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Analysis Of The One's Without A Face

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Tommy Nguyen
MacLeod, Hon English 10B
Period 1
May 15, 2014
The One’s Without a Face

My mother, she used to tell me these stories and lullabies when I was little, I grew so used to falling asleep to her voice, to those haunting lyrics and the beautiful prose. She sang songs of the old and of the new. She sung about how the 13th Empire fell, of how Chronos became the galactic capital. She sung of heroes and villains, wars and rebellions. She told me of her parents and their parents, of peace and love.
She sang every night for years, for nearly a decade, they were stunning stories filled with love, angst, fear and hope. Of joy and hate of champions and emperors. She told me of the old world, of its kings and queens, its presidents, dictators, hostility and holiness. She sung of what we’ve lost and what we’ve gained. People we’ve forgotten and those we could never forget.
But she didn’t sing her stories to just me, she sung them to the world, to the various worlds. She was a magnificent writer who spoke to billions. She single handedly started wars with her work, she ended revolutions with a pen, and she destroyed planets with a book. It was like the galaxy was her playground and every strike of the pen cast fear into the universe.
People often ask me why I don’t remember the stories she told me, and why I forgot the fairytales and legends, why I lost the myths and the hymns my mother told me. People blame me for losing some dark secret she took to the grave but must have whispered into my ear a thousand times. But those people simply don’t understand, I was a little girl. The fate of the universe never crossed my mind. You want to know what crossed my mind more than anything? Princesses, princes, fluffy dresses with...

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... to eat you honey.” No! NO! She bites, I scream, blood goes everywhere I spin in the torment and find the once place my little fingers are never supposed to go. I find the one button no one is ever supposed to touch. The little red button labeled ‘Activate’.
I look up at the small porthole and see a man unlike the others, his face is entirely smooth. He has a hat on and a black suit. This man watches as my mother puts more of my hand into her mouth and bites down. Ignoring the pain I don’t let go of my black little stone. The scream is short as my mother gets vaporized, as the world twists and bends around me and everything vanishes and appears over and over. Different places, different being, different worlds.
The man speaks his last words bringing everything out of the vision. The last words shall I hear forever, “Sweet dreams, my darling little girl…”
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