Short Story: Faceless Creatures

Such beauty of the unseen.
Such beauty of the faceless faces.
Hollowed out skeletons are the most beautiful of all.
These lands are full of creatures, each with a different feature.
I’m sure the humans roaming earth would fear us, they wouldn’t understand us.
Our beauty stems from torture, trauma, the destroyed bodies that still found a way to crawl.
They’ll never understand the beauty in that.

For them, it’s model thin, chiselled jaw, muscles galore.
But for us, existence is enough.
We look feral, but we’re kinder than them.
We don’t tear each other apart for having our differences, our problems.
We embrace it.

Since I started to disguise myself to walk amongst humans, I’ve come to understand that the way I think of them is correct.
They’re vicious.
But they hold themselves above each other because they didn’t do this, and they didn’t do that.
They had to create prisons to keep the worst of them locked away, but the ones still walking the street seem no different.

If I were to peel off my skin and show them my true self, I would be torn apart, limb from limb.
I wouldn’t just be feared, outcasted or a product of disgust.
They would eliminate me.

Our wasteland of rodents is cleaner than earth.
The remains of our broken and beaten bodies are more precious than theirs.
We are their higher, but unlike them, I’ll never act like it.

Because maybe they’re dealing with the same things we went through?
Because maybe they’re just as broken as us, only on the inside?

Either way, I’ve come to learn.
Broken or perfect, their faces are humans, but their actions are animalistic.
We are the faceless, understanding and quiet.