The Masked World

I love the new rules:
Education, communication, appreciation.

I still don’t have the watch. Even though they told me they’d give it back as soon as I finished my first week of school. Its day 256 and I’ve followed their orders perfectly. I wear my mask every day and I’ve stringed the three words together 511 times, and half-heartedly spoken them twice a day just like they’ve asked.

They told me to hand over the watch at the placement test. Of course I gave it to them, reluctantly but gave it to them none the less; it’s the only thing I have left of my brother. He would be 18 if he'd lived through the last attack. My evaluator has explained it to me one-thousand and one times: “The government wishes to create total equality by taking away distinguishing items. Everyone else has to go though it too, 4-1-4.”

That’s my New Name. 414. The other day in my History class a girl starting screaming at the top of her lungs. I asked her what was wrong quietly and she shrieked back that she couldn’t remember her Past Name. I felt truly bad for her. Other people looked worried as they said letters out loud.

Sometimes my mask itches. A lot of the times I wish I could take it off. But more frequently I am glad that it’s the barrier between harsh judgment and an equal respect. Before the Beauty Movement recognizing inner beauty was a challenge. I can still remember the way people sized me up when I stepped on a bus or didn’t look at my eyes when I spoke. Sometimes I hated those days. But a lot of the time I miss them, especially because these days are more painful.

I’ve never seen his face, but he cried when I told him about my brother’s watch. I don’t know his Past Name. He hasn’t asked me either.
He must tell two people a day, “I love you” just like the rest of us. I’ve been told I am loved by 359 strangers and 43 people I know. There’s really no way of calculating who was sincere though.

He hasn’t told me yet. I don’t blame him, I haven’t told him either. It cuts like a knife. One day I heard him telling another girl that he loved her and I forgot why he was doing it. I hope that when I tell him he will know that’s its more then just a blank mask speaking the bare, mandatory words. I hope he knows that it’s the truest thing I have ever expressed.

I love the new rules.

Miserable Models

I wonder where gorgeous women hide their secrets
That’s one thing I'll never know
Maybe next time I see a beautiful woman

I’ll ask

I’ll ask her if she knows she is beautiful
If she tries everyday to look the way she does
I’ll ask her if she ever trips on the stairs when she exits a bus

Or if she rides the bus

I’ll ask her what she likes to do in her free time
I’ll ask her if she believes in true love
I’ll ask her if she thinks it’s possible to develop beauty over time

Or if you’re just born with it

I’ll ask her why she’s on this street with me
And how exactly she got to this place, at this time
I’ll ask her if life has ever taken her by surprise

Or if she’s simply walked over everyones' heart in her Stilettos

I’ll ask her how she gets her teeth to be so white
And her face to be so flawless
Her voice to be so demanding

And her stride to be so calculated

I’ll ask her how she gets her skin so tan
Her thighs so thin
Her hair to be so luscious and long

And how she looks so confident in this intimidating world

But first I'd ask her:
“What's you’re name?”
“How’re you feeling?”

And “Why do look so sad?”