The lock of hair lay in the precise center of floor.

Below the neat cut, a blue ribbon tied with a bow held the lock together; the remainder of the lock curled upon itself into a loose circle, the uncut end wisping out.

It was the only thing in the room.

The wooden floors were bare. Even the dust had been swept up and taken away.

He knelt down on the floor and stared at the curl–the only thing remaining of their years together. But as soon as he reached out to touch the ribbon, it all disappeared in a puff of smoke.