Author's Note:
Get the full story of Fred's love life and it's tragic end.
Freaky Fred, Barbara, and Courage: The Cowardly Dog all belong to John R. Dilworth and Cartoon network. I drew the cover. I made up the story completely, but I used facts revealed in the episode "Freaky Fred."
(remember, the real good stuff is in Part 2, so don't forget to read that!)
also, please see the rest of this story! Yes, I continued it for a bit! :)
It's called "The Consequences of That Insane Love."
Part One
I haven't shaved a head in quite a while. My barber shop nowadays is far from naughty, and I'm almost happy to say it. I've even gotten some sleep in at nights. I've not forgotten the voices, though, far from it. In fact, they scream at me, louder each day. But... I'm good at controlling it now. If someone walks in for a trim, they walk out with one. I can't tell if I feel happy, but I'm not sad. It's quite the boring lifestyle, I suppose, but I humor the far away part of me that likes it, and do my best to stick with it.
It's a quiet day at the shop. Presently, the bell on my shop door chimes and I look to behold quite the head of deliciously lengthy blonde hair, in swinging braids. It belongs to a young lady, though she's not much younger than myself. She has a pretty face, and enormous blue eyes that captivate me almost as much as her head.
Cut it away...
"Hello," she says shyly.
"My dear," I reply, grinning. "Please, sit down." I spin my only chair until the empty seat faces her, and present it to her with one hand on the back of it and the other outstretched. Her delicate hand holds my thin one, and she lifts herself to sit. Her dress puffs out as she does so, and it floats down over her knees. I slowly turn the chair towards the counter on the wall, until she faces herself in the dirty mirror mounted above it.
"And what would be your name, darling?" I gently fit a frock around her thin neck and it falls past her shoulders.
"Barbara," she says, and her cheeks turn pink. She avoids looking at my eyes through the mirror as I stand behind her. I prefer it that way; she won't see that I'm so captivated by her lovely, golden hair.
Cut it away...
"And what can I do for you this evening, Barbara?"
"Just a trim, please."
With her consent, I carefully unwind her perfect braids. When I finish, her wavy locks dangle below the seat of the chair. Tentatively, I run my fingers down the back of her head to feel her glossy hair. I tighten my jaw, trying to somehow resist the impulse that washes over me.
Cut it away... Cut it away...
...No.
I reach for the drawer underneath the counter. I can see Barbara watching my hand sub-consciously. I slide the drawer open, and my hand slowly passes over my red electric razor. My fingers twitch longingly, but I reach father and take the scissors, fitting my fingers through the small handles. As I pull my hand away, Barbara's blue eyes flicker back and stare at themselves in the mirror.
I realise her hair is long enough I must raise the chair to be able to cut properly. I do so, pumping the lever under the chair with my foot. Finally I can see the beautiful, stringy, split-ends dancing at the end of her golden locks.
Cut it away!
My barber shop doesn't have the luxury of a sink, so I must use a spray bottle filled with water to dampen hair for a trim. I take it from the left side of the counter and spray just the bottoms of her hair, until the split-ends are pleasantly dripping with nervous, dry water. I feel myself dripping—a slight perspiration on the back of my neck. I dab myself with a handkerchief from my pocket.
"...Now, just a trim, my dear?"
"Yes, please."
Cut it away...
"Very well, then," I say after a brief moment. Another moment passes. The voices are begging...
"Might I say, miss Barbara, your hair is quite astonishingly beautiful..."
"Why, thank you, sir."
"Please. Call me Fred."
Her eyes finally meet mine in the mirror and I show her a friendly smile. 'What a gorgeous blue,' I think to myself.
I finish trimming, finally, after what seemed like endless torment from the voices.
Barbara blinks her sweet eyes and says good-bye. The tufts of hair she left are laying scattered on the floor in a beautiful array. The frock hangs lifeless from the back of the chair. The bell on the door klinks as she leaves, empty.