reviews

[Pól]

Good beginning