They wore masks with similar tattoos, all the same gray-blue. The masks themselves were faces, or rather a face. They wore the same face. The voices that came from them were different, but they all spoke the same way- in the same flow, meter and tone. They were individual clones of one another, these men. They were proud of being individuals who were only recognizable as separate people by their own.

Six of these faces turned and stared at the seventh. He was a new guy, who had just ditched his old mask for theirs. It was a big thing. They ended the glare short, he would learn in time. At least, that's what they thought. But he never caught on. He never fit in to the same stitch. He looked like them, but he didn't talk and act like them- every now and again his voice went too high.

So one of the six took him aside later that evening. He took him into a room, locked it down tight, and cornered him. He reached up and did the most shameful thing to do to anyone. He took off the mask and stared at his real face.

Or rather, her real face. The Masked stared at her. "Well. Um, that explains quite a lot."

"Please, please don't tell. I'm trying, I really am." She didn't try to hide her face. This bothered him. Had she no shame? She was face-naked! Face-naked! It was one thing to be pants naked: that's how babies are made. But for heaven's sake; even the little ones knew it was wrong to be face-naked, and here she was, just being face naked. "I just don't fit anywhere else! I fit worse with other girls than I do here."

"That's saying something." He snapped. "Wait, every where else? You're the mask-hopper?! Shit, lady!"

"My name is Janine!" She bellowed. "Is it so bad that I have a face? Huh? I happen to have a very pretty face, I might add. I just can't stand-" (Cont.)