I Could Not Believe My Eyes
As I ran, I passed a pond with an entrance to another cave. I could not believe my eyes, but there was the Mask Master looking straight at me. He swam in front of the entry to the cave. Under the water Fog Mother glowed. He did not say anything, but he just kept staring with that arrogant and amused smile. I finally arrived home after this strange event.
— Mask Master staring at me —
The decision to return to being a human was a rather easy choice. As a human I had the possibility to live the way I wanted, to be free in my spirit, to think without shackles, to make life into the thing I desired. Alas, it is coming to an end soon, I do not regret having lost the possibility for a longer existence of some kind. Having to live in a preordained and unthinking way can not be right nor enjoyable, not even for a mask.
All the changes, cleverly designed to draw you in, to dull your senses and deceive you, can not make up for the freedom you gain by being independent, relying on your own mind about your life. Most humans adapt the same boxed in lives as the masks, they abandon freely the capacity they have to think. Some catchy phrases and some threats of the unknown makes them fall into line behind the ones that want to rule and control them. Belief is taking the place of knowing.
As far as I can tell, I was the only mask that was left to live as a human being. I have lived my life by my own will in my later years after I was forced to become this woman that I am now. I lucked out to have been she. I wonder if I would have been able to change from an ugly person to one with a state of mind that I have now. Or is the mind of this woman my own? I will never know.
My Lttle Book Is Almost Filled
My little book is almost filled to the last page, just as my life is. Sometimes I look at the pretty feather, all that is left of my other life, a pretty feather, never to be filled with life again. Or was it life at all? Is it just an object, deceptive in its beauty?
My beloved companions came also back to me. As I look down I see my little Prince, his tail curled around his white paws. His whiskers twitching with a thought. He seems as happy as I am, getting up and giving me a little bump on my leg. I respond to him with a soft pat on his back. My other little friend, Princess, gives me a small woof and off the both of them go. Life. Precious life.
The artist closed the diary, picked it up and closed her eyes, moving her hand slowly over the embossed leather. She wanted to put the small book back into its box and opened the lid. Three red spiders crawled onto her hand. The bites hurt, she fell down and touched her face and felt feathers ...
