Mask

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Other  |  House: Booksie Classic
A woman makes herself vulnerable.

Submitted: March 02, 2017

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Submitted: March 02, 2017

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I wake up and it’s 8 am. While clenching my teeth, I stare at the ceiling, mustering up all the strength I have to avoid looking at the dreaded wall parallel to my bed. On this wall are many rows of masks, each hanging from a nail. Some masks are simple with lace trim, others are elaborate with feathers and jewels, some are tranquil with soft shades of blue and green. The light from the sunrise is reflecting off a silver mask making me feel like an ant under a magnifying glass during a sunny day. Maybe if I lie here long enough, like an ant, the burning spotlight will make me curl up and die. Instead, my snoozed work alarm goes off, killing only my soul. I walk over to the wall and run my fingers along the edge of each mask, deciding which disguise would best suit me for the day. I approach my mirror and lock eyes with myself. I can’t help but wonder whose eyes are more hollow; the ones staring back at me or the audience of empty eyes perched on the wall following my every move. It’s been awhile since I’ve looked into a mirror without wearing a mask. I move in closer to notice it’s physically painful to see myself. My mouth begins to frown, my brows start to furrow, my eyes fill with tears. I decide to sit on the floor and stare into the mirror, paying no mind to time or any obligations I have for the day. I sit with this discomfort, feeling it in every cell of my body. Minutes turn into hours, days turn into nights, masks disintegrate into a pile of dust.


© Copyright 2018 Angela Klick. All rights reserved.

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