Just a short story about myself. Pretty self explanitory. Azrixaris is (C) to me... Yada yada yada, so on and so forth. I was working with a different writing style. Anyway, here is more of my petty rambling, a short story called "The Mask She Wears"
A small, yet deep sigh escaped her pale, thin lips as she put a cold hand to her forehead. Her pitch black hair cascading down her shoulders as she leaned her elbows on her knees, slightly trembling from god knows what. There it was again, the throb of loneliness and pain, hatred, fear. Her green eyes fluttered open as she shrugged off her feelings, sitting straight as she pushed her dark hair behind her ears. A smile graced her lips, a fake smile, belying the things that nobody ever saw within her, hiding the true beast behind a wall of stone, steel, and ice. Even though she smiled, her eyes glared. Her smile told of the friendly outer shell that she wore, but her eyes reminded her peers of a demon, a beast. Narrowed, cold, unforgiving, all-knowing green eyes that pulsed with their own life.
Sometimes, when she closed her eyes, she could see things that she wanted to see. The genuine smiles, the open arms, the words of encouragement. But when those emerald orbs opened, she saw truth. The deceiving grins, the hateful stares, the whispered words of nothingness that were spoken behind her back. For a brief second, her fake smile faltered and her eyebrows furrowed, her happy, carefree mask falling from her pale features.
Death itself showed in her high cheekbones, the alabaster flesh that clung desperately to her bones, the deep forest green of her fire-wielding eyes, the taught, thin line of her unforgiving frown.
And just as quickly, she put the mask back on, another smile playing on her lips. I can’t let them see me. I can’t let them see Azrixaris. They can’t know who I am. What I am. They can’t. She repeated over and over, reminding herself that she was Ariel now. Nobody was allowed to know, much less, see the beast, the monster, that lay dormant in her mind, her very soul.
She stood, still shaky from her fear of herself. She was always told to be herself when meeting new people. She was always told to behave. The two simple commands contradicted themselves. How could a monster behave? How could she be herself and cling desperately to sanity at the same time? If she were to ‘be herself’ she would scare everyone away with her threats, her actions, her ramblings of a life once lived. Then accusations would soon follow and as would the guilt, the fear of secrets escaped from an unbidden utterance.
She clenched her hands, her knuckles turning white as another memory flitted just outside of her reach. Just outside her mask. She dug her chewed, ugly nails into her sweaty palms, the force enough to break skin, but the lack of the nails prohibited the drawing of crimson hatred and anger.
She blinked slowly, her hands relaxing just enough to still be on guard, yet still be unnoticeably tense as she faked her calm demeanor. Nobody would ever see through her stone mask, melt her frozen and blackened heart. Nobody would ever know who she really was, underneath her black layers of clothing, under her pale flesh, beneath those twin flaming eyes of emerald, past the faked, exaggerated smile that she forced herself to wear. Nobody would know Azrixaris. Nobody would know her. Nobody ever did. As it should, and always will be.
