Stranger in a village short story
Family a term used to describe blood relations with people or to describe bond so deep. Family I felt like I’ve had one-and-one-half of them, the ones related by blood they kept things from me for years. Telling me “come and join us tell us everything” but, even when I told the truth they suspect me. To get them to stop I had to tell them a lie, just to satisfy a hunger for the truth that they want to hear. Each lie I’ve told has truth to satisfy but, it’s just a tale based on truth. After noticing this I went to my room, my cave to talk to people on the phone. At first was just playing creating stories with them. To me they were just text on a screen, pixels that formed words, they started to feel real all while I was in my cave away from the villagers like an outcast. The villagers want me out of my cave and with them but, they gave a different feeling one that pushed me away and back into my cave. I hated that feeling I wanted to be out of my cave and with the village so, I created a mask of lies “this mask should allow me to enter the village. Allow me to be one with them.” That mask allowed me out of my cave and into the village but, the longer I wear the mask the more I hurt. I endear it to be with those villagers but because I endear it I start cracking. The more I crack, the more I brake the more pain I feel. When I am in my cave I remove my mask. Revealing a case of glass and ice. Cracking and shards missing with a brittle soul as the core of it. That soul was having pieces taken from it because a past that is never said and remains locked up inside the glass case. A past that the soul of said case doesn’t know if it’s true or not. Memories of incidents that’s better forgotten events that happen a different way then what everyone remembers. Sometimes the soul was led to believe it’s corrupted by the villagers. “Did it really happen? Didn’t this happen? Or am I going insane?” The creature asks but, the villagers tell the creature “you’re crazy it didn’t happen or that.” Merchants from all over tell stories of the creature as though they were subjecting a monster. Pushing the creature farther and farther into its cave. Only thing the creature could trust were other creatures similar to him even though he could only talk to them through the magic mirror. They help him best they could. He helped them as much as he could right back. Even though the best they could do is listen and say what maybe best to help them. When they did the soul regained more of itself, but never for long. The mask would take the pieces as a toll to wear so, he paid the toll to go through his day. After all that if he stood in front of you and told you the truth, would you believe him?