Goddamn, I sound so snotty when I write.
Morgan was severely disapointed with the gel in the brightly colored tubs in his mother’s bathroom. The bubbles caught in it disappeared when he squished it together, and his hair barely stood up, even when he mashed an entire tube on gel in.
Boredom when you’re five years old and lacking any siblings or playmates is like being forced to wear clothing filled with ants and honey. His mother hadn’t been able to leave work and take him to school. The television was dead and the only unread books in the apartment were the ones his mother kept on the top shelf of her closet.
So he decided to try and spike his hair like his mother’s.
This was proving more difficult that he had expected. His hair reached past his shoulders, while his mother’s hair bristled out from her head in three-inch spikes. It just meant that he had to add more gel, right?
Morgan frowned at his reflection. His hair was spiking, but the spikes just drooped down and stuck to his face. He picked up a lock and tried to squeeze it together and yank it up and away from his head. The spike wobbled uncertaintly, but flopped back to join the rest in rebelling against his wishes.
He inspected his hair again. It sorta looked like the construction paper triangles they had glued on to paper plate to make a kitty mask. And Elmer’s Glue was the strongest thing known to a five year old (besides a five year old’s father, but Morgan didn’t have one).
Which is why his hysterical mother found Morgan happily snoozing on the couch with his hair spiked to look like a punk rocker’s.