Scissor Seven -2018-2018 File

The shop returned to normal. Heat. Buzz of a broken fan. Dai Bo looked at the calendar. The strange writing was gone. It now simply read: “July 1, 2018. First day of the season.”

Seven glanced. The calendar was stuck on a page from 2018—but the month was crossed out. Underneath, in smudged ink, someone had written: “The week between years. The dead get haircuts.”

Seven grinned, flicked his scissors open, and stepped out into the July sun. “Good. Because this season—I’m gonna cut so much hair. And maybe a few villains. We’ll see.” Scissor Seven -2018-2018

“Boss, it’s the off-season! No one wants a haircut when it’s this hot, and no one has the money to hire an assassin.”

Seven sighed. He picked up his scissors. “Fine. But if I get possessed, you’re paying for the exorcism.” The shop returned to normal

Seven grinned. “Finally! A customer! Sit, sit.”

“Scissor Seven,” she said, her voice the sound of a music box winding down. “I need a haircut.” Dai Bo looked at the calendar

“I’ve been walking around with this hair,” she continued, “because in the photo for my funeral, my mother said I looked ‘a mess.’ I promised her I’d get it styled before the New Year. But the New Year came. And went. And now I’m stuck.”

Scissor Seven: The Lost Client of the Off-Season

She was almost gone. Only her smile remained. “It doesn’t matter. But tell your chicken friend to check his calendar again.”

The woman pushed her hair aside. Her face was pale, peaceful, but her eyes were two dark wells. “I died in 2017. December 31st, 11:59 PM. A car accident. I was laughing at a text message. I never saw the headlights.”