
At some point, the faceless being, that may or may not be Mark Hayes, stopped his meandering and lay down on the edge of a field. Was he tired after his reawakening? It’s hard to say, for who here has been reawakened in such a manner, devoured by goats, then reassembled from an assortment of empty clothing and given life by uncanny socks? Within moments of his settling down, a weird, muffled, snuffling noise was heard. Was it snoring? But how can you snore without a face, a nose, a mouth?
Presently, an odd group of creatures arrived. Less than a foot tall, they were short of leg and long of arm. Goblin like, hairy and awkward of movement. Let us call them Hayezlits. Of course, I could tell you anything, describe them as anything, make up an outrageous description, for you will never see them. No one has ever seen them, nor will they. I can tell you this with certainty. They carried scraggy brushes made of twigs and durbit fur, odd-shaped pots hollowed out from grerken cones. And they assembled in a rough circle around the no-face of the man, who may or may not be Mark Hayes. Seven of them there were. And all seven started an odd squirmy motion, a strange furtive movement that seemed undirected and random. The pots were now full of ink – but the mechanism for this event was unfathomable.
They took their brushes and dipped them in the ink and started to paint upon the blank face canvas. Where the ink touched, colour appeared: mottled pinky grey for the cheeks, darker pink for the lips, dark hues for eyebrows, and an extraordinary shade of lilac for facial hair. The smallest hayezlit wielded a tiny brush and created an eye in an extraordinary display of skill and magic. Then matched it with another. Giving the face sight to see in this way, would have been an amazing sight to see, except that nobody would ever see that sight. They moved back for a moment and seemed to check their work. One of them touched up an ear, another, the tallest, and most wizened, made a brief adjustment to the eyes.
Seemingly satisfied, they carefully removed the man’s socks and shuffled off.
Now, lying on the ground, was an entity who very much looked like Mark Hayes. In fact, we will call it Mark Hayes from now on.
(Text and uneasy image manipulation by Keith Errington)