As Amens left the building, he couldn't shake the feeling he was being watched. This was good for him as this was meant to be trap. After all, he purposely walked recklessly throughout the slums, attempting to get attention. In the middle of his journey from the warehouse and his home, he saw something interesting on the side of the pavement. Curious, he crouched down to look at it. It was almost as if it beckoned him towards it.
The item on the side of the pavement looked to be a glass mask, more like a slab. No eye holes, no mouth holes, no holes for breathing. The only reason he could tell it was a mask was because of the string and its face shape. As he rubbed his hands across it, careful not to cut himself he had realised that it was broken but someone stuck it back together.
Each shard stuck together had a unique trait. For example, one was coloured red whilst the other was green, one was transparent whilst the other was reflective, one was stained with dirt whilst the other was completely clean. It really was a strange thing.
He pressed his index finger against his thumb, feeling the strange sticky sensation in his fingers. Deciding that he'd rather not be surprised by attacks, once he had felt the looks had disappeared, he slide the mask onto his face. It was slightly uncomfortable, pressing against his nose and the glue made his face feel disgusting however it was barely manageable. Looking through the mask with both eyes felt strange as it blended two colours together, blue and black.
Satisfied with the results, he wiped his fingertips on the wall and moved on, his coat swinging with the strong breeze. He felt the gazes looking around for him and felt that their stalking trip fell short. He took a sigh of relief as he returned home to gather materials. Recently, he'd bought a mirror back home, it was broken but it still functioned decently well. Whilst looking at the mirror, he'd realised that he couldn't even see his own face. He held his hands on the mask, feeling it, rubbing it, touching it until he tried to take it off.
It was stuck to his face. Gradually, he applied more and more pressure yet it barely budged. He looked around then remembered the knife he had in his pocket. Hurriedly, he attempted to use the knife as a crowbar, only then did it slowly rip off his face. The colours of looking through the mask dripped with red as it fell off his face but he didn't notice it.
Out of breath, he put the knife on the table and sat down. When he looked down at the mask, he noticed fresh drops of blood. As soon as he saw this, a sharp burning pain came over his face, forcing him to flinch by covering it. Slowly, he dropped his hands and looked at the mirror. The cuts made a face of a smile, his lips extended from a single cut from each side covering his lower jaw with blood. He reached for his second drawer and pulled out a bandage.
I should keep it on until it stops bleeding. Damn mask. I don't know why I even wore it in the first place, knowing that it was sticky and could rip my face off. What was that feeling? Am I okay? He thought.
He looked to his hands and came to the conclusion.
I am okay. I can think. I can see. I can hear. I can feel. I can smell. I can taste. I can touch. He thought loudly.
When he realised he was panting, he tried to slow down his breathing. He stumbled as he got up and when his breathing slowed, he wiped his face with his "private" handkerchief as it was covered in sweat. Once he calmed down, he switched handkerchiefs and cleaned his knife. He attempted to clean the mask but some of the blood seemed to have seeped too deep in between the shards which made the blood act as extra glue.
For a second he stared at the mask in awe and horror, thinking about how cursed it must be.
What is this? It must be sorcery but it can't be. Curses are now impossible. What made me like this? Whats wrong with this mask? Whats wrong with me? Maybe it was because I can relate to the mask, both broken, both bloodied, both shattered but that would be silly. After all, I am okay, I am no different than all the kids on the street. I am normal, I am a sheep, I am the same. He thought.
He recited the last sentence in his thoughts as he grasped his head with his hands, sitting on the mattress, mimicking his scars. Voices echoed in his head.
I am okay. I am a liar. I am okay. They said, overlapping each other.
A noise bursted out of his head, a noise so nasty that it was despised by the his surroundings. His smile, piercing the gloomy abyss, showing it true misery. A laugh, so full of deceit it could make the devil itself shiver.
He laughed. And laughed. And laughed and didn't stop. Soon he felt dizzy and his eyes started rolling to the back of his head.
When he was out of breath his smile dropped, his hands that were on his head were pulled down to his face. He rubbed his eyes and slowly got up out of bed.
Was it a dream? If so how much was a dream? He thought.
As he stood up, he examined his surroundings. The broken mask still on the floor in front of the broken mirror. He brushed his hands from the edge of he lip to the edge of his check, the soft bandage pushing against the scab and cut as well as wrapping around his rough fingers.
I must've taken a nap after I cut my face. He thought. Yes, that must be it. But how did I cut my face? Probably in a fight. Tha also explains the blood on the mask.
Before he walked to the door, he picked up the mask and noticed it had dried. Slowly, he pulled the string and placed it on his face. His nose flattened but it was more bareable than before. The mask was used to hide the cuts on his face.
As the door creaked open, so did his head. Almost falling, he held his palm to his head, trying to bare the pain. It was almost as if his head was being split in two. Voices splintered around him but were blocked by the pain of his mind. The door, half open seemed to laugh and mock Amens. His eyebrows fell, his eyes wide, his mouth clenched into a fist. It lasted for a long time.
He crawled to the bucket, trying to get a sip. Once he drank some of it, he felt a bit refreshed despite the pain. Gradually, the pain decreased, allowing him to stabilise himself who was standing up. Once the pain stopped, he decided not to think too deeply, blaming it on poor hygiene.
When he was halfway throught the door, he stopped and turned his head back into the house, his body still turned forwards.
Sigh…
Amens left, his pockets only having the money he had personally had rather than the Gilded Dregs' money.