The next artifact is curious indeed. I pick it up and turn it gently in my hands. It is... a false face, white, lined in red.
She used to wear the mask only on stage - a simplified face for simple productions, Noh plays. The plays did not call for emotion, expression - just this almost-featureless face.
She took it home, wore it on the train - and found herself relieved by her anonymity. No one edged close to her. No one made overtures toward her. If anyone looked at her, they likely thought her a little bit mad - worn jeans, t-shirt, sandals, and a white-and-red mask, long dark hair framing that so-white face.
She started wearing it every day, feeling safe behind her mask. The world began to go a little bit mad, all the radios and television screaming warnings; she wore the mask more and more, until she simply never took it off.
Until it simply became her face. World dissolving around her, and her safe and secure behind her emotionless, almost-featureless face.
Mask by the amazing ArtfulRuin of the Maskwood. Papier mache, gesso, acrylic paint, acrylic felt, elastic cord; 1 of 5,
but because each mask is handmade, each is one of a kind. Felt-lined
for comfort - this isn't just beautiful, it's very wearable.
The really annoying thing about ScribeFire is that I can only see about half of what I'm writing. :P
Quote: "Rubber chickens and nudity. Yep. That's Blogathon."
Blogathon 2008. 24 hours of spontaneous fiction for BARCC.