Post by lunakatrina on May 26, 2005 10:12:54 GMT -6
Well...it's in second person...so it's like it's about you (for you non-English scholors, like me ) it might be confusing because of it--my friend said it was...so, yeah...
It was unusual—his need to be someone else, this need to become anonymous. It wasn’t like you even had something to hide from. You are nothing. You are nobody. And yet…you’re here. You are here, in this shop, wanting ambiguity.
It is unusual. Your fingers graze the slight indention in a cheek, sliding over it around the eyehole. You wonder who has looked trough this and seen the world. You lift your other hand and decide this pale, lifeless face is yours. You need this face more than the wall.
Your hands glide over the smooth paint…white like the moon. The ghostly look of it isn’t disturbing in the least. How can it be, when you might as well see it every day in the mirror, in windows…spoons. The mask should cover it all up, it should be all that was ever there.
The slight pink of the pale cheeks is the only color besides the barely inked lips. They might not even be there. But, you don’t talk much anyway, why do you even need lips?
This face seems to be more real than any other face you’ve ever seen. Fingers sliding over the slight curves of the forehead, you decide to get it. You head to the counter not caring how much it costs. Price doesn’t matter, not for this face. For this face there was no price…at least there wasn’t one too high.
Completely enamored, you charge the mask, you don’t have enough cash on you for it. Your mother will be angry, but you need this mask, more than you need money or peace. It wasn’t that expensive really.
You try not to flinch as the cashier slips the mask into a bag. You feel glee as the mask is passed to you. This is your face now.
As you walk out of the store you pull the mask, your face out of the bag and smile as you again feel the smoothness of it.
You press your face into it and ignore the slight tingle of doubt you feel. It’s just a mask. For a second though…it feels like your skin. Well, not your skin, but a smoother softer cooler version of it.
You let go, expecting your new possession, your face, to fall into your waiting hands.
It doesn’t though, and chills seeps into your skin, covering your eyelashes, going behind your ears, spreading back through your scalp, clinging to hair, twining around your neck. This chill, raising goose bumps, this chill going under your fingernails, and teasing every bit of warmth from you...
Then the chill is gone and you reach down and get the bag you dropped, crumbling it up and trashing it as you smoothly make your way out of the mall. You don’t worry about your mom finding out about your excess spending…it will be deleted from your account momentarily…and the store will disappear.
At least it will, until someone else needs to disappear.
It was unusual—his need to be someone else, this need to become anonymous. It wasn’t like you even had something to hide from. You are nothing. You are nobody. And yet…you’re here. You are here, in this shop, wanting ambiguity.
It is unusual. Your fingers graze the slight indention in a cheek, sliding over it around the eyehole. You wonder who has looked trough this and seen the world. You lift your other hand and decide this pale, lifeless face is yours. You need this face more than the wall.
Your hands glide over the smooth paint…white like the moon. The ghostly look of it isn’t disturbing in the least. How can it be, when you might as well see it every day in the mirror, in windows…spoons. The mask should cover it all up, it should be all that was ever there.
The slight pink of the pale cheeks is the only color besides the barely inked lips. They might not even be there. But, you don’t talk much anyway, why do you even need lips?
This face seems to be more real than any other face you’ve ever seen. Fingers sliding over the slight curves of the forehead, you decide to get it. You head to the counter not caring how much it costs. Price doesn’t matter, not for this face. For this face there was no price…at least there wasn’t one too high.
Completely enamored, you charge the mask, you don’t have enough cash on you for it. Your mother will be angry, but you need this mask, more than you need money or peace. It wasn’t that expensive really.
You try not to flinch as the cashier slips the mask into a bag. You feel glee as the mask is passed to you. This is your face now.
As you walk out of the store you pull the mask, your face out of the bag and smile as you again feel the smoothness of it.
You press your face into it and ignore the slight tingle of doubt you feel. It’s just a mask. For a second though…it feels like your skin. Well, not your skin, but a smoother softer cooler version of it.
You let go, expecting your new possession, your face, to fall into your waiting hands.
It doesn’t though, and chills seeps into your skin, covering your eyelashes, going behind your ears, spreading back through your scalp, clinging to hair, twining around your neck. This chill, raising goose bumps, this chill going under your fingernails, and teasing every bit of warmth from you...
Then the chill is gone and you reach down and get the bag you dropped, crumbling it up and trashing it as you smoothly make your way out of the mall. You don’t worry about your mom finding out about your excess spending…it will be deleted from your account momentarily…and the store will disappear.
At least it will, until someone else needs to disappear.