“Freddy, I’m scared. They’re not saying anything, and their faces are hideous. Why are we here?” asked Ann. Her frightened voice was immediately met with voices of complaint from those sitting in front of her. She gripped her brother’s hand even more firmly. She felt Freddy’s hand squeeze her back.
“Ann, it’s ok. They’re not going to hurt you. They’re artists. They might not talk, but they’re very friendly folks. Their faces are painted to reflect the eyes. So they speak to us with them instead of their mouths. Sort of like charades. Understand?”
“Can you really hear their eyes? How can you? All I can see is their cheeks and forehead, with that white paint. Oh, I hate white. Can’t they paint another color?” she asked, and again she was cried down. “These people are scary too”, she whispered.
“Every color isn’t as bright as white. So they don’t use other colors. See, that artist is using his actions to show he’s hungry. Silently, he works. At home, I’ll tell you more.”
“Show me how to do it too. I’ll use it when I’ve to tell Dad I got low grades”, she whispered, smiling, watching the artists with admiration.
Short Story Meme