The way we identify a person is by their face. We look at their face and put a name with it. We know people based on their face. You may find that you often mistake a person for someone else because they look similar. There are often times when you're sure we just saw someone you knew, but they claimed they didn't know you. You probably shrug it off and think you made a mistake. I'm here to tell you that there are no mistakes.
~
It started with a poor family who'd lost a member of their family. The mother raised her children alone. She had three sons and a daughter. Her oldest, one of her sons, died at a young age. The mother had fallen into a deep depression, but she tried her hardest to stay strong for her family. After her son died, her world fell apart. She acted as normal as she could, for the sake of her children, but every night, when she thought the children were sleeping peacefully in their beds, she cried herself to sleep. Eventually, the mother was able to move on, but the topic of her oldest son was a taboo subject.
I still remember that day clearly, as if it had happened just this morning. It was a bright day, not a cloud in sight. It was Market Day in the town square, so the streets were full of commoners looking to buy the little food they could afford.
I made my way through the crowd of people as quickly as I could. I was slowed down as I continuously bumped into person after person. My heart felt as if it were going to explode at any second as it beat against my chest. My breath came out in pants, and I periodically clenched and unclenched my fists. I occasionally glanced over my shoulder to see if anyone was following me.
After looking behind me once more, I turned my attention back in front of me, and I stumbled as I tried to stop my brisk walking. I pulled to a stop in front of a small child looking at me with a puzzled gaze. My eyebrows furrowed together as I met the boy's confused stare. He tilted his head slightly to the side as he studied my face. Just when I decided I needed to keep moving, he spoke, "Alexander?"
I let out a chuckle and whispered, "You think my name's Alexander?" I spoke louder so he could hear me, "Sure kid."
I watched as his eyes grew wide before walking away. I heard the kid yelling, "Alexander!" as I left; but I kept moving. If I stopped again, I could risk getting caught. Something that never left my mind, as hard as I tried to forget it, was the small look of happiness in that boy's eyes when he thought I was Alexander.
It was the nagging thought of the false hope I'd just given the child that made me turn around. I was overly cautious as I made my way back the way I'd just come from. My journey back to the town took twice as long to ensure I wasn't caught.
By the time I reached the town, the moon had gained control of the sky. There wasn't a soul in sight, so I casually strolled through the empty streets with my hands in my pockets. I tried to formulate a plan to find the boy from earlier. I didn't have the slightest clue how to find him. Just as I was giving up hope, I stumbled onto an old farm house. I cringed at the sight of the old house. There were holes in the roof, the paint was chipping off the sides, and there were a few broken windows. It made me wonder how anyone could just abandon their home. That's when I saw it. There were silhouettes moving on the curtains. This house hadn't been abandoned; there were still people living inside.
Thinking of people living inside such a poor excuse of a house peaked my curiosity. I slowly crept up to the window of the house. I could hear the voices clearly through the hole in the broken window, which was covered by a curtain. I recognized one of the voices in the argument.
"Why would you say something like that, Ajax?" a woman hissed in a sorrow filled voice.
"Because it's true!" I heard an angry voice yell.
"Ajax, you know just as well as I do that Alexander is dead!" the woman yelled back in a powerful voice filled with more anger than the young boy's.
They were arguing because the boy saw me in the town square earlier that day. I heard a nagging voice in the back of my head telling me what I did was wrong. The same nagging voice that brought me back here in the first place. I groaned in frustration, knowing the voice was right. I mumbled in defeat, "Stupid voice."
I moved to the door at the front of the house. I debated whether or not it was a good idea to knock on such a questionable looking door. It looked as if it would cave in with the slightest touch. I took a chance and gently knocked on the door. A woman, who I assumed was arguing with the boy earlier, opened the door part way and asked in a shaky voice, "Who's there."
I thought for a moment before replying, "I don't really have a name."
She opened the door wider. The moment her gaze fell on me, all the color in her face drained away. Her mouth fell open, and her eyes widened. I noticed her hands shaking at her sides. Over all, she looked as if she'd seen a ghost. I chuckled at her fragile state before speaking, "I'm not who you all think I am."
The woman invited me in and offered me water, which I declined. I sat on the floor in the living room of the house. The inside looked just as frazzled as the outside. I took notice of the lack of furniture but didn't question it. It was obvious this family was very poor. The woman sat a few feet in front of me and looked at me in a questioning manner. I sighed and let out a light chuckle, "I suppose you want to know why I look like this 'Alexander' you all keep talking about."
"Yes, I'd really appreciate it if you told me why you're walking around wearing the face of my son," the woman said in a tight voice.
"Have you ever heard the story of Faceless?" I asked with a dark look coming across my face.
"Yes, why are you bringing up a fairytale? Who are you, and why do you look so much like my son?"
"Faceless had no face of his own. He went around borrowing faces, and he confused people by doing so. The people grew angry and had him killed. Do you believe the ending of the story?"
"I believe it's a simple fairytale for putting children to bed," she growled.
"The ending is false. They couldn't catch Faceless, so he continued to borrow people's faces. How do I know this is true? The answer is simple: I'm Faceless. I saw your son die, so now I'm simply borrowing his face. If I had realized how much trouble he'd gotten in, I would have borrowed someone else's face. Those men have been so persistent in following me that I didn't have the time to borrow someone else's face. I could always borrow someone's face now, but I'm not quite sure whose face I'd like to borrow this time."
After I stopped my rambling, I finally noticed the look of grief on the woman's face. She believed...hoped...that her son had returned. I'd never been close to people, so the sharp pain in my chest took me by surprise. It didn't take long to figure out that I felt guilty for making this woman believe her son was alive. I awkwardly cleared my throat and spoke again, "I'm sorry I made you believe your son was alive. If you'd like, I could stick around and help you out around here."
"I'd really like that. It's so hard to take care of these children by myself," she whispered, her face showed how empty she really was, no matter how strong she tried to be.
"Where's your husband?" I asked out of pure curiosity.
"I never had one. Their father was already married. He didn't tell me until he left us."
~
They were my first real family. My biological family left me long before I knew who they were. The woman, Angelea, treated me as one of her sons. Ajax and Bradley treated me as their brother and looked up to me. I loved to entertain Malak, the six month old baby girl. They were the best family I could as for.
I helped with chores around the little property they owned. I helped patch up the house. Eventually the place looked decent. It wasn't the fanciest place to live, but it was home. It was the only place I ever felt like I belonged.
After a while, Angelea decided I needed a name, "You're not my Alexander, but you are my son. We can't go around calling you Faceless, so you need a name. You're new name is Athanasios."
One thing you had to learn about Angelea was that she left no room for argument. Her word was final, so I couldn't argue when she named me Athanasios. The name she gave me was fitting, though. It means "immortal," and I cannot die.
Since I'm immortal, I had to watch as my family died. Mother died not long after I started living with them. We all believe it was sorrow that killed her. After she died, I took on the responsibility of raising Ajax, Bradley, and Malak. I watched my little brothers and my little sister grow up, get married, and have children. I watched my siblings die. After they died, I left our home. It was too painful to continue living with so many memories.
I learned the hard way the result of becoming attached to mortals. They all die while I'm cursed to walk this earth for eternity. I made the decision to never let anyone in again. It hurt too much to let go, to watch the ones you love die. I decided to live my life alone, borrowing people's faces and never stop moving forward.