Faceless

Alone at night, one man will wander into the arms of despair. In his final moments he will be judged by the reflections of his past, what will he find?

FACELESS

By

Louis M. Warde

            In the shroud of night, soaked in the moons ghostly luminescence, a man sat on his porch. The cool air tingling his nostrils as the breeze gently tumbled by, rustling leaves in a peaceful symphony of life. Blades of grass leaned over damp ground, dew drops slowly finding their way to dirt in a pilgrimage unnoticed even by the eyes the of the fowl creatures in the dark, unconsidered by the people of the world. He sat with his eyes closed, taking in the sedating aroma of the freshly fed lawn. His robe trapping a frail bubble of warmth beneath its thick fabric. It was a full moon on this night. Clouds passed hastily over the sky, but the moon looked on, watching calmly over a sublimely slumbering world and all the creatures beneath its inviting blanket of darkness.

            All creatures and insects and fowl were fast asleep this night, except for the man on his porch. He sat, eyes closed, head to the sky, reflecting for the first time of his thirty three year vagrancy through a world of wondrous sights, and empty nights; a world of parties, and prostitutes, of powers and poison, of happiness and goodness as well. No such moments mattered to him but the transgressions he'd committed himself in this moment. He sat silently, unsure of what brought him here to this thought as he watched memories play out in his mind.

            Inside his humble abode was a wife and a daughter safely asleep in their beds. Each gentle mind unaware of the past behind the father who sat on the porch. They'd come to know a gentle, honest man, whose devotion was matched by no other. But in truth, his lies were masterfully crafted, honed by years of practice and application devoted to hiding the man within his soul. A liar, a cheater, a thief. A man best described as a villain. They'd been fooled by a master deceiver, through no fault of their own. His talent was perfect and carefully refined. But such years had left him afraid of finally realizing he'd covered his heart for so long, even to himself it was unknown.

            The winds gusted for a moment, swelling the sounds of the nights lullaby. A curl of air grazed his whiskered cheek as if to call his attention. His eyelids parting autonomously, entranced by the gales cool embrace. The lawn glistened like a reflection of the stars in the sky, twinkling as the grass swayed. Such beauty around him, ignored for so long, but now a magic he couldn't deny.

            He heard on the wind, a whisper. A sweet call like a fantasy or dream. In his mind it swirled and lingered, begging his muscles to depart for a spell. The orb of the night seemed to cast a finger of light down the street, like a guide ushering a fool to his fate. His body moved on its own. His mind was in a haze, he thought only of the voice which beckoned him to come thither. It was too sweet to be wrong, to nice to be immoral, thence he thought no more, convinced his body knew best. He moved through the streets like a phantom floating fast towards destiny, too enmeshed to be bewitched to even lose his breath. So anxious, his heart was impatient, eager for pleasure he expected tonight. His molten heart poured more wholly with each step into the mold of his immoral convictions.

            The song of the siren grew louder, as he came to a hill surrounded by graves. But at the crest of the mound he was left there alone in the dark, with a chill, and a little afraid. A tree stood beside him, old and bare, keeping watch over the cemetery. He'd no idea how he'd got there, in a place only fools would have stayed. The last thing that he could remember was the twinkling of the dew on the grass. Then suddenly a scent flushed in his nostrils of every fantasy he'd had in the past. But he wondered how it lead him to a graveyard. And then came a voice from behind him that sounded like a demon from hell.

            “A fool you have been, wretched man of evil and sin. You come willingly to the place of your grave. I gave you one final hour to break from your cower. Now I no longer give stay of my blade.”

            He turned in a fright, to see a creature silhouetted by the silver light of the moon. A body hidden beneath a tattered brown robe lifted its arms. It raised up a great scythe high into the sky. A blade rusted and old, with dried blood filling the nicks in the edge glistened as it raised ever higher. Its eyes he couldn't see, but the man certainly felt. As thought judging his final moments.

            “Wait, please don't kill me. I've a wife and daughter who count on me to put food on their plates!”

            The demon stopped for a moment, as though suddenly frozen in time. Then it lowered its blade and moved toward him. It stood only inches before him, though nearly a foot more in height. As his eyes adjusted to the darkness, he began to make out features from the light. There beneath robes stood a phantom, a creature neither living nor dead. Spoke about in tales of old, the keeper of life and of death. His head was not as the man thought, not a skeleton like in all the tales. He saw a skull with no sockets, no cheekbones above a perfect, almost sculpted jaw. It shined translucent like frosted crystal, and glittered like moonstone as well. In place of its eyes and its sockets, a thousand tiny mirrors reflected back at any who gaze beneath the frayed, filthy hood.

            “Look upon me foolish man. See what things you have done.”

            Already, his eyes bounced from pane to pane, examining every counter part. Every second it lasted more nerves of his frayed. Each reflection stared sharply at him, scrutinizing all the moments of his life. Adding himself and the decisions he's made into the man that he had become. His eyes stuck at one pane, in an instant he was thrust to the past. Visions of memories so distant. Things he'd forgotten now played like a film, crisp and new. A man sitting proud at a desk, a nice young girl across. A devious smile on his face, with lewd thoughts spurred by the girl's gorgeous face. Imagination alone would prove insufficient for his carnal desires.

            In another pane he saw a phone booth, glowing as a beacon beneath a lone street light on an otherwise unlit road. The door was slightly ajar, and chatter seeped through the open spaces, echoing off the road and walls. There stood the man. Alone in the dark. Sweaty palms tugged the bottom of an expensive suit. He licked his lips in anticipation for what he was to do. Nausea crept into his stomach as he stepped into the light, pulling at his inside pocket, he approached the booth. A small, round man stood with the phone receiver pressed against his cheek. He wiggled and shouted profanities into the mouth piece, scolding whoever was on the other end of the line.

            The man stood inches from the glass, pulling a pistol from beneath his coat. Sweat dripped into his eyes. He straightened his arm and pulled back the hammer. He squeezed on the trigger. His mind went blank as the blood painted the glass and he dropped the gun, running away.

            He fell to his knees before the devil, tears tumbling down his cheeks. He knew now that his demons had come calling. Every reflection showed only evil acts from his past. So little good that he'd done was easily drowned by a history filled with sin and deceit.

            “For the crimes that you've done, your soul is forfeit.”

            With scythe still raised high, he felt the demon's timeless gaze. His thoughts raced of things he could say to justify sparing his life. For once in his life he knew the evil he'd committed and felt bad for the people he'd wronged. For all the families he'd parted, all the children he'd orphaned, how could he beg for his own life?

            “Demon, I know I don't deserve it, but can you grant me one favor before you send me on my way?”

            The demon stood for a moment and lowered the blade.

            “Speak now, and speak carefully, for these words will be your last.”

            On his knees, the man hung his head. Tears glittered in the moonlight as they dripped into the dirt.

            “I can't erase the things that I have done, but if you could for me, erase that I have existed for my wife and my child. Let them forget the man they thought they knew, who never existed at all. If you know of a way, please find for them a man worthy of being with them. They were the only good that I had in my heart. Their love, to see their smiles in the morning, they were the only reason I had to stay alive. But the things I have done are evil, and I've yet to be punished for my sins.” He sniffed before he continued. “So when I am gone, demon, don't let them suffer because of me. If even an evil man can have one wish, mine would be that they live happily for the rest of their days.” The man wiped tears from his eyes, then fell silent.

            “Is this your final desire?” Asked the dark figure, raising the blade once more.

            “It,” he paused, fear clutching his throat “It is.”

            “Now you go before God, that you may be judged.”

            No sound was made as the blade cut cleanly through the night. The man closed his eyes, doing what he could to prepare himself before going to an endless torture. When his eyes opened, he looked up from his back to the smooth surface of his bedroom ceiling. His heart overwhelmed, he was home, and very much alive. The Sun's love poured in through tiny holes in curtains which covered the blinds of their window. He'd found the darkness in his heart, and saw that it was wrong. Now his lungs were filled with the air of one final chance to redeem himself. Tears poured from his face as his wife stirred from slumber. Pulling him to her bosom she held him as he sobbed. She wouldn't ask him, no matter how she worried. She trusted him to tell her when he was ready.

            He lived out his life cleaned of his sins, but never forgetting. Never again did he waver from the convictions he discovered that night. He would live a life full of love. A life as far from evil as he could, that he may stand at the end, proud of his victory over the darkest parts of his soul, never becoming lost in that sin again. He still never knew, if that night at the grave, was dream or otherwise, but he knew it was his chance to find grace. Granted freedom as he looked into the faceless gaze of Death.

Thank you for reading, I hope you enjoyed the story!

Author's Note

A short story that kept running through my head. I couldn't quite grasp the concept a couple times and this is actually the product of a rewrite, but such is the world of writing. Thank you to all who read this. Enjoy!

Reviews

[pope]

this is such a great story ! good job and keep up the hard work

[L.M.Warde]

Thank you! It's always an honor to hear from the pope! thanks for the review!