All Around Me Are Worn Out Faces Novels & Stories

The meal I had a few days ago but never finished. I stared at my reflection in the mirror and I saw how shabby I looked. My hair, usually styled with care, resembled a tangled bird's nest at that very moment. My red-rimmed eyes, puffy and raw from crying, stared back from the mirror. My once vibrant face was pale and drawn, etched with the lines of sorrow. Dark circles were beneath my eyes and spoke of sleepless nights spent wrestling with grief. My scrub, stiff with dried tears and grime, reeked of a salty sorrow. A foul odor hung heavy in the air, a combination of the unwashed cloth, my unwashed body, and the general neglect of the room.

Let the water wash my troubles away. “You about done in there?” Andrew hollers, snapping me back to the harsh reality of my circumstances. I turn off the water, dry myself, and slip on the tiny uniform left for me. Wiping the fog from the mirror, I look at myself for the first time in months, and I barely recognize the face staring back at me.

“Where is your Luna?” A young warrior steps forward, his face pale and eyes lined with deep dark circles. His eyes are bloodshot and body slack with exhaustion. Some of the fury tightening my shoulders lessens as I look from man to man, noticing the wear and tear on their bodies and behind their eyes. I see fear there. Fear, and nothing else.

“— I won’t be surprised if they are dog-tired.” She continued saying as though nothing happened. At this point, the group could also properly see them and now that they could see them clearly, they could not help but notice how the Graes’ faces were withered and sagging almost like a melted mask. At the same time, their hair which was raised atop their head moments ago, was now relaxed and looking like dirty straw.

The warmth soothed my aching body and gave me something close to comfort. After some time, I stepped out with a towel wrapped around me. I stood in front of the mirror and wiped the water from my skin carefully. My reflection looked pale and tired. The dark circles under my eyes were more obvious than usual, and my face lacked its usual glow. For a second, I wondered if anyone would notice or care. Then I shook the thought away and began to dress.

Don't want anybody knowing. After I finished, I stood and looked at myself in the mirror. My green-blue eyes hold no life; they are dull, lifeless, with no shine in them whatsoever. They used to be so bright, full of life and happiness, but now they are dead; there is nothing in them, and they look so empty. My face is too thin and pale from the little food and dehydration. My clothes are too big and baggy because I'm too thin. Overall I'm not the most appealing to look at.

The sick, the elderly, the women and children—they shuffled over and wiped at the blood on my leathers, cleaning my clothes, my face, with handkerchiefs and tears. And at the tips of all their tongues was one word. “Luna…”

I say, and the word sits right. We come in quietly again, with just the grind of tires over our own gravel and the way the pack straightens as the gates swing wide. People pour out of doorways and off porches without thinking, warriors I’ve watched grow up, Omegas who’ve fed me more than I deserve and kids who want to hear how many went out, and how many came back. “Faces,” I tell Allie. “Then food and bed.” “In that order,” she says, and kisses my jaw in front of everybody because she figured out a long time ago that pretending we’re not human is how bad men keep their jobs.

"I can't walk away. I thought I could, but I can't." Rachel looked so sad as she considered my face. I wondered how I looked to her. I knew when I saw myself in the mirror I saw a man who was haunted by too many demons. Sleep came to me rarely. Deep circles ringed my eyes to emphasize the exhaustion which kept me constant company. Stress lines aged my face around my tired eyes and grim mouth. Even my skin seemed an unhealthy sallow shade rather than its usual tan. "You never had a problem keeping your distance before. What's changed?"