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I wear a mask.
They call me fat. I morph my mask into a beautiful smile. Inside, their words scrape across my skin and rip apart my lips.
I wear a mask.
They call me short. My mask makes a spontaneous chuckle. Inside, it is hard to breathe.
I wear a mask.
They call me black. I shrug it off. Inside, it just makes me bleed.
I wear a mask.
They call me a prude. I nod with them. Inside, it has slashed my ribs.
I wear a mask.
And so do you.
We are all murderers. With no blood on our hands. Our weapons aren't knives, our weapons aren't daggers.
They are words - reckless, impulsive, unconsidered words. Words that we spin and hurl without a second thought.
We are not society's certified killers. But deep down, beyond masks, beyond barriers, we know we have ripped apart hearts with words.
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Think before you speak. Words kill. Words save.
YOU ARE READING
The Color Of Your Soul (Collection of short stories)
RandomHello there, you bonkers little human. I see that you have reached the end of your voyage. Please confirm the pass code before continuing to the land of magic and mystery. What?! You don't remember it?! How can someone forget something so predictabl...
