Release date: November 28, 2020
Subgenre: Humorous Speculative Fiction
About Samurai Barber Versus Ninja Hairstylist:
Change is in the hair.
Ninjas are wreaking havoc by cutting people’s hair without their permission. Behind this follicular terrorism is a master ninja, the Ninja Hairstylist, whose chaotic hairstyle embodies the anarchy that is about to tear the city apart.
The Samurai Barber must step up and cut down the evil strands on the Ninja Hairstylist’s head. It is not just keratin that is at stake. The Samurai Barber must fight for one of the cornerstones of modern civilization; the freedom and self-determination to choose your own hairstyle.
Ninjas are wreaking havoc by cutting people’s hair without their permission. Behind this follicular terrorism is a master ninja, the Ninja Hairstylist, whose chaotic hairstyle embodies the anarchy that is about to tear the city apart.
The Samurai Barber must step up and cut down the evil strands on the Ninja Hairstylist’s head. It is not just keratin that is at stake. The Samurai Barber must fight for one of the cornerstones of modern civilization; the freedom and self-determination to choose your own hairstyle.
Excerpt:
The rush-hour train was packed with people, some of them so annoyed by the Samurai’s katana jutting into them that they violated polite decorum by rolling their eyes and clicking their tongues. The Samurai didn’t care though. Tā had other things to worry about, like how to pay tāde rent and what tā should buy with the measly twenty dollars in tāde wallet. It was either an apple or a slice of kaya toast.
Oh, the crunch when biting into a green apple, followed by that tart yet sweet taste. Tā preferred that over the nauseating sweetness of the red counterparts. But kaya on grilled bread, that was the ultimate temptation. The caramel-like taste of crispy, almost burnt, bread combined with the soft sweetness of kaya spread on top – just imagining it made tā salivate. The healthier option would be the apple, but tā had a craving for the pure rush that only kaya on grilled bread could provide.
Kaya it was. It was better to indulge tāself first and deal with the consequences later. The job interview had gone as well as could be expected considering that tā had been two hours late. It could be a long time before tā got any more money.
“Good afternoon, Mister Ken, so sorry I’m late,” tā had said to the interviewer. Tā had offered tāde hand for the customary handshake.
But Ken did not deign to reciprocate the gesture. “Good afternoon? Good afternoon?! Do you know what time it is now?” Ken had asked instead.
“It’s six o’clock,” tā had answered.
“Wow!” Ken had rolled tāde eyes. “You do know what time it is. I thought that perhaps your phone had gone siáu or something. But maybe you’re the one who went siáu. Do you remember what time you were supposed to be here?” Ken had almost screamed out that last question. The verbal attack made tā flinch and tā looked down in silence.
“Well?” A vein had popped on Ken’s neck.
“Four o’clock.” The answer had gone out like a thief trying to sneak away.
Ken had motioned for tā to stand. The motion had been gentle, at odds with the simmering fury that erupted as soon as tā stood up. “Get out, you bloody butoh!”
Ken’s hairline was receding a bit too early for someone who seemed to be in their late twenties. In an effort to hide this fact, Ken had slicked up what remaining hair was left and combed it downward. The result was that it looked like Ken was wearing a black helmet.
And while a katana could not fix faulty DNA, tā had seen the strands of shame and despair taking root on Ken’s head of hair. A couple of swipes from tāde katana and those errant strands would have been cut down. Ken could have been saved from a lifetime of low self-esteem. If only Ken had asked, tā would have barbered Ken for free.
Oh, the crunch when biting into a green apple, followed by that tart yet sweet taste. Tā preferred that over the nauseating sweetness of the red counterparts. But kaya on grilled bread, that was the ultimate temptation. The caramel-like taste of crispy, almost burnt, bread combined with the soft sweetness of kaya spread on top – just imagining it made tā salivate. The healthier option would be the apple, but tā had a craving for the pure rush that only kaya on grilled bread could provide.
Kaya it was. It was better to indulge tāself first and deal with the consequences later. The job interview had gone as well as could be expected considering that tā had been two hours late. It could be a long time before tā got any more money.
“Good afternoon, Mister Ken, so sorry I’m late,” tā had said to the interviewer. Tā had offered tāde hand for the customary handshake.
But Ken did not deign to reciprocate the gesture. “Good afternoon? Good afternoon?! Do you know what time it is now?” Ken had asked instead.
“It’s six o’clock,” tā had answered.
“Wow!” Ken had rolled tāde eyes. “You do know what time it is. I thought that perhaps your phone had gone siáu or something. But maybe you’re the one who went siáu. Do you remember what time you were supposed to be here?” Ken had almost screamed out that last question. The verbal attack made tā flinch and tā looked down in silence.
“Well?” A vein had popped on Ken’s neck.
“Four o’clock.” The answer had gone out like a thief trying to sneak away.
Ken had motioned for tā to stand. The motion had been gentle, at odds with the simmering fury that erupted as soon as tā stood up. “Get out, you bloody butoh!”
Ken’s hairline was receding a bit too early for someone who seemed to be in their late twenties. In an effort to hide this fact, Ken had slicked up what remaining hair was left and combed it downward. The result was that it looked like Ken was wearing a black helmet.
And while a katana could not fix faulty DNA, tā had seen the strands of shame and despair taking root on Ken’s head of hair. A couple of swipes from tāde katana and those errant strands would have been cut down. Ken could have been saved from a lifetime of low self-esteem. If only Ken had asked, tā would have barbered Ken for free.
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About Zed Dee:
Zed Dee grew up in Malaysia where he was exposed to three languages; English, Malay and Mandarin. Then he moved to Singapore when he was nine, where he studied English as a first language and Malay as second, because he couldn't read Chinese.
He has a BA in Sonic Art but found out he wasn't really that good at it. So, he decided to work in the games industry, starting off as a game tester, then becoming a programmer, and writes on the side. Oh, and somewhere along the way he got diagnosed with autism.
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