The Normals | ✓

T W E N T Y - S E V E N

I don't recognize the face in the mirror.

At first, I think that the mirror isn't actually a mirror, but a window. That can't be me. It can't. But I move my hand, and the hand in the mirror moves back. I run my fingers through my hair, matted and dirty from not being washed properly, and the person behind the glass does it too.

But that isn't me. Maybe I've been transported into someone else's body?

I squeeze my eyes shut and try to think of something only I would know. The first things that come to mind are the words Sniper said to me when he was dying on the train. It makes me tear up.

Remembering the sketchbook Captain retrieved for me, I search the room for it and find it on a sparse shelf attached to the wall. I'm not in my old room, and I have no idea how long I've been here for.

I go back to the mirror.

Wiping my eyes, I stare at what must be my face, trying not to look away and run screaming down the hall. I probably couldn't even if I tried -- I'm guessing my door's locked. My hair is still intact, although most of it is pulled into a bun and I think it's been cut. My hand strays to my sleeve, pulling it away to find the wound in my shoulder. It throbs faintly, but the only indication of it is a patch about the size of my hand covering where it should be. I check my leg. Healing faster than I thought. Most of my skin is fine too, as well as my limbs and body. Cleared of scars and scratches, injuries and imperfections.

But it's not my cuts that scare me. It's my face.

My eyes are green.

There's a pulsing shape etched into my skin. An upside-down triangle.

Maybe this is some kind of nightmare. Have I tried pinching myself really hard yet? I try now, hurting myself so badly that I leave a mark. I'm still here, though. With my green eyes and branded face.

After a moment, I give in and tear my eyes away. They're watering again, but I don't want to touch them. Green eyes like this are the sign of the enemy, the people caging me in. I'm not the enemy. I can't be the enemy.

I sit down on the end of my bed, trying to catch my breath. I have no idea what happened since Arden and I were on the ship and I have no idea where he is now. I just hope he's okay. He was always difficult, but he helped me when I don't think many others would. He defended me, even though it's cost him his entire future.

A glint of white catches my eye from across the room. It's sitting on the desk pushed into a corner, a pile of clothes covering most of it. I hadn't noticed it before.

My head swims as I get up. How long has it been since I've eaten? Exercised? Walking over to the desk, I sort through the clothes first, finding they all look pretty much the same as the ones I wore on the plane -- and am still wearing now. Pushing them aside, I dig the white thing out from underneath.

My heart sinks.

It's a mask. White, rigid material in the form of my face, two holes for the eyes, one for the mouth. My hands shake as I pick it up. This must be my punishment for running away. I was hoping that maybe the green eyes and the branding were a coincidence, that maybe they are sometimes given to people like me, but now that the mask sits in my hands I know it is meant to be here. And I know that this is no coincidence.

They've made me a Mask.

This time I do try to run screaming down the hall, but as I thought, the door is locked. I hit the door, yelling for someone to let me out, but I get no reply. Looking around the room, I find a small hairpin that I could maybe use to unlock it from the inside. I bend it into a somewhat useful shape and take it to the door.

After several unsuccessful tries at picking the lock, I throw the pin across the room in anger and slam my shoulder into the door. "Let me out!" I yell. "I know there's at least one person who can hear me! Let me out!"

No one answers though, so I pick up my desk chair and hurl it at the door. It makes a dent in the door and breaks a leg off the chair, so I take the leg and start hacking away at the lock. It starts cracking, so I hit it as hard as I can, throwing my arm back and bringing the chair leg down with as much force as possible. I don't care that splitters of the chair are digging into my palm. I don't care if people can hear me. I feel like the walls are pressing in on me, like the carpet is going to swallow me whole, like I'm going to suck up all the air in the room and end up choking on the ground.

And somehow, I do find myself one the ground. But I'm not choking. There's a part-painful, part-numbing sensation at the back of my neck, spreading throughout my body. It keeps me from getting up, from crying out. All I can do is writhe around on the floor, digging my fingers into my palms and most likely pushing the pieces of plastic from the chair further into my skin.

There's a thud at the door and I try to yell, but nothing comes out of my mouth. Another thud, and the door handle jiggles. Someone's there. I try yelling again, but it's like someone's pressed a mute button on my voice. I can't speak at all, despite air passing just fine through my body.

The painful numbing feeling strengthens, to the point where it's more pain than numbness. Against my will to fight, I curl up into a ball on the floor, hoping it will just end. My neck feels vulnerable -- it always has -- and the fact that the pain is coming from there and I don't know why makes it even worse.

The door handle jiggles again, harder this time, and the door gives in and swings open with a whine. Standing in the door frame is a Mask, and I regret wanting their help.

"Leave me alone," I try to say, "I'd rather die than become like you."

But no sounds come out.

The Mask says something, looking over his shoulder at someone in the hall, and the pain intensifies. My vision spots and my head blurs in and out of consciousness, before finally slipping into darkness.