Maldo Fam

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Shinobia found herself seated in a cushioned salon chair, antsy hands folded tightly in her lap. Her body still ached terribly from her mistreatment thus far at the hands of her deranged captors. Hunger still gnawed at her belly, even after being given regular meals again. Her mind could not stop racing, plotting and planning an escape she knew would not come easy.

She watched the middle-aged black woman through the mirror in front of her. The woman worked silently as she sectioned Shinobia's hair with practiced fingers and threaded her strands through with clicking beads. Shinobia studied the woman's reflection closely. She was looking for any indication that the woman may help her.

The woman kept her gaze down, focused solely on her task at hand. Her eyes did not once drift to Shinobia's pleading ones. Shinobia took quick notice of that. It added to the hopelessness and loss she felt settling over her like a suffocating wool blanket.

This woman would not help her.

She did not know if it was simply this woman's personality to be so focused on work that she ignored all else, or if she had been instructed strongly to pretend Shinobia did not exist beyond the hair she was styling.

Either way, it was clear Shinobia would find no help there. She wasn't surprised but still disappointment and fear filled her to her very core.

Two armed men stood on either side of the closed double doors of the elegantly decorated parlor room. Their presence reminded Shinobia of just how trapped she was.

Still, she found her thoughts drifting to fantasies of escape. What if she were to jump up right then and there and make a run for it? She imagined herself trying to take down the older stylist and then getting passed the guards.

That fantasy fell apart quickly. Critical thinking told her that she would not make it. Guards stationed just outside the room told her there had to be even more close by. She knew logically that she would be quickly apprehended.

But even the thought of escape had Shinobia bouncing her legs restlessly. She had too much bottled up anxious energy within her. The urge to run was becoming overwhelming even as logic planted her firmly in the chair.

The middle-aged woman either did not notice or care about Shinobia's restless movements. Her focus remained solely on the younger woman's hair. She did not speak a single word the entire time.

Shinobia bit her tongue to refrain from speaking. She wanted to scream at the woman in frustration. She wanted to plead to her for some sort of assistance.

But the look of the woman, her refusal to even glance Shinobia's way, told the younger woman any words from her would fall upon deaf ears.

The silence dragged on painfully. The only sounds being the clicks of beads being weaved into her hair. Shinobia found the repetitive noise maddening.

She realized her breathing sounded too loud and panicky. She tried to steady it as her heart pounded rapidly in her chest.

After some time, Shinobia wasn't sure just how long, the woman set down her tools. She stepped back and observed her work with a critical eye before giving a slight nod. She began to gather the unused hair products and materials, placing them back in a large leather bag she had arrived with.

Shinobia turned her head this way and that as she took in the neat rows of braids. She still remembered vividly the feel of that man's, Bruce's, hands around her throat. Such a memory made it impossible to appreciate her hair.

She watched the woman's reflection, wondering if the woman would finally acknowledge her now that her task was complete.

The woman moved about swiftly, packing away her things and straightening up the area as if a fussy client would be inspecting behind her. Shinobia noted the woman took extra care not to glance her way.