ENTRY 7
THE MASK
I'm about to see my sister's face for the first time.
I stare at her across the room, frozen in place when I see the droop of the old paper mask as it dips lower on her brow. I can't see her skin, but if it drops any further, there it will be.
My mouth opens to tell her the mask is slipping—to advise her to stop working and take time to correct it. It is my instinct to tell her this, but a deeper, darker curiosity in me wants the mask to slip.
It's a very dangerous thought.
The door behind me slaps open, sending my heart racing. "Angela, your mask."
Angela sits up, her gloved fingers still deeply entwined in wires. Her body tenses a moment, before she drops the wires and pushes the mask back into place.
I let out a tense breath and try not to get my Father's attention. If I had let my sister's mask fall, the consequences would have been lethal.
"Are you two almost done?"
Angela motions to me with one dirty glove, a silent question. I swallow under my own mask and turn to the circuit board we've been repairing. "Nearly." I risk glancing up at my Father. His mask is older than Angela's and mine, molded from a light flexible plastic, rather than the cheap paper Angela and I have. At least for now. I glance back at my sister's mask. We are expected to Become soon, and when that happens, we will stop wearing the paper masks of children, and don the fitted, permanent masks of adults. What ours will be made out of will depend on what our parents can afford, and though I know it won't be anything lavish and decadent like the Countess wears, I can't help but hope for something beautiful.
Father grunts behind us and leaves the room.
Angela and I work silently as we finish the repairs. It's not as clean a job as my Father would do, but it will function, and it's done in time, so I know no one will complain.
We gather our tools in silence and stand in unison, perfectly in sync as we always are, or at least meant to be.
…
My father doesn't relax until we are back in our own quarter, past the security gates, and nearly home. Inside Bend, we relax our single file line and Angela moves closer to my side to walk. Father still walks ahead of us, but now he waves to people as we pass them on our way home. He is friendly here, easy going, kind even. Nothing like the man he is when he is working.
Father leads us around Second Ring. The houses are identical concrete buildings, boxes with strategic windows cut in. There is nothing decorative, nothing colorful, nothing of excess. Life in the outer quarters demands that whatever we have, it must be enough.
Father takes us up the gravel walkway to our front door. It's an old metal door, the same dull grey as everyone else's door, except ours has the smallest dent in it from when I'd run into it when Angela and I were little. I smile when I see the dent and touch it with my gloved hand as we pass through.
Inside the house, a bright white overhead light turns on. Power is limited in our city, and we only have light for a few hours before the Blackout Curfew.
Immediately, Angela and I move to the kitchen to begin preparing water cups for dinner while Father goes down to the cellar to retrieve our meals. Four minutes later, the front door opens and Mother comes in.
Long ago, before most of the world had been burnt beyond use and the crop lands had died, the Magistrate had figured out a way to formulate all our caloric and nutritional needs into a single pill. It was palatable, efficient, and could be produced for the masses. It is the only sort of meal I have ever known.
Angela and I bring the glasses of water to the table, setting metal straws in each one. Father distributes the meal pills—green for adults and yellow for children. Last month, Angela and I finally moved on to the green pills. I didn't notice a difference, but Angela supposed that was the point. The pills are meant to be exactly what we need, no more or less. We had grown into adult pills and they fit just right.
We all settle at the table and wait for Mother to nod in permission. As one, we all pick up our pills and drop them in our glasses. The pills dissolve quickly and Mother nods again, allowing us to bring the straws to our mouths. Every mask is fitted with a small pocket slit, designed specifically to allow a straw to reach our mouths. Sometimes, I imagine that I can see the skin of my father's chin, or a flash of my mother's teeth through the pocket, but I know it's only my imagination. I will never know my family's appearance, just as I will never know my own.
We drink in silence.
After a few minutes, Father nods and sets his glass down. We all follow him.
"How was your day?" he asks Mother.
"I worked from Bend today. No security threats were perceivable." We all nod at this good news. She turns to Angela. "How was your day?"
On it goes, around the table. We report our days, then pass the question on to the next person. I am the last person to be asked. "How was your day?" Father asks me.
I pause. I know the words I must say, the expected and only acceptable response to the question, but part of me wants to talk about my day. I want to tell my family how I almost saw my sister's face, and how I desperately want to choose my own path in life.
I swallow my words and cringe as I respond. "I worked from the Countess' Quarter today. All systems were repaired."
…
I sit on the edge of my bed, too energized to sleep. I'm restless, wired from my wild thoughts, and no amount of routine will quell the feelings in me. Instead of laying back, I reach up and pull the blackout curtains that hang in front of my windows to the side.
Outside, the world is still and silent and beautiful.
Movement on the street below me catches my eye. The shadow moves across the alley and my breath catches in my throat. I lean forward, desperately curious to see what is going on, who is moving around in the dark.
A second shadow appears, and a deep, primal instinct I didn't know I had surges forward. Run.
The second shadow approaches the first, and the glint of metal in the starlight sends my heart racing. The metal disappears into the the first shadow, and suddenly I move without thinking, without processing what exactly it is I'm doing. I push away from my window and shove my feet into boots as I rip open my door. I'm down the stairs and unlocking the front door before I know it. I throw open the front door and sprint around the house to the alley. Sweat slicks my body, as fear and adrenaline collide in me. I don't know what I will do, what I can do, when I find the injured person. I just know they need help.
It's darker down here than I thought it would be. It occurs to me as I look around the dark, that I have no idea what I'm doing.
I am about to turn around, go back inside, when I hear a low moan to my right. My heart stops, then nearly chokes on itself as it triples in speed.
There is a person sitting next to me in the dark. If they hadn't moved, I would have never seen them. I approach anxiously, each step hesitated and unsure. "Are you alright?"
The body stiffens in the dark. "Have you come to finish me off?"
I don't recognize the voice, though he sounds male.
"No, I saw someone with a knife and I ran down," my voice trails off.
The person on the floor coughs, and it sounds like a bitter laugh. "Right into danger? Without a thought? How heroic."
I don't know what to say to that. It wasn't heroic, it was foolish, and we both know it. "Do you need help?"
The person shifts, and I can tell he's sprawled on the ground, but I can't tell much else. "Are you truly offering it?"
I nod. "Yes," I say, realizing he can't see me.
There is silence a moment before I hear a sigh. "Yes, I would like help."
I hesitate, then move over and squat down next to him. "I have to stop the bleeding." I take a quick inventory of myself. I have only my night jumpsuit on. With shocked horror, I realize I don't even have my mask on.
"Don't look at me!" I hiss. It's redundant, no one could see me in this dark anyway, but I am still shocked by my own stupidity. Never, in my whole life, have I ever been so foolish. No one, not even my own parents, has ever seen my face, and now here I am, showing it to a perfect stranger.
The person turns his head, and I have a feeling he's noticed my illegal attire sooner than I did. I can't count on two hands the number of laws I'm breaking right now.
I pull my boots off and slip off my long socks. I'm grateful they are clean and available for such a strange and unusual task.
I tie one end of the socks together and lean toward him.
"Where are you stabbed?"
A hand reaches out to touch mine and I'm momentarily paralyzed. I don't even have my gloves on. What in the stars could I have possibly been thinking?
It's too dark to tell if the person has his own gloves on or not. The touch was so light, I couldn't tell what texture reached out to me. Not that I would know the feel of skin contact.
The hand closes around my clothed wrist and leads me to the side of his body. I swallow anxiously and try to get my hands to stop shaking. I'm terrified, and suddenly all I want is to walk away from this person, go home, and bury my head in my bed. I don't know what I'm doing out here. Foolish doesn't even begin to describe it.
There is something slick and warm under my fingers and I shut my eyes even though I can't see anything in the dark. I feel around the torso under my fingers, marveling at the feeling of touching someone else without my gloves. I secure the socks around him, a makeshift tourniquet, then pull myself away from his side, trying to put distance between us.
"Can you stand?"
"I'll be fine." His voice is thick with pain as he shifts forward and shakily gets to his feet. "Thank you."
I swallow thickly. I don't know what to say. I've been reckless and foolish tonight, and it will be a miracle if no one ever finds out what I've done. Worst case scenario, every one of my movements has been documented and it won't be just me that suffers for it.
I climb to my feet, anxiety creeping up my spine. "Can you get home?" I ask.
"I'll make it."
I nod, hesitating for another moment. The longer I'm outside without my mask, the more terrified I feel. "Okay, I need...I have to go."
"Go. And thank you."
I turn and run back toward my parents' house before the words have fully left his mouth.
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