Writers block is a plague and I'm infected. Hi, I'm Araw. I'm seventeen and I call myself I writer.

Message to Readers

Got a little lazy on this one, but I tried a more conversational, less technical tone here.

The Mask Maker

August 27, 2018


I am a mask maker. Whenever someone makes a face I haven’t made a mask for, I spend hours making one, practicing the expression in the mirror. At times, I’d smile as far as the ends of my mouth would go. Other times, I would attempt to keep my eyes open so they’d dry out and I’d be forced to cry. I would rehearse until I could put on these masks at any time I wanted, until they were convincing enough to trick even the most skeptical of people. You see, other children could make faces on their own. It was instinctual to them. They do it when they are happy or sad or angry. I’ve always been told those worlds mean things inside you, things that makes you feel different ways, things that makes people make those faces. Being happy is what someone experiences when something good happens to them. Being sad is the inverse. Angry is like sad, but violent. That’s what I gather from watching people. It’s what’s on the surface. Otherwise, I haven’t got a clue what they’re talking about. They’re just words to me. Still, everyone has them, which means they will despise you if you don’t. That is why I make masks, so everyone thinks I can be happy, sad or angry. Or whatever else they make up. If I can see someone’s face show it, I will do it.

               Being able to make masks has been extremely helpful to me. When someone lies, you can see it. Every human has a tell, whether it be the way their eye twitches or a change in the way they speak. It’s always blatant in the way they act. The mask I use to seem innocent, however, takes away all my tells. To put it on, I relax the muscles in my face and arms. I walk as if I have an objective, as if I had done nothing. It is easy when you really believe it. I was never caught. On the rare occasion that I had no alibi, however, I would put on the guilty mask. I acted like I regret what I have done, even though I never understood regret. Why do something if you would only wish to not have done it later?  With every lie, I got better with both masks. I even made up things to say, apologies and excuses.

               My lies began small. I would say that my brother had eaten all the cookies my parents had baked for guests. I would tell my teachers I had done my homework, then present a copy of someone else’s. When I had gotten better at these meaningless dishonesties, I had moved on. I used my other masks to make people think I liked them, that I would do anything for them. People like to think themselves important, so the aim was to make them feel important. With my masks, I had gained a lot of friends. Of course, I never really cared for them. People with more friends just tend to have more opportunities. The mistakes they make also go unnoticed more often because people convince themselves that the people they like are good people. They do not like to admit that they have bad taste in people. Of course, that meant they didn’t mind when I accidentally bump into them too hard or never pay them back after borrowing money. My masks made sure of that.

               My masks weren’t always foolproof. There’d be someone who would see through them, someone who could tell that I never actually felt what I showed on my face. I never saw them as trouble until I had realised they talked about me behind my back. They worked to turn people against me. There was an extremely simple solution to this. Turn people against them first. Make them out to be the creeps they are. Force a mask on them. A mask that showed how stupid they were for doubting the integrity of my character. When other people saw that mask, they isolated the people who wore it. I never did a thing to harm them, but their heads had been slammed into lockers and their schoolwork burned. They lost everyone they knew and their feelings of isolation would soon show in the languid manner they’d move. When I saw that, I knew that their souls had been broken, just like I wanted.

               Still, it wasn’t enough. There was nothing to guarantee their silence, nothing to say they didn’t want revenge. If they were smart enough to see past the masks, they were smart enough to understand that I was responsible for their downfall. It was not enough to beat them down. I needed to ensure that they could not do anything more to hurt my image. One by one, I got them alone and I took of my masks layer by layer. Those who see under my masks are never heard from again.


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  • JadeAndSerpentine

    Wow. This is excellent. You never fail to impress me :)

    about 1 year ago
  • annie_cheng

    Okay, I wrote my review, but apparently it's still being approved. Sorry! Hopefully it will be available for you to see soon.

    about 1 year ago
  • annie_cheng

    On first read, this looks so awesome!!! Review coming later this week, probably on Saturday/Sunday :)

    about 1 year ago
  • SomeFormOfWriting

    I feel like the final paragraph turned from sociopath to serial killer, and I don't know how I feel about that. I do know, however, that I very much enjoyed the first three paragraphs. This is the kind of character I'd love to write as, or see works of fiction about.

    about 1 year ago
  • Nonny21

    WOW!!!!!!!!! You've got an instant fan of your writing!!!
    You kept me absolutely hooked from the very first line. Dark, haunting and perfectly written.. Just wow <3 <3

    about 1 year ago
  • Araw

    Ah, don't worry. I'm nothing like that. Well, that you know of.

    about 1 year ago
  • Anha

    I see what you mean by more conversational compared to your usually technical tone. The thing is... who are they talking to? *le gasp* A dark and haunting piece, I'd be very sad if you were like them rip

    about 1 year ago