Humid pollution is more intrusive than the glares of passersby. The ocean of people separates to allow the parade of Elite to traverse through the busy city boardwalk. Like a police car parting the way, their loud robes trail the shiny roads.
Tall building lights get trampled on
in the broken puddles of the Faceless.
As the Elite push forward, the city air contracts further. It’s as though their wealth and holiness take up
the worthless space of the Faceless
who, having fallen from Grace,
can only watch as their superiors succeed.
They’re probably on their way to share knowledge, making the rich richer as the Faceless struggle on. A sharp edge of a reflecting window opens up
the possibility of a mirror.
But, the Faceless don’t dare to even glimpse.
They don’t want to see the shame of wasted potential where their faces once were.
They emptied out their personalities
into application forms many suns ago.
In their place, person specifications filled them up. They’re team players,
good at communicating
and hard-working.
But, they’re not enough.
Just shells of who they were.
They are not the Elite.
Cat Caie