The Voice Without A Face

Of course she knew she’d done wrong. She stood there, the sun was barley making its way up and it struggled with every passing second to do so. There she was, standing in her ripped clothes. White fabric, so clean and untouched by earth, she was smooth and quick. There was no room for mistakes, she couldn’t bare to leave another mark. The wind chilled her porcelain face and her black hair hung close to her beaten cheeks. She tied her hair back as best she could but her duty was less about looking good and more about being hidden, disguised. She moved like none had ever seen. She defied the laws of gravity, she was lost in her own self. She had driven past what they said was the limit. There were no limits, she was constantly pushing the barrier forward making it impossible to stop. There were no other options, this is what she had...this is what she knew and this was what she was born to love. Forced into it before she was old enough to realize what had taken over her. There wasn’t any real hope for her now, she was a tool, a way into a better life and a bridge to a healthy beginning. At a young age she was trained to blend in with the sky and dust, she was there when you thought you were alone. She knew they’re every move, she was trained to be God. She breathed the fears of her peasants and she bled the deaths of her elders. She was sick, sucked into a life that was not hers. Hidden by her clothes, she was presented not as female, an embarrassment. a women made to do a mans job, to protect and murder, a murderer she was. A filthy killer of the mind and soul, she had power and she was trained not to abuse it. She loved to abuse the power she had, to manipulate others and twists them in all different ways...she loved the pain she forced onto them and how she had another life in her hands. Release of pressure would force air back into their crushed lungs or swift movement could stop the bleeding from their necks, if only she cared to give second chances. Where was her second chance? She was a prisoner in a body, she lived in her mind. Everything she looked at or felt was fake, the people she saw and heard, how she felt love for the first time...she was fake, unreal.. Other copies of her, male none the less, were real soldiers, real fighters, real killers to the rest. She had no home, only the dirt floor to keep her warm, no friend was close enough to whisper to, to hold or share with. She was with herself until her own regrets and mistakes ate the last of her insides and she bled to death from the guilt in her chest. The moon and sun that covered the warm sky spoke softly every morning and let its words drift away once evening came. Watching them in disgust, she had to accept that she was of them. A hope for them that they didn’t and wouldn’t ever know, she was like the rest and she walked with ease through crowds like a ghost through walls. When would it end, her pain that she bares every day? She lives until her heart stops from the enemy that surrounds her. She surrounds her. Maybe if she let go, maybe if she didn’t think of it or if she stopped caring. She wouldn’t have regrets or hopes and she wouldn’t have to feel like she does. She would stop feeling like they do. Numb, a numb creature she could be, if only she had the strength to give up. Crying out to anyone that would listen, she begged the takers for advise but blank minds would stain the dessert sand red. Laying down her weapon she held onto like air in her lungs she prayed for another life one day, another way out of the life she lived so endlessly. Like a dream that wouldn’t stop, her days would go on. She had no choice, she started to love the only choice she had. She would do it, she would...she would give up and live like none do. She would watch them not live. That dagger looked so sweet as it lay there, she wanted a taste of the sugar that lay on its thin blade. Her tongue gently slides over the knife, feeling the cold metal, letting it wash over her...her blood is all the sweet she needs. She lets it fill her mouth and take over her senses. Encouraging her deep cut to bleed, her teeth apply pressure and it spills faster. Her lips colored red now and her white face stained from her self. A nice swift movement and it would all be over. She was trained to take her own life and live with the others she has taken. She places the blade at her chest, shaky hands tell her she’s a fake but she’s lying to herself; she knows the truth. She presses harder feeling the sharp point of the knife explore the surface of her skin. Another wound, the color she hoped for runs down, painting everything it its way. A little harder now...
Her full eyes of hopes and screams spill out into the sky she looks at as she lays there wishing for another chance. She knows it’s coming, she’s getting colder and her hands turn blue. Before her world gets darker and more faint she remembers the words of her fathers. The words she holds so close to her own heart they help it beat. It’s over now, everything she has hoped for and her last words she forces out of her numb lungs loosen its grip on her heart and she whispers to the air around her...”life gives no warmth to dreamers”.