She doesn’t know how, but people seem to think that she is full of life even though she is slowly dying inside. Their eyes of beads are unable to see that she is asking for help when she laughs. Maybe that’s how she wanted it. To be like everyone else even though the ones closest to her are the ones slowly stabbing her. She can’t wait for her heart to feel the blade, so she tries to stab herself. But the blade was not sharp enough. No matter how much she sharpens it, it doesn’t work. It may be because the only thing that makes it sharp are the cries of the vultures. The blade will sharpen as the vulture circles around her, marking her as its prey. When all she does is hide, somehow, they pull her out of the shadows to stab her again, leaving her vulnerable to the vultures.
But the vultures never come to get her. They want more. More blood spilling on the floor. A more broken mask. With the mask over her face, she is unable to go, not is she able to heal. She is just stuck in between two worlds, neither dead nor alive. She screams and cries, yet no one seems to hear it.
She can only hope that someone either removes her mask or paints it in colours.