All Around Me Are Worn Out Faces Novels & Stories

Her face was— I squeezed my eyes shut. Her face was destroyed. Blood everywhere. Across her cheekbone, her jaw, her temple, matted dark into her blonde hair that was spread across the marble around her head like a halo. Her breathing was audible from across the room — shallow, wet, labored. Every inhale sounded like it cost her something she couldn't afford to keep spending. Her eyes had been open when they brought her in, finding mine immediately with an expression that gutted me — not fear, not even pain, just a terrible exhausted apology.

Thirteen years of excluding a people from what was going on within the realms, yet we were heading into that land out of curiosity. As the town finally came into view, Clara slowed down the car. I frowned at the windshield, unhappy with what I was seeing. It was as if I went back in time to the old Juman pack, except with cracked roads, houses leaning tiredly into themselves. The people moved slowly, faces hard, eyes intent on their businesses. There was no life at all here. No joy, but exhaustion and frustration. The bad atmosphere was thick enough to crack glass. “Dear goddess of hope,” I muttered.

I must have looked a sight — haggard and worn, dark circles etched beneath my eyes, the weariness of sleepless nights etched upon my face. Despite my appearance, I squared my shoulders and met the owner's gaze head-on, refusing to let my weariness betray the fragile facade of strength I clung to. All I wanted was to escape into the sanctuary of sleep, to surrender to its soothing embrace and forget, even for a fleeting moment, the chaos that had consumed my life.

My eyes were bloodshot, the skin around them swollen and raw, red-rimmed from the endless crying. The dirt from the Tundra was smeared across my forehead like war paint, streaked with tear tracks that carved clean paths through the grime. My lips were trembling, my face a mask of utter devastation, puffy, blotchy, broken. I looked like a woman who had lost everything, because I had. I turned the gold tap, splashing freezing water onto my face until my skin felt numb, the cold shock doing little to soothe the ache inside. I straightened my coat with shaking hands, the fabric heavy and damp.

Every step, every inquiry, every glance has ended in frustration. As the night wears on, exhaustion claws at my eyelids, but I push on, driven by desperation. Still, the streets remain silent; the faces I pass are unrecognisable. The cold seeps into my bones, and I feel hollow, drained of hope. Finding nothing has left me feeling lost, like a part of me is missing. I trudge on, fueled by the faintest glimmer of possibility, but it's fading fast. Morning came slowly, my men tiredly walked towards me, “Boss,” they called.

I finally got to the end of the stairs and back to the ground floor where I had been last night. “You’re up early.” I let out a small scream and turned around. All five of them were standing there again. Now, I could see their faces properly. They didn't look a day older than thirty. And they all looked like photocopies of each other. “What in the world?” “What is it? Do I have something on my face? I dressed up in the dark today." “No, it's not that. You look like the same person and you're all wearing the same clothes and the same hair and-"

Eager for love, attention, affection. I looked around the place. There weren’t all the conveniences of modern technology that made everyday life easier. The playground was muddy, there were pebbles all over the place, and the place simply looked deserted. Children ran around with their dirty faces and worn out clothes and yet they were laughing.

Maybe part of me was too afraid to know the truth. Then I remembered the mirror—the moment he made me face my reflection. I couldn’t even recognize the woman staring back. My face… my beauty… gone. The once flawless skin now looked pale and dull, faint wrinkles around my eyes, dark circles that hollowed my features. I looked older, worn out. This wasn’t the face of a twenty-three-year-old woman. It wasn’t me. And even now, I couldn't bring myself to look at a mirror again, afraid of what I'll see.

I didn't say anything because I didn't need them, Grandfather always gave me money for daily expenses, and look what happened. My hopes vanish when I see the huge mark the blow left on my face. His fingerprints are also visible on my cheeks. I have no friends to turn to. My head hurts terribly; when I touch the back, I feel several tender bumps. I break down crying uncontrollably, feeling like the most miserable woman in the universe.

I got up from the bay window seat to go to the washroom to wash my face. As I saw my face, I cringed internally. I had sore red eyes due to all the crying. My face looks dull. All the light that I had has been gone. I could not even recognise myself anymore. It is like someone had replaced me. Before, no matter how sad I was, there always was a light, a spark in my eyes, as I always had hoped. But now having all hope gone, there was not light or spark there in my eyes.