The Face.

Now let's try to hide behind the face, the face that never blinks, laughs or cries. The face that is forever young with a marble white complexion. It has no real eyes, just two black holes to look out of. Let's hide behind the face, let's go deep, deep beneath the face where the world can't find us, where it's warm, where you can hear the rush of real blood, and not the rasp of false, slithering skin, away from the glint of sheathed claws.

The world cannot touch us here.

This face is a very public face. It smiles and laughs at the right moments, and when the time comes to mourn the holes that the world thinks are eyes leak salt water. But they are not real tears, because real tears contain a pinch of Sorrow. What hides underneath has no control whatsoever over this public face, because what it wants does not agree with the public face, and thus is suppressed. Whatever hides beneath is very lonely, insecure, and very afraid that one day the protective face would be taken away, and that it would be left to be exposed to the world. It has lost it's identity to the face, and now the face is it's identity. It's name no longer exists; it is just a Lie, having lost itself in the labyrinth of rules that govern the face. Illogical, restraining rules that drive even the best minds to madness.

This madness is just barely detectable, being a fairly subtle form. It manifests itself in various ways. While maintaining a fairly normal front (noting of course that in this context, normal should be taken to mean the situation of the majority group), the persona is free to operate using several different profiles which are better known as alternative masks. However this often leads to a loss of identity. The original self, if it even exists still, can no longer be discerned from the scores of other profiles and faces that other people see. Each one is crafted uniquely, like a fingerprint, in reaction to something or someone. Each time something sparks off a new reaction, yet another facet is formed. Like The Mask. Except these can never be removed...just changed and added to. And more is not necessarily better.

The more layers, the deeper the original self hides. And the persona dies, while the mask lives on.

I Love the Rain.

I love the rain. And rainy day type music. It's the kind you can walk around in, even when you're all alone in a dim park with a playground, the kind, you know, you can see the raindrops in the lamplight. The sad kind of music which has just one title: "Life". The kind that you listen to with big headphones, and you could do a mad dance...there's nobody to care or judge. And you feel in that little park, in that dim yellow light, all alone, you could melt away into the dark, just fade away, and nobody would know. Just the near silence that's left behind, and the little you-sized vacuum is slowly filled with more rain and dark.

And the sound, the sound of the rain.

The Night of Lies

A man walked into a masked ball. A stranger in town, he thought he might take his time to join in the local festivities. Like any masked ball, it was held in a large hall, with music and dancing. Everyone was dressed up in ornate costumes. It was a night where you could be anything you wanted to be, whether it was a character from a fairy tale or a famous historical figure. Or just take it as an excuse to be blindingly beautiful. Coloured figures whirled around the dance floor, faces all hidden behind gorgeous masks. A man could never identify his best friend by looks alone, for the entire world changed its face on this night. Everyone could dance freely, without fear that perhaps their partner was an enemy waiting with a hidden dagger or a jealous rival, because no one was recognisable by their outward appearance.

Many of those who went for the ball would spend many a day, even weeks, in advance, planning and designing their entire outfit, including elaborate headpieces that were integrated into fancy masks. Nobody would ever wear their costume twice, for it was deemed unoriginal to do so, and besides, the entire point was to be unrecognisable. Sometimes entire fortunes were spent on this attire, for the event was but one chance in the year one could play at make believe and forget themselves, a single chance to do whatever one pleased at a party and not be judged by others. Most importantly, it was the Night of Lies, so named for obvious reasons, the only chance in the year to fake things, to lie, and get away with it. Anybody could attend, so long as they had a costume and an invitation which could be procured, very simply, from people handing them out on the streets and in the taverns or inns.

Greeted at the door by an attendant with the head of a donkey, the man was asked to produce his invitation. When presented with it, the attendant could not help but compliment, "Sir! What a mask! What an exquisite thing! What skill, what thought must have gone into such an item." All the man could say in reply was a 'But', for the next moment a beautiful creature with a cat's face whisked him off in an energetic dance not unlike a waltz. Once again he was complimented for his mask. "What creativity you have put into your outfit, my friend! Such detail and wit! Ah, this is a creation that must be shared, to inspire us all to do the same for ourselves next time!" Before he could respond again with a 'But', his voice was caught by the air as the dancers switched partners in a crazy dance they called Change. Dancers would change partners when the music changed.

Partner after partner, the man was spun around the ballroom were equally eager to comment on his mask as the donkey-head and cat-face had done, and partners were changed always before he could respond, as if the music had some cruel conspiracy to never allow him to speak. Soon it became such that every drumbeat, every musical note had the intent to quieten him, as if they knew what it was he was going to say, something so terrible as to go against the ethics of such a party. But of course it was inevitable that the song should end, to allow weary dancers a drink before they rejoined the throng.

The man found himself next to Cat-Face again. The feline features stretched themselves into a grin, and a pink mouth opened to inquire, “You were about to speak before. It has been such a pleasure meeting you.” A hand extended as a gesture of social greeting. A hand taken, and promptly shaken. “I was just saying what a wonderful mask you have got on. It has the make of a great craftsman! You must have paid a great deal to have it made.” The face seemed to turn green with envy, but at once swiftly changed to reflect a grin. “You were about to say?”

“You say how wonderful my mask is. But, I am not even wearing one.”