Writing

The Friday Muse – The Man With No Face

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He lives among us. He eats with us. He sleeps with us. He breathes the same air as we all do.

Only he’s not us.

Sometimes he’s not a he. He is a she – the mother of the crying 6-year-old at the grocery story. He’s the security guard at your local mall, rounding up the rowdy teenagers who tossed their gum over the side of the escalator. He’s the burglar in your home late at night, sliding through the shadows, invading what you thought was sacred space.

He is not limited by our rules. He is not plagued by our anxieties. He is not confined by our space or time. He operates where he wants, when he wants. The various realities are his to explore, to bend, to plague, to heal.

There are some who have seen him without knowing who they have seen. Species who have brushed shoulders with him, or helped him with his bags, or eaten a meal across from him.

But none know who he is underneath the visage. His transfigurements hide his true identity.

Rumors slither through the shadows about who this man really is. It is said he is the killer of worlds. It is said he is the lover of many. It is said he is the savior of evil. It is said he is the helping hand to those in need.

Is he a god, both benevolent and disciplinary toward his flock? Is he an alien master race intent on engulfing the multiverse? Or is he simply a shapeshifter who wanders through time and space, observing those unlike him?

Although his identity is unknown, there is one thing most experts can agree on…

He is the man with no face.

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