Masks

I felt quite strange walking around. The people, their faces locked onto invisible targets straightaway, failed to look my direction, but I felt their eyes on me. 

I was unnerved. They did not feel like people, walking down this concrete trail. Oh the trestles and trees did sway and the leaves would rustle on the outskirts of our lane, but the people, they showed no movement other than a monotonous pace. 

I was pacing against the flow, towards my home. It was day; the sun being misted behind an army of nonplussed grey clouds so that only a white orb of light hung muffled in the sky. 

My boots snapped upon the concrete with each step, the only sound, as the foot souls of the humanity around me failed to make any other noise other than a placid drone, inaudible after a few minutes. 

It was fall; a light breeze would come and go, reminding me of where I was. Still, I felt their piercing gaze. 

I saw the arch now, and the skyline, a sign of civilization and the end to this path. I grew more robust and dared to look these people in the eye. 

Their faces were eerily similar; emotionless, white-although not all together devoid, as if there was something still yet to be uncovered. 

I quickened step as the wickedness seemed to grow muggier. I was becoming hard for me to breathe. 

As I approached the last leg of my journey, I crashed into someone who apparently stopped mid step. I looked around to see that this was commonly the case as everyone had stopped.

Slowly, very slowly, they returned to soldier like stance. I watched in terror as they reached up to their faces. 

Each one took the sharp nail on their index finger and traced a slow circle around the perimeter of their face. Then, they placed a hold firmly under their eyes, and popped their face off. 

Underneath was a grotesque array of color and texture and emotion. Some were monsters, bright like dragons, old like myth and lore. Some carried paint and etchings so painstakingly that it physically hurt to stare at them for longer than a moment. Others were people, other people, locked in some sort of impressive display of emotion like agony or triumph. 

Everyone had hollow eyes that stared yet again into the depths of my being. 

I still couldn't breathe. I started gasping for air as they turned on their heel towards me and repeated stance. 

Soon, they were marching at me. 

I fell now towards the concrete, having virtually no air left in my lungs. I could feel myself turning blue as one feels the wispy grass under a blanket on a hot summer's day. 

I burned now and started to see spots as the marching overtook every other sound in the city. They soon blocked out my view of the arch, and sooner my view of everything until I could only see black silhouettes and monsters of past nightmares.