Masque – Prompt Nights A Dash of Sunny

Jean-Léon_Gérôme_-_The_Duel_After_the_Masquerade_-_Walters_3751

The Duel After the Masquerade – Jean-Leon Gerome

 

jewels, there are

of all hues, brilliances and luminosities

the world cannot see them,

hidden in plain sight

behind my facade.

i like it that way,

i like that convention (one that i have created)

creates the masquerade

of normality.

jewels, there are,

meant to be hidden,

meant to be mystery,

revealed only to those who i choose.

and even then, do they see me as i am?


 

This week, over on A Dash of Sunny, we are asked to write on the hidden realm… what an enormous number of possibilities that offers! I chose to write on what lies behind the mask we all present to the world day in, day out. How can anyone really know who we are, anyone at all?

Please do head on over to A Dash of Sunny to find out how others have interpreted this prompt – or take part!

 

Smoke & Mirrors

fear-8

I had this system for getting exactly what I wanted out of people. Oh, I’m not proud of it as such, but I admit, it was very, very effective.

You see, I’m an articulate woman. Well-educated, well-informed, well-adjusted. At least, that’s what people see, what I allow people to see. If they get too close to finding out what lies beneath that carefully crafted veneer – because it is, after all, paper-thin – then, I turn it on. The system. Works every, damn time.

Jonathan. He was the last one. he was skating on thin ice – that’s all I can say. All I will say, to the likes of you at least. He got too close. I’ve standards to keep up, an image to protect, my whole bloody life to keep on track. You know, a mortgage, a car, an exotic holiday I bloody well deserve. Do you know how difficult it is to keep this up, day in, day out?

The last straw was the lemon sherbert that melted all over the counter. Jonathan swore, jumped up as if he’d had a bucket of water thrown all over him and grabbed me, to make me look at the sweet, sticky mess dripping all over his new briefcase..

“Damn it all, Sophie! Do you know how much that cost? Look, look at the label. Just tell me you don’t know how expensive those things are. Bloody limited edition as well!”

He shoved a receipt in my face. “Read. It.” Menacing wasn’t the word. The paper was rich, creamy, watermarked. It literally smelled of money, that I could tell. But decipher the hieroglyphics handwritten in elegant copperplate? No. Not my bag.

I’d rather die than admit I can’t read, and watch my world crumble at my feet.

So, I cried. Like a baby. Got him to feel sorry for me, hold me close, comfort me, apologise..

And then I killed him.

I’d rather he die, than let the world know my guilty little secret.