Hair and Now: A Modern Tale of Rapunzel

By K. C. Scott

There'd been others, of course. Dozens of others. At least once a week, some dark-haired dodo with a name that was either John or Robert or Eric or some variant of the three, like John Robert or Eric John, and even once a John Robert Eric, would overhear Rapunzel during one of her recording sessions...A modern tale of Rapunzel, hair fetishes, and finding true love in a crazy world.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Flying Raven Press
• Release date: Dec 7, 2010
• ISBN: 9781452351940

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Hair and Now

A Modern Tale of Rapunzel

K. C. Scott

|| Includes a sneak preview of Dog Food and Diamonds,

a novel by K. C. Scott. ||

Smashwords Edition. Electronic edition published by Flying Raven Press, November 2010. Copyright © 2010 by K. C. Scott. All rights reserved, including the right of reproduction, in whole or in part in any form. This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental. For more about Flying Raven Press, please visit our web site at http://www.flyingravenpress.com.

Hair and Now

K.C. Scott

THERE'D BEEN OTHERS, of course. Dozens of others. At least once a week, some dark-haired dodo with a name that was either John or Robert or Eric or some variant of the three, like John Robert or Eric John, and even once a John Robert Eric, would overhear Rapunzel during one of her recording sessions.

Then, invariably right when she was hitting one of the high notes, would come the insistent pleas from below that the fine maiden show herself at the window of the tower, or come forth into the sunlight, or make herself known, or something else equally stilted and stupid, and then her concentration would be shot. There would be no more great music to be had from this pretty little voice for the rest of the day, thank you very much.

That was the problem with her singing obsession. It might have made her happy, it might have made thousands of other people happy judging by the hits on her website, and it might even have been adding up to a nice little fortune of compounding interest in her Swiss bank account from all those PayPal downloads, but it was completely impossible to do it quietly.

And the concave stone walls of her room, which created absolutely perfect acoustics for recording, also acted as something of an amplifier. Anybody within half a mile of the tower could hear her.

Hence, her problem.

Any royal dick with a music fetish was drawn to her voice.

Fine maiden! the man shouted. Come forth to the window and into the sunlight and make yourself known!

Oh, he was good. All three clichés rolled into one. Rapunzel grimaced and hit the button that froze the studio program running on her computer. She'd been so very close with that last song, too. Those three stanzas had always been rough and she'd nailed them.

Bastard.

Are you up there, fine lady? the man said. I have come to rescue you!

Right. The ever important rescue. Nobody ever bothered to ask if she wanted to be rescued. It was merely assumed. She looked at the open window, the burgundy satin drapes billowing on either side. The sky was so blue, so perfect—why couldn't this idiot go find a dragon to slay?

M'lady?

I'm here, she said, realizing there was no point in dragging it out any longer than necessary. Give me a moment. I'm, uh, powdering my face.

Of course, m'lady, he said, I shall wait for you a day or a thousand days, whatever it takes to see your heavenly face gaze down upon me—a face that I'm sure will be as beautiful as your voice.

Dear God, he was a talker. The talkers were always the worst. Sighing, she rose and went to her wardrobe, her long braided blonde hair trailing on the floor behind her like a giant serpent. She was dressed only in her white lace nightgown—it was the most comfortable thing she owned, and since she spent the vast majority of time by herself, why not be comfortable?—but if she went out there in that, it would only make the problem worse. No, this called for something drastic.

Usually, she put on the fat suit, or the pregnant suit, or the leprosy suit, because any one of them would send the little princes running for the hills. But this time she decided to put on all three, hoping that maybe the effect would be like a nuclear bomb: not only would the initial blast of repulsiveness solve her immediate problem, but perhaps there'd also be some residual radiation that would keep away other potential heroes for a while.

She slipped the rubber mask over her face, wiggled into the gelatinous dress that put the curves in all the wrong places, attached the baby bump,