messy hair - quotes and descriptions to inspire creative writing
She looked at the mirror. If a cat had eaten her hair and puked it back out, then let it dry in the sun, it would look just the same; the tangle would take hours to brush out.
Tamsin stared into the cheap mirror. It wasn't even glass. All she could tell from her reflection was that yesterday's coiffured up-do was more like a bird's nest. She supposed it could have happened when the cops took her down, or maybe it was the nurses. So hard to remember. She had been in a showroom of exotic cars trying to use her college fund as a down payment. It had been so red and shiny, an investment! It would only be a matter of days before MI5 formalized their arrangement anyway. This system of messages in the papers and on the radio was getting too obtuse. She needed proper orders and a dossier. Once out of here she would contact them in the usual way, morse code, flashing the lights on her porch. It had to be the last time though, mother was suspicious and had the ear of the doctor. She sat on the edge of her thin mattress and began to plan how to spend her new salary. She'd go to a different showroom for the car of course, then they would be sorry for their rudeness.
The sheen of the hair salon had gone after just one wash, as had the poker straight effect of the hot-iron. Edna's hair had reasserted it's precocious wave, not enough to be ringlets, just sufficient to make it kink out in random directions. She hated it. She wanted it perfect and smooth again. No longer did it look like a $60 hair-cut but instead like her mother had taken the kitchen scissors to it and hacked for several minutes. To parents and teachers it was an embodiment of her personality, quirky and creative. It made them smile to see the waves rise and fall with each bounce of her lanky stride. But recently she had stopped wearing her eclectic dresses and put on pale blue jeans. She had toned down her punk make-up and instead wore only eyeliner and mascara. She had bought the same shoes everyone else wore and pretended to like all the same pop music. The messy hair was her last battle in her war on her personality and appearance. Soon she'd just blend into a popular group. Soon.
"Take it back!” The girl mercilessly wrenched and yanked the boy's hair until she had him screaming bloody murder, her fingers severely tangling in the messy, raven black curls that lapped and devoured her hands like a nest of black mambas.
Her hair was as wild as the jungle, untamable and unruly. Her once stunning golden ringlets now vaguely resembled a birds nest and any bows or clips that had once held them in place were long gone.
The wind that almost rocked me back on my heels this morning is now no more than enough to make my raincoat flap. It flows between the button holes, chilling my skin beneath and tousles my hair to the ringlets Henry like so much. It's just as well he does, because after being blown for so long I'll never get a comb through it without half a gallon of conditioner.
Jasmin's hair was tumbled like beached kelp after a storm, ruffled, and certainly not in a way you'd see on the cover of any magazine. Brian didn't say a word, he just laid his oversized hand on her shoulder and drew her into a quiet room for the full story.
The girl's face said she didn't care about anything or anyone; the state of her hair said her feelings extended to herself. What should have been glossy black curls was a fractious mess of tangles dulled by the city smog.
The boy's hair is ruffled from his night's sleep, the strands sticking together in the way they do when a wash is overdue. In another time and place he could have been one of those prep-school boys with their year round tans, but in the here and now he's a small step from vagrancy. All he has is a laptop and enough money to buy his way into a warm coffee shop for the day.
Troy stumbles in looking like he just slept on some dude's floor, his usually gelled locks stuck like an ill thought out piece of art. Sam begins to open his mouth but closes it without comment. Troy passes with a face like wet cement, eyes fixed on the stairs as if the room was empty.
His hair was lazily ruffled, the brown tips haphazardly pushed so they intertwined into beautiful chaos.
As the violent wind blew, her dirty blonde hair became more and tangled until it resembled a jungle.