Two

Sides of a Coin

By

Nicole Wen Sue Wei

I could feel the tight grip of her hand squeeze my wrist’s bone as she gripped
them too tightly. The area reddened a bit. Nonetheless, it was more than just
the strangeness in her actions that caused me to pause for a moment; I could

also feel the great trouble and fear brewing in her chocolate coloured eyes.

Their pupils dilated as Mother emphasised her intentions to ‘Go’. Her voice

was anxious and frail, more so than I would’ve wanted to recall. It was hoarse

too. Albeit in a daze, I remembered asking: “Why?”, but she never answered.

Mother shook her head briefly as a soft grunt escaped her lips. As if the

answer was obvious. It didn’t need a question, much less an answer in reply.

Or maybe she just panicked. Afraid that a child such as I wouldn’t understand
even if she did.

The sound of shattering glass made its way to my ears with a noticeable

and ear-piercing ring. Heat was felt upon my skin, alongside a sudden sting. A
reddened patch formed around the lengthy cut on my left arm as the cut

dripped with blood in a thin line; it slid down quickly on to the hard and cold
wooden floor, splattering like fireworks.

Mother paid little to no heed to the glimmering mess made on the hard
wooden floor. She also couldn’t feel the throbbing injury on my left arm that

glistened with a spring of crimson liquid. Confident she saw it, I gave not my
first, but last tantrum. I shot her a terrible look and could see that she was

intimidated. By her body language, the flinching of her facial expression and
the trembling of her hands made my ego bloat. This battle was won by me.
The surrounding atmosphere hadn’t been taken into even a speck of

consideration and my immature-self had continued to throw fists and legs into
the air. Wails loud and proud.

She kept glancing to her left and right. Fearful eyes darted into an irregular

360 degree circle. Her patience was finally broken from a crippling

nervousness as she forcefully pulled me by the bleeding arm. I vaguely

remembered the hurt I felt when she did. The floor was left with shimmering

pieces of scattered shards; and the house was left with an open door.

I wasn’t forgotten and left alone in a house motherless, but rather, taken

along and became fatherless. Slight tremors left my hand trembling as I was in

shock with my new situation. At the age of 8, circumstance got me hurling in a

hurricane of events and although the winds were gentle for the first few weeks,
they gradually became rougher with time. The house I stayed in after we left

the housing area was on the outskirts of town. Requirements for basic

sanitation and lifestyle was accessible under the consideration of other folks
that lived nearby, but not close enough to be called neighbours.

Mother stayed alongside me for vaguely a year before she left. Fortunately,

it was till I’d learnt the minimal skills to survive before she decided to run
away. Contact was not completely cut as she still did continue to provide
money once in a while. It was a trippy lifestyle, devoid of any warmth, only

practicality, during her stay. Even every now and then, I still recall her sunken
eyes and hollow cheeks under the brightness of the moonlit night. Mother

would refuse to sleep from night to night. “Dear…” She often mumbled,
whilst staring blankly into an unreachable distance. Her former persona, lively
and cheerful, loving, caring. Gone like vacuumed clumps of dust. Ever since

that faithful day, it was an undoubtable fact she changed drastically. Mother
became a mere hollow casket of her former self. It was deliberate in her glassy

chocolate eyes; the haunting empty that sent chills up my spine without fail.

The glass cup on the other hand, I recalled, fell from an unfathomable cause

till this very day. It was also along those vivid years that I had sometimes
contemplated the true happening behind it. Perhaps a wisp of smoke had

gotten its tail and knocked the glass over. Maybe the incident was but an

accident, or pure misfortune. My thoughts came from negative possibilities,

although somewhat illogical. ‘A cup is rather half-empty than half-full.’ So

was my answer for the ever so popular question. I fiddled with a pen between

my fingers. It spun smoothly in a circular motion after a great deal of practice.

The rain that poured heavily outside had lasted for two hours already. Yet, it

still showed no signs of stopping. I sat comfortably on my bed worn neatly

with clean and white sheets.

The pen dropped after my fingers grew tired. I gave a complicated look

towards the nightstand. On top of it was a leather-clad journal with rough

edges made as it aged from time. Inside was filled with slightly yellowed
pages, creased with folded corners every now and then, like dog’s ears. My

fingers caressed the cover of the journal. I reminisced a time where it was
once my only mental support. The paper and pen kept me going for years as I

first arrived at this foreign place. Yet one day, the leather-clad book was
forgotten, like some locked chest I’d thrown away into the seas of my mind.

The key remained in my pocket, but rusted as it was tossed into the washing
machine. I hesitated to open the journal as my mind was troubled. I felt
embarrassed to read the past memories. Ashamed of what might as well been

my middle school year book, in which I didn’t have. Change were in words;
change I hadn’t the intention to admit.

A chilling wind blew past through the open window. Their hushed whispers

blanketed around me and my fingers became unnaturally cold like ice. A

lingering paranoia arose, then laced the thoughts in my mind, rather than
shock. I stood up from my bed and headed to shut the window, but as I did, the

journal flipped open on its own. A yellowing page tore from the impact of the

wind and I was left mindful of the strangeness of the night. “Strange.” I

wondered out loud. ‘Those old-framed windows weren’t left opened

previously.’

The round and simple designed clock hung on the peeling walls of my
room struck 12 and I was reminded of a new day once again. Giddy as well as

restless, the night was unsettling; I focused on the footsteps of cautious

predators that prowl the grassy fields at night. Forcefully tucking myself to
bed, ‘sleep.’ I told myself. It was a chant played repeatedly in my mind, but

my eyelids were forced shut too tightly and it made sleeping much more
difficult instead due to the strain. A single droplet of sweat had made its way
down the hairs of my brows and on to my temples. I noted the spinning

propellers of the fan hanging from the ceiling. They spun and spun. Spun and
spun.

I woke a long time after the sun had risen. My heavy eyelids fluttered open

difficultly. Flinching from the merciless bright sun, I sat up and the leather-
clad journal was by my side. Flipped already open at an unpleasant page, the
flashbacks of fear gripped on to my mind tightly.

‘Box. Forget.’

Soft murmurs echoed throughout the room like ripples on the surface of

calm water. The air in the room tensed as shapes began to form blurry images
into solid objects. Wooden chairs and clean wooden tables. Porcelain plates,

stacked messily on the kitchen counter. Familiar sounds came along with the

familiar sights. By the side of my ears, emerged a multitude of loud, deafening

buzzing. I wasn’t alone in the poorly decorated room with second-hand

furniture that was positioned quite simply. Hours passed like seconds, minutes

transformed into days. Concepts of time were twisted down the memory lane,

and I heard the voice of my Mother, loud and clear. She said: “People feel with

their brains, not hearts. Besides, the cut will heal soon anyway, so keep it
down.” I knew then, by that very line, the broken glass represented bad omens

after all.

A sharp pain followed, alongside sharp jabs aimed at the side of my skull.

My hands quickly clenched onto my aching head, in a pathetic attempt to

soothe it. Morning dew seeped from the roof through the ceiling. They dripped

like carats of falling diamonds, and scattered immediately as they touched the
ground with a satisfying ‘Plop’. After washing up, I was reminded to purchase
another bucket for the leak. Then, I’d go for a relaxing field trip outdoors,

away from the stale air of the empty house. Most certainly, its smell singed the
inner walls of my nostrils. Plus, the scent travelled to my gut and caused

butterflies to flutter viciously inside of me. Of the 2 bedrooms upstairs, only

one was used. Obviously by me. It was the cleanest, most lived in part of the
house. Yet, to be a shut-in did not suit my tastes.

Exposed to the fresh air of the day’s morning, I could feel the dampness on

my legs from the long grass’s dewdrops that had clung to my calves as I took
the time and distance to walk towards the lake a range away from my home.

Upon my arrival, I trudged through the murky lake. Before me were a flock of

cranes with feathers the colour of snow; by the back of their wings were the
blackest feathers of night; scarlet crowns adorned on their delicate heads. The

leisurely view of them frolicking in the water calmed my heart, yet the

somewhat ominous presence ceased to go away. I could instinctually feel it;

whatever tainted the skies, had their eyes on me. My heart shivered while my

hands trembled. There was a certain feeling of terror in my eyes as every

second or minute passed; doubtful, perhaps my mind was merely frightening

itself.

The paranoia grew each time I turned my head behind in order to catch a

look at the entity that I was half-convinced so false. Chills ran up my spine. A
biting coldness crept its way up and seeped into my very bones. The

temperature of my surroundings dropped, but returned back to normal in the

blink of an eye. I felt that nothing good would come of it and hastily made my
way out of the lake and on to dry land which was realistically safer. At the

corner of my eyes, I realized the flock of cranes took off shortly after their
play and rest. Slowly, but gradually, the cranes formed into an organized ‘W’

formation and performed a ballad in the sky. I gave a soft smile in appreciation
to the beauty of it. Furthermore, the sun was rising, completing the wondrous

and enchanting view.

 A whistling wind blew one of its many harmonious tunes. The familiar
presence- from nights, topped by nights before- came to take a physical form

and I ran- without a single second of thought- heading towards the woodlands
up ahead. We were like cat and mice, predator and prey. To have kept calm

and composure at this time was crucial, and I did so, but not without difficulty.

The scent and sound of dripping sweat was replaced by the rich and earthly

smell of the damp ground. With each and every step I took, more would
follow behind with one leg after another. Afraid to look back, I continued

running. Only the sound of my worn out breaths and continuous, desperate

footsteps echoed in the eerie and dark forest. My luck ran out as I tripped- of

all things- and blacked out momentarily. My legs had tangled before I fell over

nothing, or perhaps the root of an old, aged tree; and I was ashamed of myself.

Falling, my hands stretched out to give a sizeable amount of reduction from

the fall’s impact. In exchange, my palms were sacrificed instead. The skin that

was once as smooth as pearl, was scraped and peeling. Ruby streams of blood

trickled in copious amounts as sharp, burning pain was transferred throughout

my nerves. Scattered, small chunks of dirt and soil decorated the wound that
became slightly numb as adrenaline continued to course through me.

I’d fell to my knees, but got right back up with great haste and continued to
sprint. In order to survive, “in order not to die.” By those words, my head

throbbed. It throbbed and throbbed and throbbed harder than even my erratic
heartbeat that threatened to burst from overwork. Suffocating my lungs. I

could hear uneven breaths; they were deep and tired, fuelled with anxiety.
During the entirety of it, the shapeless figure continued to stroll behind me. It

was an endless game of tag and the It was... relatively relaxed.

 Its dark silhouette vanishes. Suddenly, through my skin, I felt its bony
fingers take hold of the nape of my neck and caressed skin that’d gone rosy

from running. The strange hand movements of the creature reminded me of a

child, curious of almost anything and everything. ‘Could it be…?’ I wearily

pondered, ‘could it be… that the creature was confirming my existence by

touch. Afraid I wasn’t real?’

A shiny sheen of sweat layered above my skin, reflecting the gentle rays of
evening sunlight that easily penetrated the forest’s canopy. It left me glowing

redder due to the heat. The entirety of our surroundings was silent, with the

exception of my lone steadying breaths and the sharp chirp of insects.

Dissipating echoes of crippling leaves reverberated around us.

Bravely, with trust of blatant speculations, my body turned as I finally took

in the sight of the creature that had chased and observed me on a regular basis.
It wasn’t human, I realized, and it’s appearance betrayed that of a common

monster. The lean figure had the height of a teenager. He wore a plain white

mask with slits for his eyes to peer through. Completed with a pair of blue
ripped-jeans and a faded grey t-shirt, I wondered why I ran.

He- I’d abruptly decided- wasn’t all that frightening. His hand quietly

lingered on the top of my shoulder. I observed the situation with more calm
than ever. The two of us kept steady eye contact during the entire time.
Through the mask, his amethyst-coloured eyes met my own. Recklessly, I

mustered the courage to shake the skin-contact away. “What do you want?” I
demanded. Whilst the voice of the question cracked half-way, his figure turned

around. Mask gradually disappeared into the thick clouds of mist that
shrouded the forest, leaving me unanswered. Confused, I returned back to the
disintegrating wooden house I called home. Soft, clean and sterilized white

bandages wrapped my wounds. It hurt as hints of blood continued to seep

through the cloth, tainting the pristine colour.

My eyes laid upon the large oak tree rooted in the backyard. Without the

slightest sound, a pair of feet unhurriedly walked towards it. The tree’s

towering figure had branches spread out far and wide. Clusters of leaves
shaded my head from the rays of light radiating strongly. On the neatly

trimmed field of grass, our shadows merged and I could be mistaken for

wearing an oversized crown. A touch of wind blew. And I had one hand

clutching tightly on the tree’s rough bark; whereas another took over the other.

Sharp stings of pain wracked my injured palm. Ignoring it, I continued to

climb anyway. Nimbly, my feet dangled freely in the air as I swung myself

over a stable branch. I sat alone on the branch of the Oak tree in the backyard.

It was like a guardian angel of sorts because for years it’d watched me grow

from a child.

Touches of wind gradually changed into handfulls. Mesmerized by even the

littlest of things, I watched carefully while the rounded edges of the leaves
flickered as they flew. They twirled gracefully in the wind. After a long drift in
mid-air, they finally landed on the ground. My hair blew along as well,

covering my eyes in a messed wave. Strands of then even got into my mouth
as I spat them out with much disdain and annoyance. By the bottom of the tree

was the leaning youth yet again. He came without so much as a notice, as
usual. Even so, I believed that my heart had already grown tired of the anxiety

and fear I once felt all too many times. The reason was because my fingers
leisurely plucked an acorn hanging by a branch. And carelessly, I dropped the
fruit. It crashed on the top of his head and ended with a satisfying ‘Ttuk’.

‘Mask’ glanced up, his amethyst eyes flickered briefly with emotions I

supposed was: confusion, alongside wonder and blatant interest. Quicker than
a monkey, he swiftly seated himself on top of a branch protruding next to

mine. His voice was surprisingly young as he made the initiative to speak first:

“You’re not afraid anymore?” I shook my head with an indifferent expression.

We sat in mutual silence. Admiring the slow descent of a red sun and the quick

emergence of a dark night; where the stars rarely appear, and the moon was

only as bright as a lamp.

Climbing up a tree was of little problem to me. Coming down, on the other

hand… required more time to take place. Mask had already reached the

bottom. He stared up at my pitifully quivering figure. I hung tightly for dear

life on the tree’s bark and branches. I didn’t need help, not on that particular

day compared to any other. Prior to the thought, a gush of blood exploded

throughout my heart- shaking my core- and I found myself falling, leg first,
from the branch after a careless slip of my hands. I saw the world in slow

motion after that. Just then, my eyes experienced brief sparks of light pierce
them from within. It was like Alice down the rabbit hole and into Wonderland.
Mask didn’t catch me from my fall. Instead, he stepped aside with a short gap

from his original position. It was just enough, in terms of distance, to avoid
my plunging body- joint with stiffened limbs.

My back ached and I felt as if 2 decades of my lifespan were taken away;

stars circled my vision, and left the world throbbing and spinning. Sharp edges
of the grass pricked the bare areas of my bare skin; groans and moans of pain
could be heard exiting the entrance of my mouth. It was a horrible day. With

clenched teeth and fists- the sound of damp leaves, earth and grass rustled- as I
forced my aching body to sit up straight. Mask was unmoving. I suddenly felt

an uncomfortable stare at the back of my neck; it caused the hairs on it to

stand rigidly on edge. Sweat collected at the roots of my scalp. A ripple in

space. Again, it was the feeling as if time itself had stopped.

I was unable to fathom the root of it all, but the source would not wait until

I did; levels of strangeness resumed to stack up, one above the other. In layers,

so many a time.

Not completely clueless, it was undeniable that Mask held a certain

connection to it though. Normally, I wasn’t overly-cautious about my looks.

Yet, surprisingly, under his undisputed gaze, I wondered what he thought of

my appearance. My mind unconsciously recalled a time I last touched my

face; gently tracing the soft jaw line that was smooth and barely angular.

Average features decorated its fair complexion; nothing was too out of place
or particularly beautiful or crooked. My nose may’ve been blunt, but it wasn’t

flat; Wavy and flowing auburn-brown coloured hair shaped my oval face,
blending charmingly alongside their chocolate brown eyes. Paled, pink lips
with the soft and mellow colour of peaches cracked slightly from dryness.

The characteristic mole underneath my right eye stood out from its plain

face. Thus far, the beauty mark was the only feature I would boast of. A basic
and dirtied white t-shirt currently hung loosely on my slender frame; my pair

of tight maroon jeggings contrasted with the t-shirt in comparison. The golden
necklace I wore held a clock pendant I fiddled nervously. Its exquisite golden
carvings shun underneath the orange sunlight and I believed that the memento

of timeless memories were much more beautiful than any other flower that
may possibly bloom.

They were a reminder, mostly uncalled for. In a single imaginary snap, I

pulled the wandering thought back into reality. A sigh escaped from

underneath my breath.

“Go home, you heartless donkey.” I gasped chokingly as I examined my

wounds from mainly feeling alone. On the surface, shallow scrapes and

bruising circles laced large areas- if not all- of my skin. Pain flooded my back

with blunt throbs. They were like the drums of a band, rhythmic in beats, but

not as pleasant compared to hearing it by one’s ear than having felt it on one’s

skin. I was more than confident that a garden of black and blues would bloom
on almost every patch of skin on my body. Purple skin would no longer be a

myth.

Mask took my words to heart as he left the moment I ordered it. Frustrated,

my limp hands clenched into a fist which hit the ground angrily. With the
culprit gone, an outlet for my anger had disappeared. I painfully dragged my

body towards the chipped wooden door that was somewhat a distance away.
The number of times I stumbled could be counted with more than one hand.
With the addition of the wound on my palm, my anger could only grow and it

would take more just a night-time bed story to appease it. Finally, I was at the
doorstep; the door creaked open like as if it were rusted metal despite the

material difference; and the smell of earth and wet leaves greeted me.
 On the kitchen counter was the first aid kit I’d taken out hours earlier to
wrap the wounded hand. It stood unmoving, untouched and open, as well as

almost empty. The Red Cross above the lid was faded, almost to an orange.
‘Shower first.’ Reminded the souring stench of sweat that exited my pores and

I cringed at the thought of getting into the cold shower with newer open

wounds alongside newly formed injuries.

Everything was settled within the span of an hour and I’d lost my appetite
along the away. The repulsive, but edible microwave food was left alone in the

run down fridge for yet another night. Mother was out and about her business

as usual, leaving me to my own amusements. I had no phone, much less a

computer for entertainment or basic communication. For the past decade- even

when I first arrived- the house already lacked any sort of communicative

service to and back the outside world. There was an exception however, the

exception of a five kilometre walk to a shaggy convenience store on the verge

of collapse. The house also lacked a television. Had I been murdered, no one

would know. I sat awkwardly on the comfortable old leather sofa; and hugged

my knees close to my chest. No monsters under the bed or any zombified dogs
hidden in the closet were out to keep me company that night. Only the

saddened hoots of a hungry owl remained in the sleepless dark. Nocturnal

creatures went to rest as soon as dawn broke. Rays of golden light penetrate

my foggy window; I had fallen asleep in the position set the night before. My
neck ached unbearably as I massaged it gently after relieving the stiffness with
a quick neck stretch, accompanied with resounding cracks.

Burning, agonising pains also came roaring awake. Every inch of my skin

flared without warning. Stiffly, my body robotically cranked itself towards the
bedroom door and tortured its way down the stairway after a quick shower.
The hard bread tasted stale and I immediately prepared a glass of water that

barely managed to sooth the minor cuts inside of my mouth. With every sting,
my facial expression winced. Sustaining impeccable curse words from the

deep depths within the corners of my mind, I gritted my teeth instead.

Confusion, pain and worry gradually overtook my mental health. Producing

a sigh, I resorted to some light gardening under the well-intentions of therapy.

Countless shades of green purified my tired eyes with their soothing colours.

Bliss threaded my heart with its delicate feet and professionally massaged the

damaged organ. Mists of chilled air caressed a broadened area of my heart and

I could predict the sight of its owner with close eyes. In less than a second, I

rose and turned around swiftly to face the masked man’s figure. His eyes

glowed with interest as he raised both hand up into the air in a playful

surrender.

“Why do you haunt me?” I interrogated. Venom dripped viciously down

my words metaphorically. They laid emphasis on the frustration pilling up

tremendously for the past few days. My hand lifted the repulsively filthy

shovel- tainted with the bodies, alongside blood of unfortunate ants and
earthworms in which died by its spade- closer to his right cheek.

“I don’t haunt people.” He retorted. Furthermore, his sceptic eyes hadn’t

once moved from its view of the shovel. The youth was probably confident I

wouldn’t blemish his pearl-white mask. The dirt-stained tool moved even
closer to his cheek. With widening eyes, Mask sharpened a glare towards my

own.
 “Lies. Why’re you following me then?” Unaffected by his intimidation, the
interrogation ceased to stop. “You piqued my interest.” He admitted sulkily. It

was a brief and straightforward answer. No remorse was in the youth’s

brooding voice. Finally, the shovel in hand returned by my side. Mask was

gone in two blinks of an eye. Before I could react, gone was he and left were

the declining, sinking leaves. ‘He’ll come back, for sure.’ I thought

confidently.

True to my words, the nimble, heartless cat-donkey returned to my territory

days after. Pity built up within my chest as I came to a realization that the

youth must me terribly lonely to return time and time again. Particles of dirt

stuck to the gardening glove I wore whilst gardening again. I had squat down

and tended to various projects that involved plants. Mask stood behind me

unnaturally timid. The atmosphere was awkward. Oblivious to it, loud were

the screeching cries of birds. “I’m back.” He chimed. “You’re back” I

acknowledged.

A new day had come into being, whereupon the sun stood as proud as a
peacock amidst the clear blue sky. Waves of scorching heat glowered my mind

into a dizzy mess as an array of stars drifted at the corner of my squinted eyes;
twinkling and buzzing constantly. Even clouds refrained from any
appearances. Sweat dribbled down my forehead like an everlasting waterfall.

They collected at the base of my neck and at the same time, soaked strands of
my voluminous hair that was tied up into a casual pony tail. The effort it took

to see a mask-less Mask stroll towards his ‘second’ home base- as he emerged
from the woodlands- increased by twofold. I had a hand cover my squinted

eyes, protecting them from the wretched and blinding light. For once, his
chilling presence became useful as it dissipated the uncomfortable heat
circling around my body. Once he arrived, the external wooden fence gate

creaked open. The youth placed a sized and bright yellow alarm clock on the
wooden picnic table near the porch. “It’s today.” He said, as the thin metal feet

of the clock landed with a soft ‘thump’.

“What?” I inquired whilst drying the laundry. Beads of water dripped down

from the patched t-shirts, forming puddles of detergent-smelling water below

them. Mask casually sat on the table nearby, sitting crossed-legged. The

wooden product produced a raspy creak as he did. “The festival,” He quickly

said. “Don’t you want to go? Like the last time, when you gave me a name.” A

colourful variety of expressions flashed by his face; possibly from the

recollection of the fairly blissful memories we made. “Sure.” I answered. “But

when is it?”

“At around 8. I’ll set the clock. Found it somewhere, so don’t ask.” Mask

twisted the tiny knob at the back of the clock with great unfamiliarity. Surely,

he had figured out how the setting was, but wasn’t all that used to the
mechanism. Clumsy fingers finished with an audible click after the sounds of

a zipper. The youth then got up from his wooden stool and pulled me
lengthways by the wrist to go somewhere, with the clock in his hand. Before
long, we arrived by the base of the oak tree in my spacious backyard. He put

the clock down and sat near it. His hand patted the ground three times, as if he
would on the door- but by knocking. It wasn’t hard to understand the message

because as his eyes met mine, I sat down next to him.

“Do you remember them? Those widespread wings.”

 “… Right.”

As early as 7 in the morning, Mask literally chilled his way into my room.

Heavy freezing cold mists seeped through the tiny spider web cracks of my

frail window pane. The youth knocked once, twice, but the room lacked even a
mumble in reply. It was difficult to observe the inside because of the heavy-

coloured curtains draped over the framed panes. Frustrated, Mask stood

outside the purple fabric and glared in discontent.

The cold managed to penetrate through the defences of my violet blanket.

Their smoky hands touched my feet, bringing it into a heavy shiver. I could

feel the heavy weight of my eyelids as they refused open. Easily, I was tamed

by the unconscious desire to keep my eyes shut. Like that, I hissed a sleepy

“What?!” towards the Masked man. “Wake up,” He demanded. “No.” I

snorted. So he took away my blanket with the simple flick of his wrist. The
covers pried themselves free from my iron grip as an invisible force pulled

their ends in contrast to mine. My body tossed and turned; kicked and pulled.

The struggle was real and valued more than just that. It was a battlefield,
nobody takes my sleep. The sense of satisfaction welled in my heart as I kept

my pride bountiful.

“Go away, spirit man!” I yelled at the top of my lungs.

“Wake up, unproductive human!” He shouted in return. Stubbornly, my

face bore deeper into the bed; long fingers dug themselves into the soft fabric
sheets. My hands grabbed on to its frame persistently. Mask lowered the

temperature of the surroundings, whereupon i finally sat up angrily and threw

a pillow at him. Physically dissipating, he reappeared on the other side of the
room. The two of us bickered childishly for the following minutes. Thinking

back, it was also the first time in years I spoke so many words to someone

else.

Me: “Stop your inconceivable sorcery. You’re SUPPOSED to get hit.”

Mask: “No fool would stay still under the wrath of someone else.”

Me: “That’s not the point. Moving makes it worse, you insufferable alien.”

Mask: “On the contrary, I am not an alien, but a spirit.”

Me: “Just stay green, will you?” I flatly said. “And while you’re at it, it is

in fact, frowned upon society to creep into a lady’s chambers unwelcomed. If

the reason you’re here isn’t important, I normally prioritize the bed above all

else- specifically in the morning before 9. The more you know.”

“Come with me.” Mask coolly said. My heart surged with surprise from the

shocking experience of being teleported. In a blink of an eye, our feet landed

on the woodland’s sharp-scented earth. My head spun and I felt as if my

intestines unravelled and wrapped themselves around my fragile organs. A

tight squeeze followed from my gut. Immediately, his large hands covered the
entrance of my mouth. “Keep it in.” Nodding, I forcefully kept whatever was

about to come up, back in. We started to walk side by side one another with
matching footsteps. “Fire.” He suddenly whispered underneath his breath. A
crackling flame appeared by the tip of his fingertip. Its lively blue flame

flickered and brought light on and into the dim forest surrounding. Fascinated,
my eyes widened. “Are you a weather spirit? You bring about freezing

temperatures and can conjure flames out of thin air.”

 “I guess.” Mask nonchalantly responded whilst kicking a dried leaf. It
landed on a blue-tinted beetle not far away. The insect scurried away frightful,

crinkling a hustle of brownish orange leaves on their decaying stems. Silence

was normally bearable, but in this case were pure awkwardness. “Aren’t you

going take of that mask?” I inquired carefully. Till this day, I had not a clue of

his appearance, nor identity. Only the lingering image of a pair of bright

amethyst eyes remained.

Smoothly, Mask took of the cover off his face. His hair was a light brown

with a short, casual cut. His eyes were alert, and somewhat ancient;

contrasting with his boyish features. “Happy?” He asked. “Yea.” I replied,

satisfied. Just then, the leaves of the trees above us shook. Startled, I heard a

distant cry sound above our heads. My eyes caught sight of a familiar looking

bird of prey perching in its nest in the trees. I vaguely recognised it as a short,

brown head popped into view.

The Buzzer, if I wasn’t mistaken, suddenly flapped its wide wings and took

off into the skies with a ‘V’ shape. Amazed, I watched the white and brown
patterned wings glide from tree to tree. Jumping up and down, my hand

unconsciously pulled on the short sleeve of Mask’s t-shirt. “Mask!” I excitedly

whispered. “It’s… so cool.” Off topic, Mask responded more towards to his
‘name’ than my untamed happiness. “What did you call me?” I heard him ask.

“Mask. It’s your name. Or nickname if you hadn’t already got one.” He looked
down towards the ground. A quick smile I failed to catch laced his lips. Paying

his attention back to me, he asked if I liked birds. “They’re beautiful, I admit.
But what really baffles me is their ability to take flight.” Free and graceful;

fierce and untamed.

 Suddenly, the youth tapped my arm. He said: “Your wounds. I’ll help you
apply the medication for them later on.” Puzzled, I agreed in a daze. He

muttered a silent “Thank you.” afterwards, but I failed to figure out why.

Lying down on the prickly field of grass was something I’d gotten used to
after months of practice from the beginning of my arrival here. For hours,

canopies of leaves shaded our relaxing bodies. Gone was the twist of stars that

plagues the corners of my view. Our lying figures were tiny in comparison to
the blanket of shade that covered us. The branches of the Oak tree bounced up

and down. Its leaves rustled in unison. In its midst was the faint flicker of

movement. Pairs of songbirds perched, their tiny beaks carried hints of sticks

and straw. They had come to bring new life in to their own and perhaps on

mine as well. Encounters, full of coincidence, had my strings of fate tangled

with threads of another. Change wasn’t easy, but the rosy tint within my

complexion was obvious. Meals were taken on a regular basis, and I’d fulfilled

the basic quota for a healthy lifestyle with proper social interaction too. My

eyebrows were raised with pleasure. I took a deep breath in, then out. My

chest rose, then fell. “Do you have something to say?”

“No,” He replied, and after a long pause, continuing: “It’s just that... Your
face...”

My eyebrows rose inquisitively. “What about my face?”

“It’s weird.” He said simply. I found the innocence in his voice astounding;
it was pure and honest, unlike any other. Mask was a hit man in training

handed a gun for the first time. With words like pellets of paintballs; they
bruised, but dealt no real or major damage. Strangely, I felt more amused than
offended. After hours of relaxing on the grassy field, I stood up for a quick

stretch, and soothed my sore muscles. At the same time, the shape of my

shadow towered over him. The spirit had an expression of surprise on his face
as his eyes lightened up, curious- he always was. My hand reached out to

ruffle his pitch black hair, but stopped mid-air. Perhaps there was a look in my

eyes, one that I was unaware of, filled with fondness.

Mask “Are you going somewhere?”

Me: “No, but I wanted to inform you that the remark was kind of rude.”

Mask “You’re offended?”

Me: “No,” I said as my head shook, “but others would... I think.”

“Okay. But I doubt that either one of us would come into contact with any

other.” He sulkily remarked, and nodded sarcastically from our brief exchange
earlier. Just then, the yellow framed alarm clock placed by our feet rang as

soon as its thin and long arms struck 8. The sound was piercing, deafening my

ears. I speedily slammed the rectangular button on top of it, and brought it to a
temporary pause with enough time to turn off the switch. Six hours was gone

in a flash. A sheepish grin that threatened to stay on permanently was plastered

on my face. Their pair of eyes sparkled with emotion as the Festival of Spirits
finally begun. My legs sprinted north, straight towards the forest. The

whispering breeze cut through Mask and I, producing a soundly ‘whoosh’ past
our ears. “Careful, you’ll trip again.” He reminded. Playfully, I nodded in

response to his remark. Up ahead, was an array of… yellow, glowing lights?
The image wasn’t all that clear as we were still a distance apart, but the lights

were clearly in various sizes and intensity. I sprinted even quicker towards our
destination.

Mask’s leisured strolling kept up with my very own hasty steps. Another

inhuman feat, I noted. Distinct memories flash briefly. My lips drew into a

fond smile as I realized, had the youth tried, he could’ve very easily, caught
me. We were at the tip of our toes. Fresh grass tickled the soles my feet. Mask

floated the entire time, his body drifted in the warm breeze on a single

wavelength like a stringed balloon. And I stopped my run with reason, whilst
looking downwards at my bare feet. “Wait.” I blurted. “Shoes.”

Shoes showcase a great importance in everyday lives as you wear them.

The earth beneath my feet felt damp previously. I wasted an additional 20

minutes to prep up properly for the festival located in the woods. Cautious of

the protruding roots, fallen branches and prowling animals in the dark, Mask

and I decided to walk towards the designated area instead of rushing. The ball
of flame flickered at the tip of his index finger. Their scarlet flame lit the

pathway, easing our journey. Familiar glowing gazes held their gazes on me. I

was reminded of Mask, during the beginning. As I glanced towards him, my

right hand covered an obvious smile.

A smile that was soon-to-be tarnished from the clutches of great

misfortune. Repulsive monstrosities, four in number, surrounded us in a flash.

Their masculine bodies were joined with short and stubby legs; they possessed
pointed heads hat reached the height of my thighs. A cloth hid their dingly-

dangs. The tiny humanoid figures wielded spears twice the height of their
bodies. With a raised eyebrow, I glanced to the left where Mask stood. His

face came into a rigid expression of distaste and recognition. Without warning,
the imp-like things charged towards the duo. Right before my face, were
jagged teeth that lacked heavily in hygiene with stains of black and yellow in

between; plus, no eye-whites, The imp’s eyes were the heavily corroded
colour of ink. Mask immediately threw the ball of flame- the one that lit our

way- towards it. With a ‘bang’ it perished without as much as a growl.

“Go!” Shouted Mask. Furthermore, as the sole member of burden in a

sudden encounter with magical beings, I couldn’t retort his command or ask to
stay and fight alongside him. It would be a foolish decision that’ll do little to

no good for either of us. Helpless, I escaped alone, lacking a fuss. Yet worry

suffocated my lungs whilst I ran. My head turned to the back as I expected the

youth to appear in thin air once again. He didn’t however, and I was

concerning; building a rising anxiety into my pounding heart. ‘Turn back.’;

‘You’ll only make things more difficult if you go. Run and hide. Besides, “If a

friend is in trouble, don’t annoy him by asking if there is anything you can do.

Think up something appropriate and do it.” ~Edgar Watson’

But dangers continued to lurk beside me despite anything- there wasn’t

even time to contemplate my next actions; because almost immediately, my

mind knocked out upon the impact of a towering creature unbeknownst even
to me. Surely, it couldn’t have been a bear.

He called out her name repeatedly. No answer. Yet, she couldn’t have gone
too far. Not whilst he fought. His friend wasn’t at home, nor around the edge

of the forest. Mask persevered in his search and was rewarded with the
appearance of her limp and unconscious body; albeit quite pale and weightily

wounded. Furthermore, through the youth’s glowing amethyst eyes, he found

that the flame of her life was rapidly diminishing. Soon, the light might as well
go completely out.

Dropping to his knees, Mask cradled her as an endless flow of salty

teardrops fell neatly in a single line on to her sickly face. Transparent skin.
Pale, beyond compare. Panic continued to grow in Mask’s lungs like rapidly

grown vines of thorns. They rooted themselves completely and punctured

through his organs, making its way into his heart. He couldn’t breathe; the
blooming flowers with petals of faded greys and yellows suffocated his

oesophagus. With quivering lips, Mask could only purse them tightly; and

with trembling hands, he could only hold her own- frozen ice-cold- tighter.

Her shallow breaths rung in his ears like church bells. The pulse against his

skin grew slower as seconds and minutes passed unhurriedly. The fact that she

was dying was as transparent as the wine glass he’d accidently knocked over

on that faithful night. Whereupon time had unknowingly became precious.

Mask could his legs go numb from an infinite amount of pins and needles

in his legs from kneeling. He lacked the ability to sweat and was thankful. If
not, the never-changing t-shirt he wore would’ve been soaked down to its last

thread from cold sweat. The youth could feel his composure slip. A string of
words were choked down his throat. It was grief. Forcefully, he spit them out.
“Help...” exited his quivering lips. Unfaithful breezes failed to carry his plea.

A chorus of chirping crickets twittered; their cries heard clearer than anything
else within the vicinity.

Shadows, dyed with the colour of abyss, chased me. Faceless, they wore

shredded, hooded robes that were stained with the memories of my father.
 The subtle change of scenery was sudden and unexpected, but I could recall
my legs coming to a sprint as they reached towards the final line. The entrance

of the festival awaited me as I ran faster than ever, the fastest I ever had.
Rhythmic footsteps throbbed in unison with my quickened breath. One foot

after the other: ‘don’t tangle, please.’ I inwardly begged. My heart burned as it

switched places with the sink of the stomach. Every strand of muscle in my

legs ached for more oxygen which I couldn’t provide more than I already had.
Mask was behind me, he observed me with a gaze filled with warmth. I felt

bliss and like everyone else, wished it to last for an eternity. The lights grew

closer. Almost to the point my raised fingertips could touch them or grasp on

to them within my palms. The crowd of fireflies parted upon my sudden

arrival.

Their glowing abdomens were reflected on the peaceful surface of the lake,

bouncing of it. Hundreds of stars came to life as they buzzed with the

anticipation of another night. He, who had stayed behind me, conjured a ball

of dancing, blue flame. Its tail danced and flickered with vigour. There was the

universe, and there was the Earth. “Beautiful,” I exclaimed.

I played a game of tag with the shadows in the reality of its indefinite and
wretched place. Cracked light bulbs were hung on the low and grimy ceilings
of the dusty, grey corridor. Despite the anxiousness injected into my veins, I

took every given opportunity to take note of the surroundings under the
intention of taking it into an advantage at every- possible- turn perhaps. My

steps echoed on a pristine, tiled marble floor; every square was eroded from
time, but remained sublime in appearance. Hardy clusters of moss grew on the

corners of the steel-framed windows; I was surprised that life, other than mine
could survive in this accursed place. Connectedly, a thin layer of water pooled
by the crevices of the floor and it became no wonder that the resilient moss

could sustain its growth. I’d been running for hours on end, but my feet
weren’t sore. Feeling like a game character from the app ‘Temple Run’

With the pinch of an arm, I was reminded that it was no time to be

reminiscing of the times I had as a child when phones, much less their games,

were available. The ever-ending corridor was a maze with bucketfuls of twists
and turns, sharp corners and unfortunate dead-ends which I had passed

fortunately more than once. The shadow of spectres nipped at my heels, hot on

my trail as they continued to chase me with their floating figures on air.

Gravity did not apply to them, reminding me of... Who? My fear had long

dissipated, and I only kept the instinctive impulse to run. Thankfully, sweat

couldn’t be excreted here or the loose, blue t-shirt I wore would’ve been

soaked to the bone; specifically with cold sweat when I still felt fear for the

hundredth million hour when I navigated the maze of corridors cautiously.

My fingers habitually fiddled the gold-coated pendant left from my father. I

tugged on its shimmering string and clenched on to its cold metal. A series of
doubts started to begin crowding in my mind ‘What if there was no escape?’ I

inwardly grieved; and dreaded at the mere thought of having to run

continuously from the monstrosities that chased me for what seemed like

forever.

I spotted a potential life saver. Along the distance, at around 350 metres

away, was a human sized locker. Quite simply, my body tackled it for a hiding
spot. The door creaked nosily open as I recklessly swung its cool metal door

open. Ghastly layers of dust that lied asleep on the top of the metal scattered
themselves upon the unexpected movements of my violent entrance. Coming
down like a rain of ashes. ‘CLANG’ echoes throughout the grey corridors; the

pointed edge of my elbow accidently hit the inner walls of the locker. Warning
sirens blared at the innermost of my mind. Anxiety crept easily down the

muscles of my legs, paralyzing. Chocolate coloured eyes carefully peered

through the narrow gaps of line on the metal door. ‘Please be deaf.’ I hoped.

‘Please be blind too, you faceless things.’

Except, the rusted metal door was still pried open from the outside.

“No...” His voice was soft, but clear. “Please don’t. No, no, no...” My

eardrums were touched by strings of heavy and raw melancholy. Drained,

frigid skin felt warmth spread on to its cheeks and I could tell that someone

was crying in my stead; by the salt of their tears that unintentionally trickled

into my mouth; or just maybe, the tears belonged to me? Were they fearful for
what may happen, if I were to be caught by the monstrosities that pursued me

from a distance away? Or perhaps those individuals right in front of my fallen

face.

Instinctively, I kicked the Shadows. Uncaring if they were solid, or not.

Surprisingly, the ghastly figures retreated a step back as the soles of my shoes

hit one of their chests. We resumed the former chase of hope and death; till my
legs stopped running and so did the shadows that chased me relentlessly
earlier. With great courage, I turned towards the hooded figures and stepped

forward towards them after a click or realization. The background changed

before I could say anymore. My eyes laid themselves upon the house I saw in

my memories. One I displayed not my first, but last tantrum. Nostalgia hit me
like a tides of odd waves, dyed the colour of locked memories. Brought up,
was the sunken Pandora’s Box. A shadow of eyes, belonging to yours truly,

frantically darted across the living room connected with a dining room in an
artistic blend. Gentle footsteps came across the hard wooden floor. Clicks

came with every step; Mother was all dressed as she readied herself for dinner

with my Father. She headed towards me and gave a habitual peace sign (when

she was happy) with her long and delicate slender fingers. An unclear
silhouette of my own responded in return. It was me, but from the past. They

were the happy moments, forgotten with a hidden purpose. My heart swelled

with worry as I vaguely foresaw a shadowing chaos.

Father followed my mother soon after. His manly steps down the creaking

stairway troubled me. Wires of the circuit weren’t connecting right. The tiny

bronze cogwheels of my mind spun. Clicking with every turn. The silhouette

of my figure looked no younger than eight, so why couldn’t I revive the scene

before?

On the same day, my nervous footsteps found themselves creeping till the
front of a nostalgic room. Weary, I leaned my ear against the oak door in front

of me. There was silence. Foreboding, my steady fingers reached for the
doorknob with a tight clasp. I straightened my back and gave a sigh. Pushing
down the cool metal, rays of the corridor light penetrated the dark, eerie room.

First, my head peered inside and found the darkness impenetrable. The pulse
of heart failed to steady itself. It was I from the past yet again, curled up

within the corner of the square room. Sobbing, it was clear she couldn’t see
me. The back of my hand reached forward to wipe her weeping face stained

with streaks of sorrow. But like dust, this hand of mine could only scatter
apart. Going through the shadows of a repeated recollection easily. We were
trapped between the fantastical realms of dreams and reality.

My ears caught the sound and stench of a putrid liquid droplets that stained

themselves on the formerly red and luxurious, woollen carpet. They touched
the floor with an echoing ‘plop’ ringing in my ears, Pin-drop silenced helped

achieve such feat, I was not grateful. Fear-stricken eyes caught sight of a short,

wooden birch stool. Tipped over as if it were kicked, the various pieces of this
jigsaw puzzle were easily to put together. A pair of hands covered my chin-

dropped mouth. I gasp for air from the hands that belonged to me.

Originally downwards, my head lifted to a tragic sight. Starting from the

bottom, were a familiar pair of large and cracked feet floating inches above the

ground. Terror struck me like shots of lightning. The frontal lobes of my brain

started to numb, the entirety of my body shivered violently. The room wasn’t
cold, from what I last recalled. It wasn’t the weather either. Little I kept

trembling, curling herself into an even tighter ball than before. Her feet was

against her chest, pudgy arms wrapped around them for dear life. She rocked
back and forth, mumbling incoherent sentence. She was shocked, traumatized.

I stood rigid next to her broken self, 8 years in the future.

The face of Dad ended at the beginning of the line. A tight noose, made of
thick rope bound the slender nape of his nape securely. Its rough surface area
cut thinly into his neck. It bruised his sun-kissed skin hues of purple blue.

Stretches of excess rope laid lifelessly on the floor close to my feet. The attire
he wore brought butterflies into my stomach. She clutched her stomach with

both arms and swallowed the vomit that threatened to come out. Never-ending
amounts of drool continue to leak on his favourite tuxedo. It went from his
neck, onto the collar of the tuxedo he wore, and all the way down to its coat.

Pants, soaked with urine unceasingly dripped. Dripped. Drip.

Stiff limbs, as well as a paralysed body twisted with the rope into a slow
twirl. Mournful sobs replaced the former quiet in the room. They grew louder

and louder till there was darkness. Apples don’t fall far from their tree.

As her eyes fluttered open, my 8 year old self heard the constant wails and

curses of the neighbours outside her window. Confused, she failed to put

anything together. Mother held her hand and told her that it was okay.

“Forget.” She said. “Put them in a box. Close your eyes. Everything will be

over soon.”

Father was a reader with at least one book in hand. “A bedtime story,

please!” his deep and husky voiced lulled me to sleep better than anything

else. Strangely, it was always a dreamless slumber, one I loved the most. His
large palms pat my side whist tucking me in soft blankets. “… and the sullen

King bid farewell to no one before he left. The end, my child.” A peck on my

forehead, a final: why. “It’s because the King loved his family very much,
love.” Closed he, my most precious father. The golden clock remained on my

rising chest. A Lucky seven’s birthday gift crafted by the man himself.

My eyelids unhurriedly lifted. Mask frantic actions immediately greeted

me. Relief was written all over his worried features. My body was within his
arms, the bear wound remained bleeding. It wasn’t surprising. Luck had never

been on my side. My dizzied head knocked softly against his chest. ‘Listen’
read my eyes. Light-headed, I spoke: “They blamed our home. Saying it was
haunted by ghosts or demons or some... unknown spirits. But they were all

wrong, the lot of them, because Dad committed suicide. And no one

acknowledged it. They didn’t want to believe his wise-self would, that
although he had a family, it was still too painful too bear to the point he... he

did the deed. They meant well, but the seeds of paranoia grew.” Mask gave a

saddened smile as he listened. “Does it still hurt?” He asked.

“Listen to me, you donkey. My wound... won’t matter soon. I need you to
listen because it does hurt. Because... their words were as sharp as sharpened

knives that cut through our hopeful barriers like tofu and we bled insecurities-

for days, then weeks, and months- on end. It wasn’t due to my father’s

incident however, but the fault of our neighbours. Excuses grew continuously

and we were blamed for even the smallest of accidents. Always, it was ‘our

fault, our fault, and never theirs or anyone else. Mom couldn’t take it, and

left, bringing me along. She was already broken enough without her husband,

the pillar of her being whom she loved very much. And she was pitiful as she

indulged in the wallows of her grief. You need to know all of this, Mask.”

The spirit flinched at the pre-determined name. It was an unspoken

occurrence. Once nameless, he received an unsaid identity.

Mask took in a sharp breath, inducing a light flutter in the wind. The colour
his face was drained similarly to the colour of what I thought might as well
been the colour of a sick patient. Despite my frantic plead, he wasn’t listening.

Through the light in his eyes, there glimmered hope. Therotically speaking, he
believed I could always speak another day, as long as I lived. He’d let me

repeat the speech over and over again and as much as I wanted.
 Unfortunately, I could continuously feel the blood drain unstoppably
despite Mask’s effort to minimize the bleeding. He was a wandering spirit that

could not heal. The fact obviously infuriated him, as well as built a deep sense
of guilt that would remain in the pits of his stomach. My own churned from

the larger pressure he applied more so; in a pitiful attempt to keep me alive for

as long possible.

His desperate and glowing eyes were watery and I could tell he wasn’t
ashamed to cry. ‘The reason he probably isn’t might’ve been because they’ve

all already dried up.’ I jokingly pondered. My body trembled once again as

warmth gradually left me at a fastening rate. Mask eyes dilated into slits from

the thought or even plausible fact that I had to go and never come back;

travelling to someplace he couldn’t reach. Like soft sand, he could feel the fine

grains slip through the gap through his fingers in which he could not control

despite placing the other hand beneath it. “Don’t go,” He cried. “Help will

come soon.” Mask lied. His voice was an octave lower than the normality. It

was a desperate lie, hidden with a cracking whisper.

My lips broke from its formerly dying expression into a playful, but weak

grin. I amusingly said: “You’re being logically dramatic; like the main male
protagonist of a tragic play. It’s kinda sweet, if I don’t say. Besides, your ear
twitches when you lie, ya know.” Mask didn’t take the joke as well as I did

becoming notably angry. An ugly scowl distorted his youthful and well-made
features. It complimented the sorrow in his voice. “Stop it.” I heard him say. A

sigh escaped my lips.

The common perception of space was easily broken down and distorted
with a second-long wait. In mere time, both of us warped back to the spacious
field of my home’s backyard during the verge of a rising dawn. The scenery

was enchantingly majestic as the semi-transparent clouds from high above and
the ancient oaken tree spectated my final moments. Still skies waited for my

departure with an unwavering patience. Mask performed one of his inhuman

feats yet again by bringing an earth-breaking pressure and tenseness to our

surroundings. He was childish that way. Not a trace of sound escaped Mother
Nature.

The clock pendant that hung on the golden chain around my neck stopped

shimmering from crusty blood stains that contaminated its shine. Their ever-

moving arms came to an abrupt halt; glass covering its Romanised digits

cracked like spider webs. Weakly, I managed to sit up from his gentle

embrace. My broken and trembling nails unclipped the clasps of the necklace.

Carefully, I placed it within the centre of Mask’s hand. His eyes widened with

shock. Consequently, his light brows came together into a tight knit. Mask

clenched his hand into a tight ball, holding on to the golden memento.

Particles of light, circled by silver smoke gathered by his fingers, and seeped
through them. Instinctively, I was sure his hand was accidently from clasping

on to my pendant’s thin, round edges too tightly. It made me laugh out loud, as
well as cough just as hard. I guessed the puncture of a few organs because my

entire body hurt; a shot of blood had made its way to my throat and slid back
done just as quickly. My fluttering eyes caught sight of Mask’s face again. His
face was never-changing from the same desperate and panicked expression.

“Smile, okay?” I sincerely requested. “The next time my eyes flutter open -

even if they’re smaller half-closed and you can’t really see them- you have to
smile. Not cry, cause if… ” My throat forced coughs from discomfort, “If you
do, I’d feel guilty to have left you, the heartless donkey.”

I had my head lean on his shoulder. My life had already been stretched for

too long. Taking a brief glance at the deep wound by my side, it was covered
clumsily by a hand coated with blood. The pool of silky crimson poured out

on the grass mirrored our reflections. It was the crack of dawn, whereupon

another day waited. She passed away that morning, whereupon not a thread of
life remained upon her greyish skin.

The mourning youth sat as still as a statue by her stiff corpse. It was

curiosity that brought him to her. ‘Curiosity that killed the cat and a

satisfaction which failed to bring it back.’ He felt empty; the core in the depths

of his soul trembled violently. Transparent, like that unfortunate fall of a glass

cup he had accidentally hit over. He recalled it falling in slow motion,

plunging whilst imbalanced upon mid-air, splitting as it hit the ground. The

hundreds of broken shards hurt her, he remembered. Yet again, he hurt her.

Mask conjured his trademark mask, origin to his name. Quite simply, he

placed it on the freshly ever-growing grass. Then, the youth rubbed his hands
together. Be ridding the dried and crusted blood coating his hands; flake upon

flake, they fell. The rust coloured specks dirtied what was once a clear and
emerald patch of sprouting dandelions; sparkling from sunlight and morning
dew. As he mumbled a name under his breath, Mask lifted a finger and the

plain white mask floated wobbly in mid-air. After an extended amount of time
in what seemed like forever, he landed it with a perfect fit on her facial

features. ‘In exchange for the precious reminder, I too, will offer something of
equal value to me. My belonging.’

And there was time. The one exchange he could not make, nor give.

Exhaustion was bluntly reflected from the dimmed amethyst eyes of Mask.

He sighed once, then twice; and disappeared into nothingness, replacing his

presence were sunken wisps of sparkling grey fire and smoke.

6 years later.

“The house’s a bit soft but it’ll do.” thought Michelle, out loud.

Relaxed, the teenager examined the interior. It was simple and homely. She

reckoned it would’ve been piled with dust after the mysterious disappearance

of its former owner. Despite that, Michelle saw that the house was perfectly

fine. Spotless, she’d even say.

“Who’re you?” A youthful voice spoke.

Startled, Michelle took a step back and accidentally collided into the owner

of the mysterious voice. Incomprehensible chills suddenly ran up her spine.

Goosebumps started to appear immediately. She turned around, facing him.

Michelle’s obsidian eyes widened, “Who?” she blurted.

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