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First time posting a story. I hope it gets ripped apart so I can make it better. Thanks in advance for any reviews or constructive criticism. smile

Masquerade


Oh, love, why do you look so sad? I watch you sitting there, crying on our bed, and I wonder, why are you so sad? It has been five years now since my passing. And still, when you come home from a long day’s work, or come back from a night out, or wake up from your secret dreams, you lay on our bed and cry. The tears force you to change the pillowcases constantly, the salt staining the material with the blood of eyes. Why do your eyes bleed for me, my love? I rest now, the drudgery is gone, the agony has ended. I feel no pain, love. So why do you cry?

I watch you sit up now. Are your tears through, my love? Have you ended your private mourning for the day, ready to carry on once more? Will you paint on that mask again, a face so full of joy that is not real? I watch you walk to the bathroom, each step seeming a struggle. Your shoulders are not as stout as they once were, love. Your body is not strong, the way it used to be. Is it a shell now, love? Has my passing stolen your soul? Where is the life you once held in those laughing eyes, love? Did it die with me?

I watch you reach for the brush by the sink. You run it through your hair so carelessly these days. What happened to the gentle, loving strokes you once gave it, love? Where did the tender care for those lovely locks go? You always used to tell me that you liked your hair just so, shining and silky as any gossamer thread. Then why is your hair so limp, love? The shine so dull? Is it because I am not there to tell you how beautiful I think it is, love? To compliment the care you once gave it?

Now you set the brush down, staring at yourself in the mirror. What do you see in your reflection, love? Do you see a lover alone? A widow in your home? Or do you see what I see, someone so tired, so sad? Do you see the hollow person, love? The one whose eyes no longer twinkle, no longer laugh? What are you thinking of now, love?

Finally, you lower your gaze. Your own sightless eyes shame you, turn you away, to the little box by your hand. You reach inside and pull out your makeup accessories slowly, one by one. A line of cosmetics making a righteous trail down the edge of the sink. The accomplices to your crime, the one you commit every day. Each one a layer, a protective shield that you hold high. Why do you carry out such a sin, love? Why do you brandish your lipstick like a pirate his rapier? Why do you hide yourself behind the shield of a compact? You never used to, love. You never used to hide behind the miracles of our corrupt society, the lies so well guarded and hidden. You never used to hide from me, love.

Now you are preparing, love. You pat on your layers, you smooth your neglected, mournful hair. And then you smile. It is not a smile that holds any warmth, though. Are you practicing, love? Are you practicing for your grand play? Your marvelous trick, the one that you play on the world everyday? You seem pleased with the way your reflection smiles back. Do YOU see the falseness in your smile? Somehow, I think you do.

Suddenly you are walking again. You leave the bathroom, grabbing up your coat and purse, ready for another busy day. Another day of performing for the world, your own personal crowd. They adore you, and for it, you walk the line every day. What happens when you fall, love? What happens when the line becomes too thin? Who will catch you when you fall? There is no safety net for a plunge such as yours, love. There is no cushion for such a fall.

You go to leave now, turning the doorknob easily in your hand, grasping it tightly, as you can no longer grasp me. You walk out with your perfect smile and clean clothes and apparent happiness. But it is a lie, love. The most foul one there is. Lying to yourself, as well as every face you meet, every person you see. You are not happy, love. Inside, you cry. You are hollow, under the paint. I see through the mask you wear, love. And it is not a convincing one at all.

But wait, love. What is that I see, sticking from your purse? It is metal and sleek, nearly hidden under a packet of tissues. What is that item hidden in that bag you carry, love? It shines with the touch of light. Is that a trigger I see, love? Why is it there? What do you plan to do, with that little silvery instrument? I am worried, love, as you walk out that door, and it slowly swings closed. What are your intentions, as you go off to wherever it is you plan to go? I wait in the darkness of our room, for the sound I know I will hear. A crescendo of screams, a chorus of voices. The shot will echo out, as you stand in front of my grave, the pistol to your temple. The people will see you fall there. And your spirit will rise from the ground where your body lays, so silent, so peaceful. Are my thoughts rational, love? Have I guessed your scheme?

Oh, but what is that I hear, outside the closed door? Have you not even left yet, my love? I strain my ears, to hear the sound that is being made. You are calling out my name, love. I can hear you. Your voice is final, your tone disturbed. Another noise, light, almost foreign to the lips that it falls from. I listen, and shudder, as everything becomes all too clear. You are laughing, love. You are laughing. Click. Clack. Bang.

I agree. That was amazing. The POV is awesome.

I only have two things to say about it. One is to not use the term "love" quite so much. It's a god term to use, but space them out a bit more. You'll see what I mean if you reread it looking for them.

The second is to make some fragments into whole sentences, whether with commas or semicolons or colons or extra words. I think that'll help the flow. Normally I don't notice such things much, but I think this narrator is one that thinks in whole sentences.

Thank you everyone for your encouragement and crit! I'll definitely take some time to sit down and edit the piece with the information I've been given. Again, thanks very much, I'm glad you all liked it! (I may or may not have been nervous about what kind of responses would be had). sweatdrop