A young boy sits in a corner crying, around him are piles of shattered and broken masks. He hides his face with his hands to keep from being seen. It seems that his entire life has ended, and that there is nothing left for him. He looks at one of the tatered masks and holds it up to the light, it is cracked worse than all the others. With a great sob and sorrow he tosses the mask far away, knowing how much pain that one caused. He berries his face into his knees, a glint of metel next to him, a knife that the boy has stolen from his mothers kitchen. He looks at it and pulls of yet another face before he slashes that one to peices then again reaces up and removes a face. So many masks already little the floor, how many more could there be he wonders. Is this one me, or this one, or this one... Which is the real me. He looks at the knife and then his wrist. He thinks of letting the two meet. A voice, some one who guide him, is heard, asking him about all this, talking with him. A short time later a second one joins, he move the knife away but then grabs at his face again, this time removing them be handfulls. He turn after an hour, all that is there is a hollow spiritless blackness that seems deeper than space. This boy still sobs without a face, lost in a mountian of masks.
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Masks float around this hollow shell, so welcoming are they. He longs to reach out to one of them, reach out and embrace that life as his. He looks down at his bloodsoaked hand, the blood of a hundred wounded hearts on his hands. So much sorrow all these masks caused, so much pain and grief. He wonders if these hands will only bring more pain to those near him, he will not let that happen. He must atone for what he did, he must not let it happen again. No matter what may come of him he knows he may have to give up all he is, if that is what it takes to amend ... out out damn spot...
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A farewell to flesh. A farewell to heartache. A farewell to sorrow and misory. A farewell to foes, a farewell to friends. A farewell to joy and love, a fare well to love.
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spared by those I huirt the most, but spared for what... I know what is said will never happen, no one can trust some one who lied as I did, no one should trust some one who hides behind masks... what if, maybe, could've been... What if I told earlier, maybe it would be different, it could have been... what if I had been myself, maybe I would still know these people, could have been nice... I screwed my life, and in doing so hurt many. no more masks, no more pain, no more, no more.