They dance as if marionettes, flawless in sync. Without a word but perfection in speak. The checkered floor on which they dance a flawless mirror of light and dark. From here I gaze upon a seamless dance. Empty and cold as the ceramic masks. The ballroom, a dance floor, a prison of pillars. Hidden but obvious I don't belong. Alien to me they dance and chuckle while dancing a ceramic dance.
Torch and bulb illuminate my prison, warding shadow blanketing all in quivering luminescence. From behind I listen to the laughs and gossip. Withou yet frozen in emotion of fear, joy, tears, and anger alike. Forever molded and scribed on ceramic masks. I without, naked in expression, pierced by sharp glances and puncturing points. Unable to shelter in my prison of pillars, attempting to conceal in conversation. Hiding from the ceramic dance.
Before not long a conversation was prospected with a cluster of dissimilar masks. One stood hunched, disfigured maybe. His mask stained yellow, cracked, scorched in patches. His wretched stench radiated of burning and spit. He tugged at attention seemingly forever, never tiring. Another stood tall and slender. Her mask was smooth and pearl. Her words were like a river, drowning away worries from that surrounding. Across her exposed arms geese flapped, flying through her pale flesh. The third was stoic, lacking meaningful words or ornament. His formal attire was broken by the shredded leather exposing iron tips of his boots. When he spoke it was of measurement and time frames, incoherent to I. Together we conversed subjects of random. All directing to each own intent occasionally glancing over at the ceramic dance.
With a attempt to break free, excuse following excuse, a retreat was finally made. A hasteful walk down a wide corridor lined with painting and statue of mask upon mask. All gazing at my naked face. Hateful and targeted. Only broken by the closing of a latrine door. The chamber seemed hollow, unused. Frozen in perfection as if a memory. In this place silence, a breath not stolen, a collection of one's self. Staring into a flat mirror, seeing a reflection starinf back Judgemental. Attempting to engage the golden faucet to no avail, not even a drop to douse my exposed face. Letting my eyes falter and shut, I feel pulsating anxiety and anger start to fill my veins. Fear of the exposure, anger at judgement, it is here in my prison of pillars that I will be forced to watch the ceramic dance.
Sheltered in thoughts although only temporary, not to be broken by the uneasy silence of a panoramic chamber, but the faint crisp sound of bare feet. Surprised by such a innocent sound my gaze shifted sudden. My eyes fell upon a young woman, long golden hair, subtle yet loud blue dress. Her bare feet made a gentle irresistible audible, almost as if intentional art. Stunned and frozen, my eyes feast while my chest beat. She slowly operated the chamber door, gently slipping half way through. Then her gaze met mine, my chest beating, stunned in a unknown state. With a playful giggle she beckoned for I to give chase, without hesitation I obeyed. Her pace was vivid, outpacing my impatient sprint. She flew around corners with ease, leading me back to the ceramic dance.
Arriving at the dance was different than before. Now was a hunt for her. She seemingly disappeared, vanished. Not but a few seconds after my arrival the tugger was at my shoulder, demanding attention. My attempts to avoid and ignore were only in vain. Poking, probing, demanding attention. Fueling a hate, a blissful anger within. Without warning I felt my knuckles cross his cracked mask. I could feel give, popping, rearrangement of my shattered hand. I watched as the hunchback tumbled to the mirror. On his impact his mask split, sending its halfs opposite ways. As if clockwork I felt a weight, looking about all eyes were on me. Motionless and dead, even the most lively now faced. Kneeling over to examine the damage done, a thick black oil oozed from is facedown head. Unusual and off-putting, I flipped him over. Nothing. What should have been a face was a black void leaking tar. Before I had time to examine further hands started grasping, pulling me to the ground. With all my strength I resisted however I was weak in light of the crowd. Enduring stride after strike, stab after stab, all the while she passed through my mind. Through a gap between kicking legs, my last sight, I witnessed her. She looked over her shoulder and let out a playful giggle. Her mast frozen in a playful state. It was over, the ceramic dance had been ended.
I awoke with a start, screaming in terror. Not a moment passed before realization of my location passed. I was in my chambers, darkened and chilled. Holes in the walls, housing exposed insulation and wires. Window shades pulled low to shield my slumber from the full moon light. Wet. Why am I wet? Soaking my blankets and sheets. Reaching for a chain to trigger luminescence, my arms were drenched not in water but blood. With a start I rushed to my latrine, engaging the overhead, turning valves. The water washed away the ambient, exposing cuts. Cuts forming words. Inscribed on my left stood chastity, temperance, charity, diligence, patience, gratitude, humanity. Slowly shifting my gaze to my right, I noticed misaligned knuckles. Words also inscribed; lust, gluttony, greed, sloth, wrath, envy, pride. The wounds all still fresh and leaking fresh blood. In terror I rested my fingertips on my face. It felt smooth, cold, lifeless. Looking up into the glass, I witnessed my face. I had none, replaced instead by a ceramic mask.
