(Book from Piccadilly Inc.)
The mask lay on her dressing table. It was
beautiful by the standards of the townsfolk, covered in bright colours and
radiated joy and happiness. Reluctantly, she stared at herself in the mirror.
Her heart ached and her eyes shone with tears and hidden pain. Every flaw in
her life stared at her and she shuddered with repulsion at the ugliness
underneath. She touched the mask and slipped it on her face, hiding every
emotion deep within her.
She gave a false smile and walked into the
town as if she were as carefree and as joyful as her mask portrayed. Around
her, people went about their daily jobs and duties, smiling behind their masks.
The painted colours displayed beauty and perfection; these people clearly had
everything they desired and were pleased in what and who they were.
But she felt dirty and fake.
She smiled at her friends and family, but
inside her, beneath the mask, she wept. Her heart was empty and she had nowhere
to run. No one to turn to.
Then a young man caught her eye. He had no
mask, and his simple smile was warm and genuine. His face was plain in
comparison to the vibrant colours of the masks around him, but she saw
something about him that was truly beautiful. Then he turned and looked at her.
Their eyes met, and she looked away,
ashamed, for she felt his gaze boring into her. She knew he saw the emptiness
behind her mask and was afraid. But her fascination in him drew her closer. He
still stared at her with loving eyes, and she knew he was not someone to fear.
Timidly, she made her was across the
street toward him. A crowd had formed around the young man and was listening to
him speak. His voice, tender but strong, pulsed through her. He spoke of things
unheard of in her town. He spoke of freedom and forgiveness, of life without a
mask. The townsfolk scoffed at his words and moved away, but she stayed, alone
with the man.
Suddenly she was shy, and tried to move
with the crowd. Then a gentle hand touched her arm, stopping her. It was the
man. She stared at his hands, for on his wrists were two scars.
He taught her about life without a mask. A
life without pain or heartache. A life free from the ugliness that haunted her.
Tears filled her eyes and rolled down her face under her mask. Gently, the man
reached behind her hair and removed it. She quickly covered her face with her
hands; afraid he might see and know the truth. But he only smiled.
Slowly, ever so slowly, she took her hands
away, revealing her true self. His eyes stared with forgiveness and love into
her own eyes, eyes filled with sadness. He whispered two words to her. Two
simple words that made all the difference to her.
She felt as if a weight had been lifted
from her, and her heart was no longer empty and she no longer felt pain, but
peace. She smiled, not falsely this time, but truly smiled. He reached out one
of his scarred hands, and in it was her mask, now appearing dull and shabby.
She took it from him, and with one last look, left. He had seen her for what
she truly was under her mask. He had shared her pain and he had healed her
broken heart. He had forgiven her. She put her mask away and never wore it
again. Never again, because he had called her beautiful.
Have a lovely weekend, and I'll see you in two weeks with a new poem or two!
~Abigail Blair
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