1 Three Faces

I reach for my mask along with the black leather jacket from the coat hanger hung on the door. After the long days of being so alone, the pain ebbed. I thought I would feel the knives in my back forever, the long blades slicing into such sensitive flesh. It reflected upon me as a person: disembarked with a new question to the following answers. And so, I clench onto the mask with grief and begin to retrace my steps back to the mirror. The hallow voices echoed the room, bouncing off of the corners. Only four walls crept upon the dimly lighted room, making me wonder if I had made the right decisions in the last few hours. They always told me I'd feel better if I put my feelings on paper, so I did. But I always knew deep down inside me, neither the ink in my pen or the stencil in my pencil is strong enough to handle the words I want to write. I walk towards the broken crystals; sinister cuts and scars trace its reflection with a clutter of shattered glass crowning the table.

The mirror has that patina of age over the bronze frame and, the surface of the glass is splotched black in places. I pick up a piece and stare in its presence, or at least the distorted image of myself. The mirror showed me the boy the world saw, all they saw, and somehow it didn't seem right. I see cold grey eyes flicker at me, frantic and desperate. The depression sat behind his mask as he faked his smile, hoping he'd fool the world. He pulled back his lips into an awkward smile, but his cheeks weren't as compromising. Inside he was fireworks and rage, love and frustrations, ambition, and fear. All they saw was brown hair and the kind of grey eyes you forget while you're still looking at them. I run a finger over the frame, feeling its cool ridges and grooves and the layer of dust that clung. "I miss you," I whisper, setting my gaze onto the mirror. A weary image of a boy reflects the mirror. His lips move in solitary motion. "...I wish you were here." As he pauses, I can feel my smile beginning to fade like his. My hands reach for the remains of the mirror that had gutted with pain. The boy's eyes flicker back, like a reflecting warning. I watch his sorrowful eyes widen as if his life were flashing before him. "No!" I yell, clenching my fist in agony where the glass had remained. Tears run down my face. "It's too late...it's all too late."

I fall to the ground and, my bloody hands follow. The glass slits my hand deeply, leaving stray cuts. I was clearly not ready for this. Every night was like a nightmare pounding at my door. Every day I would hear the noises. I pull the glass out of my hand, my lips biting in pain. More blood begins to rush down my palm. In the darkness, they barely shone red. Instead, under the flickering yellow light above, it was almost a sickly blackish-gold. Tears stream down my cheeks, one after the other, but eventually, I get up silently, listening to my heavy breathing, and retrieve the cloth on the table.

I start to dab the cloth on my skin, yelping for the blood to stop dripping. Once the blood was free from sight, I get up and look back into the remains of the mirror. The mysterious figure was standing there, once again, staring back at me. This isn't me. My head was spinning. I knew I had to do something. I've been sitting in a place long enough to bear listening to lies. His soul bled salt, and as it poured from his eyes, he realized this couldn't be him. I force my eyes to look down from this mystifying creature, but I wanted to know him. I wanted to know what he was hiding. What was it that had caught my eyes? Was it the shadow lurking behind his inscrutable shape? Or the fact that this person was me.

I take a huge breath and force myself away from the glass. Now creeping across the room towards the front door, I reach for the doorknob. My cold hands shiver. What will I see when I am out there? Will I be able to make it out alive? I shove my left hand in my pocket, protecting it from the contaminated air, and twist the knob, holding my breath. "Heaven can't help me now." I solemnly say as the door opens. I squint my eyes as the bright light exhausts my eyes. The world is covered in white sheets of snow. A blur of white descends little specks of frost. They dance and twirl as they speckle down towards their end. Icicles, glistening, dripping, like winter's daggers. Ice crystals sparkle on the treetops, beautiful and white. Ice covers the road at the corner like death's welcome mat. Trees stand dead like snowmen. Their twigs sway against the wind. I step into this white wonderland, my footsteps sinking like quicksand. "This is it," I say as I lock the door shut. I dash through the snow, my footprints vanishing like white-out erasing a mistake. Tears stain my face.

I make it to the frozen lake, where they say nothing gets out alive. I consider myself, letting my feet trace the icy floor. Ice-travelling is not my thing, so you can check that off of my list of things I'm certain I won't do in a lifetime. I creep across the lake, hunching myself. The ice is thicker than ever, no way getting in. But that's not why I'm worried. I'm worried about the memories that haunt me. I made an oath to never set foot on this frozen lake again, but it seems I have forgotten. The mystical trees grow from underneath the ice's cavern, making it so...special. I breathe heavily, now remembering the distinct chatters. I know I shouldn't have crossed this lake. It's all coming back to life like it was just yesterday's illusion. This time, I am not afraid of falling. I glide across the lake. My heart pelts dangerously and, my head tells me to stop. But I don't stop. I must get to the end of this lake before it reveals itself. I slither down the path, eager to make it, but my foot welts against a rock, and I fall crashing into the ground.

"Mark!" I open my eyes to an insistent voice calling my name. Its begun. The wet air clammers on me like heavy hail. As I manage myself up from the icy floor, a foreshadow of two figures circle around me, alarming me to the ground. I'm too late. My hands try protecting me from fumbling over, but yet again, I'm on the surface. My hands shiver with terror. I shut my eyes in arrogance with my hands on the ice. The air is frozen lace on my skin, delicate and cold, like winter waves on sallow sand. "Mark, hold my hand." The voice echoes in the air, haunting me as I open my eyes with a jolt. Pain begins to crease my throat, but only till I get up am I able to see their faces.

I could feel my heartbeat, every single pound in my chest. Not through my ears, it was like a steady drum, pipe, or dark voice of music. But I couldn't lay here. I had to get up. This great pounding, this pressure; every beat. I couldn't hear it, but I could feel it as I lay my eyes on their suppressed faces. There they were, my parents, standing on the ice: cold, wet, slippery, and hard. They both were standing there, looking down at a young boy. "Come on, Mark. We can all do it together!" My mom holds out her hand towards me--the image of me. "Yeah, don't let Aiden push you around like that! He isn't any better than you," said the familiar voice. My dad was already sliding on the ice, reaching towards Little Mark.

Every heartbeat was a turbulent push weighing me down. How come I didn't have any memory of this? I was told the delusions were caused by the memories one could hold, and this, I just couldn't let go of. I felt a rush of cold air whip me, and I had lost my senses. I don't know for what reason, but I felt like the only choice was to be placing words in front of them. There was no point talking to hallucinations that appear and disappear, but I thought I might as well give it a try. A small fire was already burning inside of me. Maybe they can listen, interpret, and understand.

My jaw opens hopelessly, already doubting that this might work. In the past, I've seen hallucinations of objects, certain things, but never of people. This world has always been cruel to me, showing me what truth. No one ever sees delusions, and if they do, it's probably bad luck. Once, I went to the clinic to get this 'bad luck' thing fixed, but instead, I came home with more than just bad luck. They told me I had a Karimontos, whatever that is. It apparently lets me see human figures twice as often and more vivid, and hey, their description of it isn't wrong, but there's more. Think of it as seeing ghosts in your daily life floating around and doing normal stuff--maybe too much to be normal. It's pretty standard now, but I try to avoid the big ones, like visions of...my parents. And dreams are also part of the alteration.

I watch the birds soar over the trees in the brisk sky as I begin to attempt to stagnate my parents' souls out of their fake floating bodies.

"Mom and Dad." The words croaked out cautiously in the silence. I know tensing against the shaking of my limbs is useless, but I do it instinctively, trying to contain for a few more moments of what I know I cannot. I need to drink in the silence to prevent the fear that threatens to engulf me.

Maybe I should have grabbed their hands instead. Maybe. Should have embraced them as well. Maybe even apologize to them for everything. Maybe, but I don't. Instead, what I do choose to do is stare back into their measly faces. They look so crumpled and old like aging had destroyed the value. They stared back, so I thought that they could see all of me, but that thought slowly faded when I realized they had been looking through me and had soon returned to their activity.

The sadness sneaked up on me quietly and took me under its arms in an instant. Every picture played like a song in my head, repeating itself for what seemed like forever. I didn't want to have to go through this, and I knew from then there would be no reply later, so I climbed the icy chasm without looking back. I don't know what to expect or what to even think of it. They were so young and loving when they held me, but now, even that has changed.

It was all over. I try not to look back but cannot. The place is a wretched monument. A river overflowing with crepuscular colors, ill-lit and dark with no reflection. I wanted to run into the trees or fall off a cliff, but instead, I stood there in silence, watching the sky turn pink. Their silence was somehow comforting and spoke for itself.

At first, I thought grief was something bad that takes you ten feet under but soon, I learned that it was more than that. It was the price we had to pay for loving someone.