Faceless People


I woke up this morning trying to grasp what I had just seen. The sight quickly began to fade, so I grabbed my notebook and began scribbling. The attempt was not a complete loss, but the general meaning was beyond recognition. I read over what I wrote time and time again. What did it mean?  I was surrounded in white. It may’ve been lace, but I wasn’t sure. These torture devices were strapped to my feet. When I stood, it was like walking on a bed of nails. My face was pinched until the blood rose right beneath the surface. My hair was yanked every which direction and twisted into odd shapes, only to be stabbed with pins to “hold them in place.” I looked in the mirror in front of me and my eyes held the bewildered look. I stared into the faces of my torturers and did not recognize any of them. The tortures leered at me, teeth gleaming in the florescent lighting. Finally, one of them muttered something and they all start rushing around like chickens. They pulled me to my feet and started dragging me to a door. The torture devices seared my feet as I scrambled to keep up. Finally, I stood in front of double doors, bewilderment still sucking any intelligent thought from my brain. My brain registered some foreign noise on the other side of the doors. These strangers seemed to read this as some queue. I followed their lead, fearing another round of primping.  I lowered my eyes, staring only at the heels of the person directly in front of me. As I reached opening, a man grabbed my arm. Alarmed, I glanced up, again not recognizing the face. The man’s eyes started leaking and his shoulders heaved. Still not wanting to risk anything rash, I faced down at the feet. The line marched forward at a deadening pace. I peeked under the white every now and again only to see more faceless people. Nothing familiar. Nothing comforting. The procession stopped. I continued to stare at the floor. I saw my face in the reflection of the patent leather. Someone took the white and removed it from my face. After a moment of not looking up, the owner of the shiny shoes gently grabbed my chin and lifted my eyes. Relief rolled over me like a freight train. Finally, recognition. His lips spread wide across his face and reached his eyes. So happy, I felt my face mimic his. All else faded away. I was home.



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