The Mask

The Mask

Howard Seeley

I woke up, as I do each day. There’s no bed to greet me, only the moss-covered floor I lay on. The coldness of the stone floor and damp air sucks the warmth from my limbs and leaves my joints crying in agony. Through all the pain, I rise to my feet. No one is there to greet me, no window to look out of, only an iron door faces me, with no way for me to unlock it.

Through the darkness of the room, I tread to a corner and relieve my over swollen bladder. When I finish, I touch the wall in front of me and feel the uncountable scratches I have made since I first came here. Each time I woke up, I would add another scratch to join the others. I knew it was a useless calendar since I had no idea when day or night even passed by.

I pulled out a well-worn stone from my pocket and created a new family member for the scratched. When I was done, I found my way to the door, to see if a plate of food awaited me. I reached down to the slot at the bottom of the door but found nothing. It was of no surprise though. And when a plate awaited me, it was nothing to write home about.

I walked to the far corner of my room and squatted. There was nothing left for me to do but wait and ask myself the same questions I’ve asked since my incarceration. Why am I here? and Why am I wearing this mask?

I glanced back at the wall of scratches and wondered how many days I have been here. It seemed almost like a dream, those so many years ago. I was walking down a street and turn into the market square. I can almost recall the aroma of the foods cooking there, as they simmered on open fires. I purchased a fried dumpling and when I turned around, I accidently bumped into a lady. By the way she was dressed, she seemed to be someone of importance. With that and the fact my dumpling flew from my hand and fell down the front of her dress, she screamed in horror. Moments later, palace guards were dragging me to the dungeon and ensnared my head into a tight-fitting leather mask.

I begged the jail keepers to tell me why this was happening, but they didn’t say a word. When they were done with me, they sealed me into this pit, which I now call home.

At first, the mask seemed to take on a life of its own and it slowly began to eat away at my flesh. For what seemed like an eternity, I felt my face being pulled apart, piece by piece. Finally, the tortured ceased and the mask became the face I only knew.

To entertain myself, I counted how many stones made up the walls of my confinement. It was two-thousand, two-hundred and seventeen. On those days I counted the stones, I circled the scratch assigned for that and of all the times I counted them. Even though the number of circles increased, the number of stones never changed.

Sometimes I put my ear to the door and try to listen to the guards talk among themselves. I could never hear walk they were talking about, but if it were about me, I had to smile to myself, for I had a secret. All the efforts they put into trying to keep me in isolation have failed, for each day I had a visitor. While the guards were talking, Harry would sneak by them and come to my cell for a visit. If you could overlook his long tail and four legs, Harry the Rat was quite pleasant company. I would tell him how my day was and how I felt. Harry, in turn would listen to every word I said and to reward him, I would give him a piece of my scraps for him to feast on. Yes, Harry was my only friend.

A commotion from outside my door broke my concentration. A sound I almost forgot existed rang through my ears. Someone unlocked my door. As the door was forced open, the hinges groaned as they broke through the encrusted rust. The brilliance of the light burned my eyes, but through the haze, I saw two guards walked in and looked around. One of them turned to an invisible person on the other side of the door and yelled to him. “Clean up this mess.”

A third person, obviously a commoner walked in with a pale of water and splashed on my wall of scratches and my excrement below it. I ran towards the man and yelled, “No! Don’t!” But my efforts were in vain. The guards easily stopped me, and the servant finished up his work. The guards threw me against the wall, walked out and locked the door behind them. Again, I was utterly alone.

My eyes quickly adapted to the dark and I found my way to the wall. I reached out to touch it, hoping to find the all too familiar scratches waiting for me, but I was sadly disappointed. I caressed the entire wall, looking for survivors. Sometimes, I thought I would find one, but I couldn’t tell if it was a scratch I made or if it was there before I was. When I was finished, I fell to my knees and cried. The one thing that I could call mine, was taken away from me and no one was able to replace it.

Tears ejected from my eyes and poured down the new skin I was wearing. I couldn’t feel the dampness of the tears, but I didn’t hesitate to wipe them away. My one possession was taken from me, but not my ability to create another one. I took the stone out of my pocket and made a scratch on the wall. A new era has dawned and I must record, no matter what.