• I can see the masks.
    Everyone has at least one, but there’ve been people with multiple, often changing one for another between classes or on the bus ride home. Even on the television, I see the masks on the news people, the actors, the politicians- aw, hell, I even see the things on the pathetic wrecks that go on talk shows to b***h about their pathetic lives, hoping for sympathy.
    I’ve never seen one on me, though. Every time I look in the mirror I expect to see one of the golden things perched upon my face, resting regally on my nose, but I’ve never seen one of the masks materialize on my face.
    As I walk through my day, constantly blinded the shining abominations upon the faces of my peers, I often notice people with similar masks hanging around each other: Not just kids, either, but adults too. It’s like masks that are alike are drawn to each other, and masks that are different repel each other, dragging the people who wear them along for the ride.
    The masks don’t react to me, though, making me invisible. I can insult, complement, and comment in any way I want, and not be noticed when I do. My invisibility is great when I want to get away with something, or just want to be left alone. When I’m lonely, however, getting someone to truly listen is impossible.
    My mom thinks I’m suicidal, that I do drugs, and that I’m lazy. If she would take of that accursed mask, or at least take a look in the mirror, I know she’d finally realize that she’s been seeing her face reflected on my body.
    She sent me to a shrink because of her paranoia. The mask on that man nearly blinded me. I practically drowned in the uninterested drone of his voice, and it was obvious he didn’t really listen to what I had to say- he only cared about the check my mother handed him at the end of each session. I told my mom the shrink wasn’t working, but she just wouldn’t believe me- almost like the mask had taken more than just her sight.
    It’s very surprising, actually. With all of the violent and jarring activities people perform during the day, you’d think they’d drop the masks every once in a while, or at least the masks would slide down a body’s nose. But no, that’s almost impossible, like the damn things are glued to people’s faces. Not just tied, like with a string around the back, but more like the masks are on so tight they’re attached to the face; a second skin.
    I met Holly during fifth hour. She was the only other person I’ve ever met without a mask. That’s the reason she caught my eye- because she didn’t shine like the rest of them. I’m fairly positive all of my staring made her uncomfortable. She probably wasn’t used to someone staring: I’d bet all of my money that up until that point, she’d been just as invisible as I always have.
    Because she didn’t have that mask, I remember her vividly. She had strawberry blonde hair, but it had a dull sheen to it, like ancient, dirt begrimed copper. Her blue eyes were almost a steely gray, but didn’t flash, and were more slate-like. She had no piercings anywhere, had no jewelry on, and wore no makeup. Her clothes were baggy, time-battered blue-jeans that were more cloudy gray than blue, and her top was a jacket that was probably black at one time, but had faded to a color somewhere between black and the deepest brown I’ve ever seen. The barely-noticeable sneakers that melded with the pants where a light grayish-green: grass stained and aged.
    I got lucky enough to have the same lunch as Holly. I didn’t go to her, though. I wanted time to process what I had seen. She didn’t though.
    “So you can see ‘em too, huh?” she asked, slipping into the secluded corner of the cafeteria where I usually sat.
    I looked over, mildly shocked. Most people usually left me alone. Then again, Holly wasn’t most people, was she? So dim, like background music you don’t notice, but you still know it’s there in the back of your mind. That’s what she was- like a shadow, but not. She didn’t mirror the people with the masks, didn’t follow their actions. She was herself while keeping herself concealed in the shadows, but she never was one. I remember she told me herself once when I brought the subject up, “Shadows,” she said, “don’t think. They’re like reflections, just not as clear.”
    “Yeah,” I replied, looking around the room, trying not to be blinded by the masks, “I see them.”
    “My dad could see them,” Holly noted as she looked at a group of ‘typical’ teenage girls who were chatting about ‘typical’ teenage girl crap.
    “He could? I didn’t think other people could see them,” I said, staring at people who acted like they were such outcasts, when I know behind the masks they’re just bitchy little whiners.
    “Yeah, and he found a name for them, too. Among the Sighted, it’s a general term.”
    “There’s more like me- us?” I hear the exited tone in my voice, and I want to punch myself for it, but I don’t. Holly nodded. Somehow, I feel a deep link with her, like twins, or lovers. At the time, I barely knew her, but we resonated, like someone screaming at a piano and having the haunting hum leak from within in response to their voice.
    “Oh, hell yeah. Sighted are rare, sure, but we’re getting more common nowadays. Back in the Middle Ages and stuff, we’d’ve been declared heretics or somethin’,” she said.
    “So, then,” I asked, waving my hand at the entire cafeteria, “what are they called? The masks, I mean.”
    She looked at me with an amused twinkle in her faded eyes.
    “Façades.”