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The Mask

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I wear a mask, made of plastic. It’s painted white, because I don’t want it to be transparent. I cut a gap for my lips, just enough space to whisper the right words. Two, small punctures align over my brown eyes. The holes are large enough to see, but small enough to hide the colors of emotions that swim with the brown iris. My arms are getting tired of holding the mask to my face. I can’t put it down; it would expose my real face. The mask is getting dirty and ripped up from years of being worn. I can’t clean it off; the safe, white paint would peel off with it, leaving it transparent, worse than not wearing a mask at all. If you could look into my eyes or read the expressions on my face, you would see every color thick, mixed, and splattered. It looks like rainbow at first glance, but it’s not. The colors are not perfectly separated or in any sort of order whatsoever. Red flames of anger swirl dangerously close to my pupils and collide with Yellow tulips of happiness, both are dissolved when Blue comes. Blue is the form of raindrops, jumping out of my eyelids and sliding down my exposed cheeks. Orange smiles and Purple waves of forgiveness dominate my eyes, swallowing Blue whole. Sometimes Black creeps in from behind the other colors. It lingers, scaring Purple, Orange, and Yellow away; leaving Black to mix hungrily with Red and Blue. Green, charges quickly into to sight. It wipes the Blue raindrops off and squelches the Red flames. Black shrinks back, Green is too bright for it. The colors spin faster and faster changing Green into Red flames again; the circle they are forming around the brown never ends. White, the color of my plastic mask, is not seen in my eyes. White is neutral, safe, without feeling. White isn’t a color, it’s not a feeling either. It’s even colder than Black. I peek through the minuscule holes in my mask, searching the faces of the people around me. The only thing I see is white.




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