Edward Scissorhands story
"Hi. My name is Edward and I used to live in a castle by myself. You all know the story: Boy comes down into village, boy falls for girl, boy kills girl's former boyfriend, then gets chased out of town. For a while I went back to my castle, but that became boring. Before I went down, I had been used to spending large amounts of time with myself, but after I knew what was out there, I couldn't stand the lonliness. One night I took a few of the pictures I had of hands and Kim and left the castle, village and everything I knew behind.
"I walked all the way into the city, about 50 miles, I think. No one would stop for me, obviously. There were streams and plants along the way, and I was used to not eating much, so I made it in about a week. Fortunatly, the people in the city I came to thought it was perfectly normal to walk around in a full-body leather suit and I think most people thought my hand were some sort of fashion statement.
"I knew no family would take me in, and I didn't want a repeat of the past, so I looked for a 'job', something most men in the village claimed to have. I looked for a place with bushes in the windows, thinking I could help out there. Luckily I found a salon after about three hours of walking that didn't want to hire me. But, I demonstrated my 'talents' on the receptionist and she agreed to let me have an interview with the manager when he came back from his lunch break. I thought this was odd, because it was around two in the afternoon, but I sat down and waited anyway. The manager came back in about two hours, saw the receptionist's haircut and hired me. He had one condition, though. I had to get a hair cut. I was nervous, I admit, but it turned out pretty good. It was still spiky and weird, but less poofy. The manager, seeing that I had no place to sleep, lent me the room upstairs from the salon (which was included in the rent, for some odd reason. Whenever the manager tried to talk to the landlord about not renting the room, he paid more that month. After awhile, the manager left it alone.) The manger, who's name was Tom, also quietly slipped me the name of a good plastic surgeon. On the back of the card was the note, 'for when you earn enough in tips.'
"Fast forward three years. I'm still working in the salon, but I haven't earned enough for the hands. I went to the plastic surgeon the day after Tom slipped me that card and was told the procedure would cost five thousand dollars. So far, I had earned three thousand working in the salon and a landscaping company on weekends. I was still living in the upstairs room, but I had to help out on the rent. On the romance front, there was nothing. Although some of my regulars seemed interested, I wasn't. Not that there was anything wrong with them, I was just self-concious about my 'hands.' Tom helped my in this department by spreading a rumor that I was gay. It helped, because I was no longer uncomfortable around the interested customers. I was also in regular counseling, for the years in isolation that I went through and the severe culture shock when I came down. Dr. Mitchell said I was making great strides and I should be well adjusted once I got my hand fixed. Athough I was spending a lot of my money on the rent, counseling, food, and saving for my hands, I managed to buy some clothes. Mostly jeans and button up shirts for the salon, and some t-shirts for the weekends. They were surprisingly not full of holes because the kindly receptionist (who was about 60 by now) came in early to help me get dressed.