The Faces

It is not easy to forget. To forget the sorrow. The pain. It follows you around, and no matter how hard you try, it is impossible to outrun. The pain. It starts out feeling like a bee sting. You've got stung and for sure it itches but you will get through it. At least that is what you think. The sting starts hurting. It is no longer a bee sting. It is an indescribable pain - the sting has grown into a massive wooden stake forcing its way towards the thing you seek to protect the most. And then it strikes you when you are at your weakest - finds your most vulnerable spot. You remember everything, and your heart stops beating in the second the stake reaches its final destination. Your heart is struck…
That was the feeling I was left with from the day I heard about the accident. Her death. The pain has followed me ever since. The wooden stake is not there anymore. But it has left me with a hole in my heart. It has left me bleeding.


4. The Faces

4. The Faces

I did not quite know how to describe them. The Faces. Sometimes I just knew it was them. It was some sort of gut feeling. My mother had never mentioned the Faces, but somehow I knew that she had seen them, too. I did not know what they were up to - I did not know who they were. But as soon my eyes met the Faces' eyes I knew they were different. I simply knew. Maybe it was something in their intense - but yet so empty - gazes. Maybe it was something in their tired and anonymous faces. I was not sure. But when I saw them, I knew something bad would happen. Why would they attend my sister's funeral? Why did they attend my father's funeral years ago?

People had started crying, silently, and holding each other's hands. They looked like they cared. But I knew better. A chilly breeze crossed my face as a gentle reminder of how cynical reality could be. I had to keep myself together. I had to think rational. If the Faces really were coming for me, I had to be prepared. The only thing was that I did not know what I should prepare myself for. I knew the Faces were real. I knew these people weren't sincere - they weren't people, really. They were products of the indoctrinated society surrounding us - consuming humanity little by little. I just knew they were not to be trusted. Not in a second. I looked at the Face, who starred at me some minutes ago. He was tall wearing a black suit with a grey tie. His face was serious - but still emotionless - and his skin had a weird pale, nearly grayish, tone to it. He was a stranger, and he had nothing to do here.

The church bells started ringing once again and, lead by the priest, everybody started walking towards the church. I looked at my mother. She had cried, and I could still hear her words in my mind. Remember to cry, Violet. I discretely moved my hand up to my cheek. It was a little wet. I had cried. I had done my part. Wasn't that enough? My mother put her arm around me, and for the first time that day I felt a warmth spreading within me.

As we stood there once again, in front of the great house of God, it was like everything fell to place. People started shaking my mother’s and my hands - once again telling us how sorry they were. We both looked thankful, but I knew she felt cold inside like me. This was not the end of Amy Morrison. This. This was only the beginning. I looked at my mother. A middle-aged woman with many secrets. She had already experienced half of a life time. But still, she had a lot to come. She had the hardest part to come. Amy's return. She looked back at me with wise eyes. Maybe she knew what I was thinking - she often did. But she never let me know. Even though she was intelligent she had never been one to brag, discuss or let out her feelings. She was an introvert - a person that did not let people in easily. Not even her own daughter. I had only seen one single person she had opened up to. And she had given him everything - her heart, her love, her children, her anger and her care. He had returned her love with his life. My father had been the greatest man I had ever met. He had been the only one to truly understand my mother. To understand me. He had been the only person ever to understand Amy. And he probably would be the last as well.

We had shaken the last hands and the every car had nearly left. My mother had briefly exchanged words with the priest when she walked towards me with a sad smile. I returned her smile as she gently put her arm around me and lead me to the car. "Let's go home, my love," her voice was kind but distant. I opened the car door and looked at my mother. "The Faces are coming for me tonight, aren't they?" My mother looked shocked at me, and her face lost all of its color. She stumbled over the words as she replied, "wha.. What did you say?"

A chilly breeze stroke my legs and i shuddered. It was probably only a few seconds but it felt like thousand years to me. I had never seen that look in my mother's eyes before. It was like every bit of life had been sucked out of her in a second. "You know about... The Faces?" The sounds coming out of her mouth were squeaky and shaky. She knew the Faces.

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