"Having fun?" a voice behind Amy said coldly. She whipped around and saw the old man, who had been snoozing at the front desk, standing near her with his arms folded into his worn robe.
"Umm...," was all Amy could manage. She was still feeling the exhilaration of having thousands of hair follicles kicking into overdrive.
"Put the spray can back, please," the owner ordered. Amy obeyed. "There are no free samples in my store, miss. I have eyes everywhere. Would you like to purchase that bottle?"
Amy shifted her hands through her pockets, then looked up at him with a nervous glance. "I've...only got three dollars."
The old man remained in a stiff stance, quiet. His face showed no change of emotion. Amy began to back away from him, slowly.
His right arm shot forward, bony fingers pointed right at her. He quickly uttered a series of words Amy couldn't understand, and all of a sudden bright orange light blinded her.
She screamed and covered her head with her arms. Nothing happened. She slowly lowered her arms and found herself staring at her ceiling. She was in bed. The morning sunlight poked through the divide in the window curtains and her clock read 6:23.
Was all that a dream? She ruffled her hair, but she could only feel the limp, chin-length brown hair she had all her life. She shook her head, trying to clear her mind from that strange dream, and climbed out of bed.