Everything's gone wrong.
Tim Verdidan stands among his townsmen and women, surrounded in a sea of eager, waiting bodies focused on the display before them. They've been there for some time now, having been informed of the eye-opening event the day before. Sun beating down on them, a breeze blowing in the mid-summer air, everyone waits in hushed whispers, knowing that the day promises excitement they haven't felt in oh-so-long. And of course, they're not willing to pass that up, not when they've been starved for it for as long as they can remember.
Tim himself stares up at the gallows, his heart sinking to his toes—only to rise again, a feigned indifference washing over him as he stares up at his son's face.
His son, who's about to be hanged for treason.
How did this happen? He asks, biting his tongue to keep from asking aloud. No need to make himself look as crazy as his son. Why did it have to come to this?
...Is this my fault?
His questions are left with no answers.
Ynk's eyes are dull, blank stare focused on the boards beneath his feet. His clothes are torn and covered in dirt and blood, Tim's heart twisting at the sight before his Face once again forces the feeling down. He can't even imagine what his son has been through.
The boy glances up briefly, only once or twice, to the sea of people in front of him, and Tim catches his gaze. The world seems to stop as they stare at each other, a moment between father-and-son that is only interrupted when—
—the boy smiles.
Tim drops his gaze, his shoulders shaking. His gaze pierces the ground, unable to meet that soft, loving expression again.
For a moment, Tim thinks he's going to cry. I don't deserve that boy, he thinks. He doesn't deserve this.
But the tears don't come, nor does the swelling in his chest. He hasn't had an urge to cry since he was a boy—and, as the thought crosses his mind, he wonders why he wants to cry at all.
Why should he, when this is normal punishment for those who go against the Order?
Just as he thinks this, a member of the Order steps up, a woman with strawberry blond hair and hardened grey eyes, climbing the stairs to the gallows and addressing the crowd. She stands tall and proud for all to see, addressing them all with a sweeping gaze. She doesn't wear a mask—but then again, no members of the Order do. She's well dressed for the occasion, even wearing makeup, which is a rarity nowadays.
The woman doesn't dare block anyone's view of Ynk, who's smile drops upon seeing the official. Instead, his expression twists into one of distaste, almost anger, and it's this change—and not the fact that his son has committed a crime—that confuses Tim even more.
Because he knows his son doesn't hate. In fact, he's guilty to admit that he knows his son to be a very caring young boy despite wearing his mask, given the many times the boy's eagerness to learn and experience gave him away. He hadn't bothered to do anything about it before, thinking that by indulging his boy's wants, Ynk's Face would eventually catch up to speed with everyone else's.
And now, he regrets that choice more than anything else. He can't help but think he's failed as a father.
Still, he wonders how it came to this. How did it come to this?
"Ladies and gentleman," the woman says, waving a hand in the air.
The crowd falls silent at once, all attention on her.
YOU ARE READING
FACELESS
General Fiction[Originally written in 2017 for an assignment; expanded and reworked overtime, though eventually I decided this was as far as I was going to go with it. Hope you like it!] As is customary when one reaches twelve years of age, the Order has manufactu...
