She found her first gray hair on Valentine’s Day.
It was a quiet day. She was baking a pie for herself, listening to the rain falling outside. As she passed by the window she caught a glimpse of it, winking at her, a small wisp of something unexpected.
She plucked it from her scalp immediately, root and all, hardly feeling the pull of it against her skin. It was short, barely the length of her thumb, and almost transparent. Like the whiskers on a cat. She twirled it between her fingers, thinking. Remembering.
Perhaps it was a sign. A sign of age, of wisdom. Experiences and regrets. There was something oddly comforting about it, she decided. Important. She never wanted to forget. It felt like the silver light of a thin moon casting truth upon her face.
She taped it into her journal for safekeeping.
Fiction Friday is an outlet for creativity as I work towards my writing goals.