I look at your happy faces.

All of you, wearing grins, not plastered on like mine, but real and full of life. Laughing aloud as Tyson forces you onto the merry-go round. I go on, as if willingly, playing along with this ridicules charade. How could you know that the joy I express is only a mask, hiding what I do not dare to speak? How could you know that I look at each of you, with something nearing resentment?

Because you can be happy. You can feel joy. You do not need to pretend you are something you are not. You do not smile during the light, and collapse as soon as the moon breaks the horizon, sobbing tears of pain.

Why must I do this? You do not mask your feelings. But it has always been this way. A self-taught avoidance of pity.

How I hate pity.

My defence is hard-shelled and complete. My voice does not betray me. My actions show only a well-written play. And my eyes had long since drawn the shutters to the soul.

Yes, some of you pretend. And one is nothing but a lie. But the defence is easy to see, easy to break. None even know that mine exist.

Because I am a one-way mirror. You look into me, and see yourself. Not your fears, not your faults, but every quality you wish to posses.

Only I know the truth. Only I can see out.

You cannot see the cracked glass I hide, nor the pain inside me. You only know my charade, and my name, but even those hold no clues. So I will tell you now, for they are meaningless. I do not hide them, because they do not matter.

My name is Max Mizihura.

Um...yeah. Odd chapter. And way too short. But I wrote chapter two—I promise it will be up soon. Though I've no idea why you'd want that…anyhow—REVIEW!