Photo credit Sarah Whiley
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Every day for the past eight months I stare at my empty mask with a sense of elation. I am no longer its prisoner, no longer its slave. I am free.
Of course, freedom always comes at a price, usually a very high one. After the accident, anyone looking at my face, even if they were kind and never meant to, always registered a certain revulsion. Well, who could blame them? I was absolutely hideous. Wearing the mask was marginally better. I still received their stares, but more out of curiosity. Naturally, I would never have the affection of a woman again, especially since my dearest wife was killed in the accident that made me a monster.
