Behind the Masks

Chapter One

The mirror. The unforgiving reflective panel that dictates my life down to the smallest detail. If I fail to look beautiful, confident, happy, this outward appearance of perfection, then I will be thrown away like the garbage that the trucks pick up. I will be cast away and rejected from this place that I regretfully must call my home. This unforgiving place, this place that attempts to cover up the parts of life that are not allowed to be shown outwardly. Those things that are only allowed to be shown in the subliminal privacy of a bedroom in the hours of dawn and the dimming light of the twilight. The things that make a human the most human, the elements that should be most important to someone, must remain hidden, locked away tightly, for your eyes only. Nobody can know what you go through, your thoughts, your beliefs, your emotions and feelings. Outward signs of sadness, loneliness, anger, depression, jealousy-all are frowned upon. Nobody is permitted to see even what anyone else even truly looks like. We call each other friends, but we truly have no idea who the other person even is.

Out of the corner of my eye I spot the clear material that I will soon be putting over my face, this fabric conforming to the curve of my jaw, the sharp lines of my cheekbones and the hollows of my temples. This fabric that is the masks that we all are required to wear. Not wearing one, or telling people that your life is not in fact perfect, are punishable by fine and time in solitary confinement. Nobody comes back from solitary confinement. I however, would rather suffer through their solitary confinement. It would be easier to handle than the one that I have created for myself behind the mask. The thoughts I harbor create more of a hell than any solitary confinement could attempt to muster up. But nobody can know this, nobody should, and nobody will. In my little world, we have to deal with problems ourselves because outward appearance is absolutely everything.

Reluctantly, I take the mask off its holder and I take one last look into the mirror at my plain face, studying the flat, dark blue eyes, the skin that is just too pale to be pretty but not pale enough to be pretty, the cheeks not rosy enough to pass for anything other than looking slightly flushed all the time. The curling blonde hair cascading down my shoulders and back, frizzier than it should be in order to be called beautiful, framing my round face, the blonde that is almost too dark to call blonde, but not dark enough to call brunette. The slightly upturned button nose and the pouty lips that turn down at the corners in a perpetual small frown that reflects the emotions I feel inside. The mask slips onto my face easily and I breathe out a small sigh as it settles. Looking back into the unforgiving mirror, I see myself, full make up, the eyeliner, the long black curling lashes, the lipstick, the highlight and contouring, the eye shadow and the flawless looking skin.

These masks, for girls, apply perfect make up and thin out the face – if that's what you want that is. For guys, I'm not really sure what it does because, well, I've never seen a guy without one. You have the ability to change every aspect of your facial features, including your eye color and hair color and texture, along with the style. I choose to leave my eye color and hair color the same, although I employ the mask to redefine and smooth the curling mess that is my hair. This is me. Well, the me that my world will know, and has always known. They will never know the real me. My name is Eleanor Guest. I am seventeen years old. I am a hurricane, a grenade, a ticking time bomb, waiting to go off. But my world will never know. Well, I did not believe they would, not until I met him.

Before we get to him, I should try to describe my society because I'm sure it's a little odd to be hearing about. The creators of this place, a Council of Elders, are from the Old World. They decided that the society in the Old World, became too soft and focused on the insides of people, rather than the outward appearance. When people began to focus on the inside of people and their emotions, it becomes easy to be wrapped up in negativity and that is what caused the downfall of the Old World. Now, the Council is afraid that the cycle will repeat itself, that history will once again run its course, and that our society will fall, just like the Old World did. Therefore, to try to break this cycle, they believe that the masks will prevent the gradual disintegration of the society. Masks are mandatory, all the time, no exceptions, when outside of your bedroom. Even around families, you have to wear them. I still to this day am not sure why they were, and still are so scared of what people think and feel. Well, at least to an extent. I understand that there are dark parts of the mind that should stay locked away in order to keep others safe, but a larger part of me wonders that if it was spoken about, that maybe there'd be a way to "fix" it. I say fix because obviously there's something negative about it if they're all so scared about it... right? I mean they would have to be. That's why they would try to do everything they can to keep us from talking about it. To make the outside look perfect so we wouldn't have to talk about what was going on in the inside. But growing up in a society like this is damaging, and I'm sure you probably can gather that on your own without me telling you. But I've lived my entire life, believing that there's something wrong with me. There has to be, right? Because my life isn't perfect. Is everyone else's? Am I the only one that has these thoughts and fears?

Every night without fail, my mind would become a swirling storm of thoughts of self doubt and of self consciousness. Of course I have to wear a mask. I'm too ugly without it anyway. I don't look like the models of the Old World. And that's what the goal is. And my life isn't perfect. I constantly screw up. I'm scared. Of how my life is going to play out, of what people think about me, of myself... I lay in bed, hyper-aware of the sheets against my skin. Focus, I tell myself. Just breathe. It'll be okay. You're not crazy. You're not a danger. This mantra that I repeat to myself every night seems to become less and less effective with each repetition.

The quiet of my little house settled over me, covering me more completely than the blankets that I clutched close to my chin and had tangled around my legs. In our little world, once you turn sixteen, you are given your own house and are considered an adult, so I had been living alone, my only company my restless mind. The house is small and plain. A flat exterior that is the color grey, and a plain interior, painted white. There is a small living area and a small kitchen, one bedroom, and one bathroom. Since you're the only one living there, it doesn't have to be extensive or fancy. You move into a larger house once you're married to someone (yes they kept that custom from the Old World. And yes we can marry for love, which may come as a surprise since nobody really knows each other). Every house like this is the same, and you live in them until you are married. The only reason you get moved to another house is because you're expected to start a family. But then this of course terrifies me and leads me into another bout of thoughts. What if I never get married? Nobody will love me. There's no way. I don't look as pretty as the other girls, even with this stupid mask. I'm not as interesting as the other girls. I'm going to end up alone. Oh god I'm going to be alone in this house for the rest of my life.

My breathing began to quicken and I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to control my breathing. I knew I had to calm down, I knew I was being ridiculous, but these fears are very real to me. Beyond very real. They are real. And they're controlling my life.