"The greatest performers are those who are able to elude even themselves..."

 The performer closes her eyes and puts on one of her many masks.

It is no ordinary mask. Ordinary masks are embellishments meant to make the wearer stand out, artwork to be appreciated, open to the public's eye.

This, this resembles a camouflage. Out in the open, but inconspicuous. Visible, but subtle.

There, but ignored.

Because being ignored means you're not trouble. It means that you blend in and are left alone. It means no confrontation.

In a way, it means you're accepted.

Most of her life, she has been a performer. In fact, she has become so meticulous at her craft that no one even knows when she is putting on a show.

Perhaps, this is because she only ever exposes them to her alter egos.

Perhaps, this is due to the fact that she only sheds her mask when there is no witness.

The thing with people, she figured, is that they are natural liars. They say they want you to be yourself, but in truth, they only accept you when you fit into their molds.

And in a world full of liars, the only way to survive is to be one yourself.

So she began crafting. A different mask for each audience. A unique choreography for every crowd .It took some time, but she gradually saw the effects.

Who knew how the smallest smiles could placate, how the slightest tilt of your head could subdue, and how the subtlest sweep of your lashes could charm?

Perhaps, they were pleased with her. Perhaps, she could be something in their eyes.

Perhaps, she could be the sweet, docile little girl everyone seemed to like.

Perhaps.

She tells herself that it is doing no harm, this game of deception. After all, how can an audience be deceived when they don't know there is a game to be played?

Maybe it is for the best. Maybe it is for everyone's good. If she stays agreeable and compliant she won't get in anyone's way and cause any disagreements.

Isn't that all that matters?

But what about you?

What is the point of being alive when you can't even live as yourself?

Are you even truly living?

Does it even matter?
Does it even matter who she is anymore?
Does it even make a difference?

They don't care.
They don't care what's beyond the surface.
They don't care about the girl behind the mask.

So why should it matter to her who she was inside?

They, they, they. It's always about them.

When will it be about you?

 Why shouldn't it be about you?

Perhaps it does matter. Perhaps it is time to end the game.

Perhaps she was playing it on her own all along.

Perhaps.

Tentatively, she tugged at the corners of her camouflage-mask. 

How good it would feel to be yourself again...

Before she could decide otherwise, she ripped off the mask.

She felt vaguely bewildered to find that--

There was nothing underneath.

Who am I?

Am I  alive?