Wayward

“Why are you hiding behind that mask of yours?” She whispered, peeking from behind the tiny slits that her fingers left for her. She didn’t want to lower her hands—not yet. But she was too curious to not completely cover her face.

His mask was a strange one. With the right eye being boldly outlined with a red circle, in a striking contrast against the white of the face. And, in the middle of that circle, was what appeared to be a blackened out shape that strongly resembled an eye—same as the left side. Only, the left was crossed with a similar shape, vertically. She assumed he could see out of these strange shapes. But, the obscurity that her fingers caused left enough vagueness to make her unsure. Her fingers spread a little more, just enough for her to see the oddly shaped red nose and the scarily wide grin. His wild black hair framed the mask, creating an even deeper contrast and hiding away what might not have been covered by the mask.

“Well,” his voice was just as low as hers, but not nearly as cautious, “why are you wearing yours?”

The girl lowered her hands. “I’m not wearing a mask.” She squinted her eyes, taking a curious step forward, doing her best to see more of him. “My face isn’t hidden—see?” She pushed her finger against her cheek, letting the appendage sink into the skin. She wondered if he could see her at all.

“Not that one.”

The girl rocked back on her heels, pushing a rogue curl behind her ear, as to not obscure her face so he could see it clearer. “I’m not hiding anything.” There was no pounding in her chest as she crept forward, to where he stood still, a strange fascination driving her on. She was almost close enough to touch him, now. Her hand itched to remove the mask from his face, to see what he had hidden underneath.

But, his hand reached her first.

“You’re hiding something,” he said. His finger hovered over her chest, innocently pointing to where her heart should be. “There.”

Her own finger reached up, the girl standing on the tips of her toes to touch the thing that covered his face. It felt cool against her touch, making her believe it was perhaps made of porcelain. “And you,” She answered, “are hiding something here.” Her hand found the black marks where there should have been holes, so he could see, but she could feel nothing but the cool surface.

So he couldn’t see her, after all.

“I’m not hiding.”

“Well, neither am I.”

“Then, perhaps, we are lacking.”

“Lacking?”

“You, a heart. And me, a soul.” The girl frowned, removing her hand from his face. She was lost of a mental state and sometime before, he had misplaced his existence.

She sat by his legs, carefully holding her chin along the ridges of her fingers; careful not to hide her face, this time. “We can be lost together, I suppose.”

 

“How lonely to be lost with someone who is a no one.”

“How lonely, indeed.”