Day 195 - Mask Story

Mask Story

Matthew Ryan Fischer

It was a mask of gold and to wear it granted a spartan-esque emotional stoicism. The face was plain and without detail or orientations. It was human, but that was all – genderless, colorless, and racially ambiguous. It was a dull gold in the most boring way possible. There was no glamor or glitz, no shine nor glow. Nothing about the mask would inspire emotion or awe. In that way the mask was perfect and served its purpose, not as a tool of battle, but a tool of emotion and dominance.

Stein had won the mask in battle when he slit the throat of a Roman soldier. The mask appeared ceremonial and offered no real protection, but Stein was instantly drawn to it. The hidden face without detail gave its bearer a mysterious appearance. He showed no emotion; no matter what was really going on behind the mask, the warrior had seemed calm. Even when Stein killed him, the warrior was calm. There was a strength in appearing calm in battle. It encouraged bravery with his companions and disturbed fear in his opponents. Stein took the mask, but left the blood stains on it. He wanted his enemies to see it and know death was coming for them. That was how he pictured himself, the calm personification of death. The mask might not have been made for him, but it might as well have been made for him. It was most fitting that it found its way to him or he found his way to it, depending on how one was to look at the situation.

Stein wore that mask and found that in turn he became a master of emotions. The mask inspired him – its hidden features gave him strength and allowed him to act brave behind its aloof demeanor. He believed he had new-found abilities and clarity. He saw the world in slow-motion. He was always alert, always ready, almost as if he had a second sight and knew what was to happen. He became possessed with a grand mightiness and stabilizing force among the men he went to war with. The other men believed the mask was a thief in the night. It stole their emotions – fear, worry, weakness. They were all hardened by Stein’s presence and by the mask itself. They all believed in its power. They gave themselves over to it, and in turn it hardened them. The killing grew and their strength was unparalleled.

For years, the mask strengthened the men. For years their hearts grew cold, their emotions dull and toughened like their bodies. For years they were dehumanized, killing wherever they went. The mask drank their emotions up and the men willingly complied. They denied emotion. They made themselves statues in battle, unfettered by human things like needs and wants. They were made of stone. And then one day, the army disappeared and the men became statues that were actual stone, the mask finalizing their literal transformation. The statue warriors became a sight to behold and admire, even if there was no explanation of who had created them or why. Spectators marveled at the realistic craftsmanship of the work. Little did anyone realize what truly lay beneath their skin of stone. The statues would be in a museum someday, the mask still in place, with a cold and emotionless look upon its face. Staring. Watching. Waiting.