|themask|

Here.

Eyes red with sorrow, he put the mask back on yet again. He had grown used to the odor inside it, that harsh old wooden smell people have in their attics. He had been wearing this mask regularly for as long as he could remember, often not even being able to take it off at the end of the day. In fact, most people believed that's what he really looked like. They believed that this ornate, perfectly made cover, shiny and full of luster, was what he really resembled. If only someone realized.

The sun had just peaked above the horizon. The man got dressed, and went about his day. He went in to work, got yelled at by his boss for being late, tried to dig into the mound of papers in the 'in' tray (notably, without much luck), and then started home. At this point, he was exhausted. Having gotten hardly more than six hours of rest the previous few nights, all he wanted to do was sleep. However, he had learned not to expect too much from his life.

He pulled into the driveway, muffler scraping along the ground. He removed the key from the ignition, and waited. He reflected on the day. What had he done that had made life worth living?What was the reason for this daily grind he had been living for the past ten years? Had he actually made anybody's life, much less his, better? He pushed the thoughts away, but they kept coming. What about his mother and father, how were they? (The man hadn't spoken to either in years.) Had they finally settled the differences, and learned how to work together? For some reason, he highly doubted it. They never had gotten along well, he remembered. There always seemed to be something between them. Or someone.

With a mighty heave he pushed on the door, the one in reality opening and the one in his mind closing. Why should he worry about it, life goes on, he's had to deal with this all of his life. He had grown sick of being sick of it, and in the end just moved out. The man always had thought it was for the better, for all parties.

The man carried himself through the threshold, his cell vibrated. It was one of his good friends. He responded, "Hey man, pretty good, how r u?" It was a little one, everyone does it. What's it matter, it's better if they don't know about how he really feels.

He dropped the phone, and cursed as it hit the floor. The screen was shattered. Great. He swept up the pieces of what remained, and dumped it in a heap on the kitchen counter. The clock read 10:14. He decided it was late enough to rest, and moved to remove the mask from his face. He took it off, and placed it on his bedside table. He undressed, and redressed, when he saw the picture. It was in his trash can. Just one little corner remained- the corner he had ripped out when she had left him. She was the cause of all of his pain, unbeknownst to anyone, including herself. He felt the emotions flow back into him. Just the sight of her face was enough.

Eyes red with sorrow, he laid down on the bed, and tried to push the thought of her away. Gently, smoothly, he drifted to sleep.