The Faceless Boy

1

Somewhere, in a world like yours, lives a boy with no face.

He has always been faceless, living amongst a small town full of normal people, normal shops, normal schools, and normal houses.

There is a Home where he lives with other children who have lost their families, or have none altogether. The other children play with each other, shading toys, or fighting over them. For the boy, he has no toys, and he does not play with the children. Too many times they have made fun of him and shunned him for having no face. So, to stop them from getting mad at him, he leaves them alone, leaving himself alone in the process.

There is a School where he goes to learn about the normal world he exists in. The boy has a desk of his own where he writes, and calculates numbers, and answers questions, and draws. Like his home, the children at the School shun him too; they leave him alone for group projects, leave him alone during lunch, and leave him alone to walk an empty sidewalk towards the Home. To the other children, he does not belong.

Everywhere he goes, people will sometimes ask, "What is your name, boy?"

All the boy can reply is, "I have no name."

"Why not?" they sometimes ask if they bother to stick around long enough.

"I have no face. What's the point of having a name if it doesn't label a face?" he always explains.

Nameless.

Faceless.

That is all he is. Or at least that is all he believes he is.

One day, as the boy is walking home, he comes upon a house that has been vacant for some time now. But this time, instead of an empty porch, he finds an old woman sitting on a rocking chair, enjoying the fresh weather.

The old woman calls out to him and beckons him over with a slender hand. With nothing else to do, the boy crosses the green yard and stands on the porch steps.

"Hello," the old woman greets.

"Hello," the boy says hesitantly.

"I'm new to the neighborhood," she states kindly. "I've made it a point to introduce myself to everyone and anyone I can...! You can call me Gramma Om."

"Welcome to the neighborhood, Gramma," the boy says, still reluctant about being in her presence.

Gramma Om tilts her head, the gray locks of hair beside her face leaning with her. "You have no face. Why is that?"

The boy shrugs. "I don't know. I was born like this."

"Are your parents also faceless?" she inquires.

"I have none."

"Hmmm. What is your name?"

"I have none."

Gramma Om guffaws and chimes, "What can I call you then?"

The boy does not respond.

Gramma Om ponders for a moment, before snapping her fingers and saying, "How about Blank?"

"Blank?"

"Ya know, because your face is blank."

"Ah. Okay then," the boy agrees. A fuzzy sensation resonated in his chest. He's never had a name before.

Gramma Om chuckles and says, "You seem like a nice kid. How about you visit again tomorrow? I'll make tea and cookies so it's not so boring here."

The boy thinks about the offer, scratching his head. Finally, he comes to a decision and says, "Okay. I'll come by again."

"Wonderful," Gramma Om beams. "Happy to make a new friend. You get home safe now, alright, Blank?"

The boy, now officially called Blank by the old woman, nods and rushes off of her property to return to the Home.

Later on in the night, Blank is lying in his bed, fully awake and staring up at the ceiling while the other children at the Home sleep. Though he knows he must get proper rest, his mind can't help but wander. And always, his thoughts come back to the same idea.

He has a name.