The Human Face

Here is a small piece of fiction.

It’s kind of about me and why I’m a writer.

A writer of the human face.

                           The Human Face

Sometimes as he wrote light glowed around his bare work desk.

He used words to fight the loneliness of the farmers. They gave their hearts, souls, minds and bodies to the land day after day, month after month, year after year, until they became the dust from which they were made. 

He used words to fight the loneliness of the workers. They gave their hearts, souls, minds and bodies to the factories day after day, month after month, year after year until they became the metal and grease themselves.

He used words to fight the loneliness of the servants, They gave their hearts, minds, souls and bodies to their patróns day after day, month after month, year after year until they became the rags and the basins from which they served.

He used words to fight for subsistence, enough food to stay alive, barely...for shelter, enough wood and tin to stay alive, barely...for song, enough music to stay alive, barely...for nothing and yet for everything.

Sometimes he used words to flee the loneliness...his own loneliness, his fear of losing Gabby, his fear of losing the old priest, his fear of losing the old doctor.

He used words as colors and his pen as a brush. 

He painted the human faces of those he loved, in hope that they would live beyond his years, in faith that they would be with him, in love. 

As he painted the human faces he wept, a weeping from a place deep inside of him, a weeping from the eyes of the heart. 

He painted Gabby, her brown eyes filled with life and kindness, her black hair hanging down to her shoulders, her brown skin in nakedness beautiful, so beautiful, her hands and feet calloused and compassionate, her smile for him.

He painted the old priest...his tattered clothes from so much giving...his tarnished crucifix - the first gift given to him at his ordination into the priesthood - his reminder that Christ is in each and every person he sees each and every day...his hunched shoulders from so much praying...his weathered face so full of love.

He painted the old doctor...the sparkle in his clear blue eyes...the deep wrinkles of concern on his face...the broken hands that heal.

And sometimes he used words to hide from the loneliness. He would hold Gabby, hold her, and whisper, "I love you.”