Summary: This is basically a description of one of my vivid dream. It took me a long time to properly wrote this and I want to thank Starwatcher2018 for corrections and advices.
In this dream I saw mask and that mask was full of pain and darkness. In this story, I somehow wanted to relieve the wearer's suffering.
There was darkness.
However, it was always dark in the catacombs.
The darkness that absorbed not only light but all hope.
It seemed, there was no joy, no reason for life because of it.
Suddenly something moved in the darkness.
"Calm down," whispered quiet, female voice.
The man touched his mask.
The girl examined the mask. It glowed in the dark, almost like a will-o'-wisp that lured travellers from the right path to death. But there was nothing special about it, and yet she knew its bearer would be unique.
The man sat up and looked around the catacombs. How did he get here? The last thing he remembered was how he wandered through the catacombs. He had to have fallen somewhere – exhausted – and the girl who was kneeling before him must have found him. He reached for the mask again to make sure it was still in place.
"Why do you allow the mask to hurt you?" The girl asked.
The man paused. "Believe me, my ..." he stopped, touching the mask. "My face can bear a few more wounds or scars. It doesn't matter."
"But pain matters. The mask, whatever its reason is, shouldn't hurt you."
The man made a few steps away from the girl. "How do you know that the mask hurts me? Nobody has noticed yet. Not even my m…"
"Mother?"
The man in the mask looked down at the ground.
"I'm a mask maker," the girl said, taking some bold steps. "I know everything about the masks. Not only about materials, but also what they represent, how they speak. Yours is full of pain and aggression. It must choke you and hurt you."
"It doesn't matter," the man snapped, turning around. He wanted to leave here. Be far from this odd girl, far from all thoughts she brought with her intrusive questions. The darkness around him was choking him. He felt that he had nowhere to run. He had to bear the unbearable weight of his face, like Atlas, who bore the weight of the whole world.
And like Atlas, he had no choice. He had to bear this weight until the end of his days.
The girl came to him and touched his shoulder. "You don't have to suffer more than it's necessary," she said quietly.
Her voice made him turn. "What do you want?" He asked.
The girl slightly smiled. "Take off your mask and I'll give you a face," she said calmly.
The man flinched. "You don't know what you're asking for," he retorted, stepping back.
The girl did not move – just stood before him, smiling. "But I do," she continued confidently. "I'm a mask maker, remember? It's my destiny. Something with which I have to wake up and fall asleep."
The man sat down on the floor and with shaking hands reached for the mask. Carefully he untied the ribbon that held it in place, and felt how the pressure on his face loosened. When he took off his mask, he closed his eyes.
He could breathe. This happened whenever he removed it, he felt relief. Wearing it, he felt strangled. How his skin and flesh were torn raw to hide what no one should see. But, he couldn't bear his own face, so he put the hated mask back on every morning.
When he opened his eyes, he saw nothing but darkness. A darkness suddenly disturbed by the small light as the girl lit a candle in front of him. He flinched and covered his face with his hand. He could feel his heart shouting, and how every muscle in his body commanded him to escape.
He waited scream, waited for pain, but none of it came.
The girl gently touched him. She gently picked up the mask from his hand and set it aside. "You don't have to fear," she said softly, touching his hand that covered his face. "You're not your face. You don't have to worry that I would condemn you for it."
The man looked at her through his fingers. He stared into her innocent eyes and couldn't find a hint of lie. He slowly uncovered his face and closed his eyes again. He waited. For screaming, for gasping, for anything.
But none of this came.
When he opened his eyes, he saw the girl sitting in front of him.
"Those bruises... are caused by that mask?" She asked after a moment that seemed like eternity.
The man nodded.
"It must hurt you," the girl continued in disbelief.
The man nodded again. From birth he was sentenced to feel pain and the mask was just a bitter proof.
The girl turned for a moment and pulled a leather suitcase out of the darkness. She was used to bringing all of her things with her. She opened it and took out a vial with some liquid and a clean cloth. Then she sat across from the man and stared at the swirling abrasions. "I need to clean it up a little. Don't worry, it won't hurt, it's just a camomile extract. I get hurt a lot when working and this helps me. It's my personal recipe," she said softly, touching his face with a damp cloth.
He never felt anything like that. Nobody had ever touched him so gently. Nobody had ever touched his face. He closed his eyes and started cry.
The girl flinched in surprise. "I didn't mean to hurt you," she said, putting the vial down.
The man shook his head. "You didn't hurt me. It's just…" he said. He didn't even know what to say.
The girl looked at him for a moment and then returned to her suitcase. "I'll give you a face if you agree." She looked again into the bowels of her suitcase. She needed something on which she could create the new mask. It would take a very long time to make a new face cast, so she had to improvise.
From the suitcase, she took the cast of her own face and looked around. Her eyes rested on the mask she had taken from the man. Why not use something bad to make something good? She took the mask and placed it on the casting to have a solid base for her work. Given that the man's face was slightly larger, the mask on the plaster cast held very well. Now that she had a base, she could start thinking about materials.
She examined several types of material in her suitcase. The material had to be comfortable and breathable. The gypsum from which man´s mask was made, hurt him and rubbed the skin off his face. The fabric was the most breathable, but the girl couldn't imagine what it would do with his lack of nose. Yes, the condition of his face was something she had to reckon with.
Then she took out the white leather. It was soft, breathable, and held its shape, this would make it feel comfortable on his face. She looked back at the face of the man sitting in front of her – staring at the ground. "How is it possible, that…"
"I was born like this," the man replied before the girl could finish her question. "When my mother carried me, she was hoping for a new life, but when I was born I became the biggest disappointment of her life. All she was able to give me was a mask. She never asked if something was hurting or bothering me. As long as I was wearing my mask, everything was fine."
The girl looked up from her work and looked with regret at the face of the man sitting in front of her. How much pain he had to experience because of something what wasn't his fault. How much pain and aggression was hidden in a simple gypsum mask.
"As a mask maker, I think that every mask has its own personality or name. If the mask is made with bitter, it will give bitter," she said graciously as she continued her work. "If I give you this mask, it doesn't have to be a source of pain," she finished quietly and continued with her job.
The man watched the girl working and listened to her whispering. How her long fingers gently touched the leather and shaped it. Her face was so calm.
"Do you have a name?" She asked thoughtfully as she took a glass of brushes out of her suitcase.
"I don't have a name," he said quietly.
The girl looked away from her work and smiled. "So you are a little unbaptized child."
The man crossed his arms. "I don't think is appropriate to joke about it," he said through his teeth. His mother gave him no love nor name. All she could give him was the pain and the mask that ruined everything that was left of his face. Because of this, he himself could feel only hate for himself, and therefore the masks he made himself choked him and hurt him.
"It would be easier to finish the mask if you told me how to call you."
The man didn't answer. It was hard to think of himself as a person who deserved a name when no one in his entire life wanted to call him by name. Or who would accept him as a person.
The girl put the unfinished mask on the plaster cast and moved closer to the man. She took his hands gently. The man did not resist, he just stared at her face in surprise, wondering what she wanted to do. Who is she that she could touch him without any disgust?
"Hands tell a lot about human," she said, examining a few small scars he had at his joints. "These hands talk a lot about pain, but also about harmony," she said, thinking. "It will be the hands of a magician or someone who loves music."
The man looked at his hands. They were able to take lives and still be tender. Thanks to them he created music.
"I think I know name what you would like," the girl continued. Her voice interrupted the silence. "You should be Erik. It's from Scandinavia and it means a direct ruler. It is a name worn by a man who, although he rules, can be honest and gentle. Such a person is not bound by his destiny and faces everything that life prepares for him."
The man looked at his hand again. "It has a nice sound," he admitted softly.
The girl took a small knife out of her suitcase to cut openings for her eyes and mouth in the mask.
Her job was almost done. "Remember that sound," she said softly. Then she looked at her finished work. "The mask must be dried for a few hours. It shouldn't choke you, like the mask you had before. It is a lightweight material that is breathable and can be worn for as long as you want, without noticing that you have it on your face," she continued, returning her tools to the suitcase.
Then she rose to leave. Without a word, she passed the man on her way away. Suddenly she stopped. "Maybe I could make you a mask that looks like a normal face. No one would recognise you in it," she admitted softly. "When you find love in your life that makes you decide to live and forget your self-hate, search for me. I'll be prepared," she said, leaving.
"Wait!" called the man.
She stopped.
"Who are you? Are you some supernatural creature what just appear when somebody needs it?"
The girl smiled.
"I am just mask maker," she answer him, then left him in darkness and silence.
The man sat opposite the drying mask and wondered. About life, about love, about music. He was like Atlas who must carry the weight of the whole world, but for the first time in his life he didn't mind.
He let the time passed quietly, slowly comparing himself to his new name. Suddenly he felt stronger than ever. He reached for the already dry mask and removed it from the plaster base. In his hand besides the leather mask, remained the old one from gypsum. He looked at it and threw it to the ground without emotion. It no longer had to tie him up.
In his hand remained only leather mask. It was incredibly light. He put it on his face slowly and took a breath. It was a wonderful feeling. He rose and headed for the exit. He was no longer a nameless pilgrim who belonged to nowhere. He had the hope he had a name he wanted to remember forever.
The name that captured his heart.
Erik.