The Legend of the One Whisker

Long ago, in skin far, far away, lived One Whisker. This is the story of his fateful attempt to prosper in the Face of Adversity...

He peeked out. It was dark, quiet. He heard the rumble of logs being sawn in the distance, felt the softness of an old feather pillow. All clear. Apprehensive yet courageous, he ventured further towards freedom, restrained only by the Follicle, the ball and chain that had haunted him since he sprouted. He looked around, curious to explore his stark surroundings. The vast expanse of pores was broken up by intermittent oil slicks which he dared not traverse. And so he stayed put, choosing instead to grow, and soon the One Whisker became strong and prickly. Far from being the bane that he once resented, the Follicle supported and fed him throughout the coming-of-age. One day, the One Whisker felt his confidence brimming over. He could contain it no longer, and so he did the unthinkable.

He. Turned. Black.

Unfortunately, this bold display was his undoing, for as soon as the lights were on, the mirror reflected his profile to the Face of Adversity. Before he knew it, he was dodging first a thumb-finger combination, and just when he breathed a sigh of relief, thinking he had defeated the pair, in came the most vicious, clever adversary he could imagine: the Tweezers. The One Whisker gasped as the Tweezers made a false move that nearly caused them to fall to the ground. It was to be his last breath, for the Tweezers found their mark the second time. The Follicle, determined to not lose his progeny, clung to the One Whisker with all his might. It was not enough.

The One Whisker fell that day, but his spirit lives on in the Follicle, and it is whispered in some circles that the One Whisker will rise again, to defeat the evil Tweezers who robbed him of a beard and a life.