Masking Grief Novels & Stories

The woman sat him in the chair that was there. The woman stood in front of him and smiled. The remnants of its natural redness can be seen. "Who are you? Who are you? Why do you wear masks and all your colleagues? Why?" he asks holding his fear. He wants to clarify something. "Well, it's for hiding our personality." He laughed. He doesn't satisfied with his answer. " Really?"

Noah, a steadfast presence in her life, visited regularly, trying earnestly to coax her out of the suffocating blanket of sadness that enveloped her. Sara, to find a mask of normalcy, resumed her work routine, though the weight of her loss continued to burden her heart. Her eyes bore the weight of endless nights spent in tears, but she pushed herself forward, seeking refuge in the daily grind, masking her grief behind a mask of soundness.

They kept on asking me if I am doing okay and if I probably cry, they will just surely tell me that everything will be fine or try to stop me from crying even more. But Ford says different words. "It's okay to feel sad and hurt about it. It's okay not to be okay for a while. It's okay to cry hard if you feel like crying. You don't have to keep saying you are okay, Kate. While you have that feelings inside you, it's okay to dwell on it for a while. Let yourself mourn and be sad, Kate. Grasp it fully until the feelings itself will help you move forward."

"Do you take this woman to be your wife, to stand by her through thick and thin?" "I do," the man said, his voice muffled by the mask. The guests whispered in awe. Howard Larson, the Larson family's big shot, was so in love with me that he would not let a bad cold stop our big day. He did not want to disappoint me. "Wait a second." The man's eyes darted around, and his forehead was dotted with sweat. I smiled and asked, "Howard, you're looking a bit pale. Too busy with the wedding to remember your medicine?"

I looked at my girls and wore the mask again after years of hiding it in our closet. “Mommy it fits you!” Chelsey pointed the mirror to my side. I smiled at the girl in the mirror before looking back at my family. “Guys, let me tell you a story of a girl behind the mask.” The end. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ Ethan and Jessy's story is now out! Just search My little secrets...

My fingers fumbled with it, frustration boiling over as I tried to get the knot right. “Dammit,” I muttered under my breath. I stared at myself in the mirror, the reflection of a man who barely looked like himself. Dark circles under my eyes, shoulders stiff, jaw clenched. Marcus would’ve laughed if he saw me struggling with a tie. He always tied mine for me when we were younger. I squeezed my eyes shut. I couldn’t do this. But I had to. The funeral home was packed, but it didn’t feel personal. The air was thick with hushed voices, polite condolences, the quiet shuffling of feet. A deep, suffocating kind of grief hung over the room, but it wasn’t the kind that came from losing someone close.

The atmosphere was heavy with grief, each mourner wearing their sorrow like a cloak. As I walked toward my parents, their eyes met mine, revealing the depth of their pain. My mother's eyes, once vibrant and filled with love, now held a profound sadness. Her face, etched with lines of worry, displayed the weight of a mother's loss. My father, usually composed and strong, seemed to have aged overnight. The grief had etched itself upon his features, casting a shadow over his usual resilience.

Coming back and making a change, channeling their grief into something that the ones we lost would be absolutely proud of. With that, and one last smile at the mirror, I left the mirror and decided to start my day on a happy note. I was going to make the most of the one week I Gad decided to wait for him for, and if he was not here by then, I would leave and start to achieve my dreams, one after the other. It would hurt, and maybe I would end up coming back to him, but well, until then. I finally pushed to go out today. I had gotten a pretty ass face mask online and I planned to wear it out with a fringe wing I had gotten as well. Hopefully, there was no drama today.

I'd do anything if she'd only asked it of me. It was easier being mad than being sad. My grief took me by the throat and choked me for some days. At least if I covered it with a harsher emotion, it didn't sting as badly. I could feel vindicated in it, even if it was unfair to everyone in the end. Directing my anger inward helped if only to starve off the inevitable loneliness that had grown inside of my chest. I'd have to face it eventually—that part of the grief over a life that I wanted desperately but couldn't have would have to come. But facing it… I couldn't.

Isa is just another nobody that doesn’t care if I die tomorrow. And those two corpses, oh how I miss them out of nothing. Why? Why am I grieving for you? Why do I care? Grief is like a ball in a mason jar filled with a single ping-pong ball. All this time, a fourth-dimensional hand keeps on shaking this jar, and every time the ball hits the glass walls of the jar it hurts. It fucking hurts so much. Why am I allowed to hurt?