In a peculiar realm in what seemed to be a sort of eternal limbo, far off from any layer of reality you and I could comprehend, existed an equally peculiar entity. This mysterious being could peer into countless universes, an infinite amount of possibilities of what lay beyond the confines of nothingness.

It was confined to its own timeless existence. The Observer was unable to experience all that it saw before its all-seeing eyes. Day after monotonous day, if time ever existed at all, it would spend all of its time examining all these worlds and picking them apart one by one. Each living organism it observed came with them a journey that either laid before them or already traveled, meanwhile, all The Observer could do was watch.

The Observer didn’t have a face. Nor a voice. One could doubt it even was indeed living. If anything, it could’ve been limbo itself. But it still longed for things. It craved what it was missing.

So, with the limits of its endless imagination, it began to recreate such scenarios and places. Life. Death. Happiness. Sadness. Love. And heartbreak. It wanted to feel all of these.

But no matter how vivid these images were, that was all it was. Images. Fast-moving pictures on a screen in an attempt to recreate something to try to make the watcher feel something raw.

But the Observer could never relate to something. That it’s never experienced.

It all started in grade 3 when all the other children were playing hopscotch. Genevieve was left out and felt an anger build inside. She would not allow the other children to have fun without her, so with a quick shove of little Maggie the fun all ended.

Miss Lemon appeared and questioned each child to find out how little Maggie scraped her face. Genevieve swore she had nothing to do with it and went on her way to the swing sets.

As she walked, she had to stop abruptly for all her sight was taken from her. Her hand reached up to touch her blinded eyes and to her astonishment no eyes were there.

Then came the camping trip as she reached age 11. Her parents lit a fire and specifically said to keep the fire burning. They went to their tent soon after. Her sister, Delia, sat on a fold out chair and described what the fire looked like for her sister. Genevieve was angry that she was not able to see the beautiful sight and took a bucket of water to the fire, extinguishing the warmth it gave.

The next morning her parents were furious and demanded to know who had done the deed. Genevieve gave a quick “not me” and went to her tent.

As she laid in her sleeping bag she drifted off to sleep only to wake the next hour with no way to speak. Her hands reached for her mouth but no lips or teeth would she find.

All she had now was a nose to feature, that is until her wedding day came.

Her fiancé, Jack, didn’t mind her deformities and even created a way for them to communicate through a computer program. He fell in love with her for who she was and not for what she looked like and therefore proposed on a beautiful mountaintop.

Their wedding day was set in the heart of winter and they had a small venue with only a few people. Once the ceremony was over they all gathered for the cake. It was a magnificent 3 tiered chocolate mousse cake decorated with silver flowers and each guest complimented each bite they took. This left Genevieve in a jealous rage for she could not taste her own wedding cake.

After the wedding was over, Jack asked her if she enjoyed the day and as much as she wanted to tell the truth she typed a simple “yes” into the computer. Jack gleamed with pride but his smile quickly turned into a face of terror. Genevieve’s nose started to fade away. Being it was the only way for her to breathe, she fell to the ground, life fading from her slowly. Jack held her close as her nose completely disappeared and Genevieve told not another lie ever.

(I know this isn’t exactly the prompt but I felt the need to write this story.😆)

Most people are afraid of my neighbor but not me, he is my friend. Actually I’m not sure if people are afraid of him exactly but rather they just pretty much ignore him. He and I hang out on his porch most evenings and as neighbors stroll by they wave and call to me, "Hi Kevin, how was school today?" or "how's your mom doing?” Then they stroll on down the block without a kind word or even a look at my friend. He is a really tall man with big (and I mean big) broad shoulders. He has what people call salt and pepper hair which he keeps trimmed fairly short. I'm probably not a good judge but I would say he is fifty-ish. Not exactly a man who is easy to miss. When we first met I learned that he had a speech impediment. I acted like I knew what that was when he asked me but I had to look it up as soon as I home. He could talk but it was real hard to understand him so he taught me sign language. I took me a little while to get the hang of it but now we talk about all kinds of things in life. One night he told me stories of his wrestling days. He explained how wrestling had caused his deformed ears, cauliflower ears he called them. He said he had also had his jaw broken so many times and wired shut for so long that it made it so he couldn't really talk anymore. He seems sad when he talks about the past as his broad shoulders droop even more than usual. I asked him if he missed his wrestling days. We sat on the porch in silence for a long time as he stared across the street into his past. After some time I heard him answer ever so softly, "No." then a couple of minutes later, almost imperceptibly, "Yes." He looked me in the eyes then and said, as clearly as he could, "That's when people still saw me. Now, thanks to this" he gestured at his head and mouth, "I have become invisible, like I have no face."

In the depths of imagination, there exists a character shrouded in mystery and intrigue, a being that defies conventional perception—a character without a face. This enigmatic figure navigates the world with an ethereal presence, captivating those who encounter them.

Cloaked in a flowing robe, their form seems to blend seamlessly into the surroundings, as if they are an extension of the very fabric of existence. Their body moves with grace and fluidity, expressing emotions through subtle gestures and movements.

Without the traditional features of a face, this character relies on other means to communicate their thoughts and feelings. Their eyes, while unseen, emanate an intense energy, reflecting the depths of their emotions and intentions. It is through these unseen eyes that they observe the world, perceiving its beauty and complexity.

In the absence of a mouth, their voice resonates from within, carrying a melodic quality that captivates those who listen. Each word they speak is imbued with wisdom, empathy, and a profound understanding of the human condition. Their voice, though lacking physical form, has the power to inspire, console, and provoke introspection.

Despite the absence of facial features, this character possesses a unique ability to connect with others on a deep, intuitive level. Their presence is comforting, evoking a sense of trust and understanding. They have an uncanny knack for discerning the unspoken truths that lie beneath the surface, delving into the depths of the human soul.

The character without a face exists beyond the constraints of physical appearance, transcending the limitations of perception. They embody the idea that true connection lies not in the external, but in the essence of one’s being. Their presence serves as a reminder that the most profound connections are forged through empathy, compassion, and the willingness to truly see beyond the surface.

In their enigmatic existence, this character challenges our preconceived notions of identity and reminds us that true beauty and depth lie within. They invite us to look beyond the superficial and embrace the power of the unseen, encouraging us to seek connection and understanding in the vast realm of the intangible.

His face was like a blank canvas. It had no emotion to it. He did not smile and he did not frown. His face was always stuck in the same dead expression. People used to try and make him smile, laugh sometimes even cry but nothing worked. Nothing. He was pale and dark haired almost like a vampire. He scared people sometimes without meaning to. His face was just so blank and his under eyes so dark that some thought he’d escaped a mental hospital. He hadn’t: he’s always been this way. Even when he was a baby he did not cry, he did not whine he didn’t even giggle. He just sat and played with things half-heartedly. It made his mother sad. Terribly sad. She felt like it was her fault, like she hadn’t done enough. One time, a girl his age tried to tickle him. Nothing. Then she kissed him. Still nothing. He did not blush or get flustered. He simply walked off. That left her stunned. In fact it left everyone around them stunned. Some people say he’s depressed, others say he’s a freak or a psycho. Me? I say he just needs to find a special someone that’ll change his life. But as of now, he will always be known as The Silent Watcher..

Skira wakes dreaming of bees.

Bees and blood, bees and cages, bees and honey, suffocating her, drowning her. The same woman, every time, facing away from her. Skira does not know her, does not know her name, but she knows she must get to her, she must. She touches the woman’s shoulder, and she turns. Her face is a cage, the bars adorned with strings of gore and honey and the last surviving threads of chestnut hair. Bees mill around within it, buzzing, stopping suddenly and seeming to look Skira straight in the eye the moment she meets the space where the woman’s eyes would be. Skira blinks. Always, she is surprised in the dream, though she has seen this metal-sweet tableau a hundred times before. The next moment, she is within the cage. The next, she is a bee, and she cannot get out. The next, she is drowning in honey, tasting blood, weighed down by metal chains. Always, there is one thought clear through the sickly sweetness of it all: I was too late.

Skira has begun to hate bees.

Siofra could hear it drifting an the mist. A low keening that came and went with the clouds scuttering across the moon. She looked across the fields but they were empty. Only tall grasses swaying with the wind in the moonlight. And still the sound came, lifting and swelling in volume before it collapsed and evporated. When she was uncertain where it was coming from it was at its loudest. About the time she knew the direction it would fade into nothing, leaving her confused about from where it came.

As she approached the creek the mist grew thicker but the sound faded and mixed with the dark waters. Once again she found herself lost about the source of the sound.

Then she saw it, the dark shape standing in the middle of dark swirling waters. The mist flowed around it as did the stream below. It was tall yet hunched. It was beating cloth on the rocks, trying to smash out the dark stains that smeared into the waters. It smashed and it scrubbed the cloth against the rocks and itself. Then it turned.

Beneath the cowl, Siofra realized, it had no face. And yet it looked toward her, looked right through her.

A line opened and kept growing. Darkness spilled out of the maw. And then she screamed. It was a scream that lasted as a wail. It rang through Siofras head, driving right through her skull. Then lines open at the top of the face. And then they opened like the maw below them. Where there should be eyes, there were additional mouths. And then they all began to scream.

Help me Help me Help me Help me Help me Help me Help me Help me Help me Help me “Im fine thanks” Smiles and walks away

No me No you Don’t you see I’m faceless But you don’t care So what I’m nothing There’s no me Only a mask Nothing Absolutely nothing Worthless falling Soul flys free You scoff An atheists distaste But you were the one Who ripped my face off I scream and scream and scream But I have no face

"Alright, boys, you ready to light this candle?"

"Sure thing, boss."

"Take us up, Murdoch."

"I ain't gettin' on no plane!"

Hannibal put his hand on his trusted companions bowling ball-sized shoulder. "Relax, BA. You can meet us there. See, I have the van all gassed up and--now!"

The distraction worked. Murdoch plunged the hypodermic needle into BA's arm. The massive man stumbled around a bit, Hannibal deftly moving a nearby wheelbarrow into place to catch him. Much easier than lifting 300 pounds of dead weight.

The two men worked together to wheel the third up the cargo ramp and got him as buckled in as they could.

"We ready, Colonel?"

Hannibal looked into the distance. How long do they wait? How long do they jeopardize the mission.

"No. We can't leave. Not without Face."