Underneath the Mask

A Vignette of Silent Darkness

His breathing was growing heavier now, more rapid and labored.. It always did afterwards, the act always calmed him. In fact, in all his, somewhat unreliable, memories of his short life (has it only been 30 years?.. it seems so much longer), those were the only moments of stillness he could remember. Moments when he almost felt like himself.. in control of his thoughts, his careful and meticulous actions, his mind calm and serene, like the algae infested blue-green waters of the small lake near his childhood home on the windless, grey winter day.. untouched by troubling, excruciating emotion or helpless, pathetic sentiment that kept him bound down to mediocrity and ugliness day after day.

He was so much more.. so much more grand and beautiful than what they saw.. what he let them see. Their stupidity and silliness drove him to near insanity, when he would listen to them rant and rave pitifully about their insignificant troubles and problems, he would try to elicit from his bored and exhausted mind some kind of appropriate emotion to display on his well defined, aquiline face. He sometimes had trouble finding the right reaction or there would be an inevitable delay in response, and he would have to spend the next few seconds or minutes looking for clues as to whether they noticed.. they saw or suspected for a brief moment who he was.. what he was.. For a fraction of a second he would almost wish he could see their eyes open wide in amazement and adoration at the recognition. How stupid would they feel then? That thought often amused him, even into uncharacteristic chuckling when he was stuck in traffic, bored as he waited in line patiently for the sheep to get on with their 'important', busy lives..

The woman who came to clean the house was the worst. She came every other day, he had made sure of that.. he couldn't handle her on a daily basis but this way she appeared just when he would get bored.. Oh, the incessant noise that came out of her fat, disgusting mouth as she narrated and explained in painful detail how her son no longer cared about her feelings, how he doesn't remember the blood and sweat she had shed toiling away for decades for him, how she had dreams when she was younger too, how being a mother changes you.. then she would move on to praising him, explaining how it wasn't entirely his fault, how he never had a strong male influence in his young life..blah blah blah.. The day before during this cacophony he started playing with the humorous fantasy of how her high pitched, uneducated, ignorant voice would change if he slowly cut into her voice box as she was chattering away... would it go higher or deeper? He toyed with the idea of doing it then and there. The surgical scalpel he had bought last week would do. Where had he kept it? Oh yeah.. in the bottom drawer of his bedroom desk. How her rancid mouth would fill up with her impure, dirty, dark blood and how her flea bitten tongue would taste it in shock and embarrassment(?). How it would run down his palm and forearm as her flabby jowls would shake and shiver at the mercy of his powerful physique. Wait.. did he have enough liquid hand sanitizer left? It would be disgusting to keep that kind of sticky fluid on his person for minutes. Yes! He had bought a new bottle three days ago. So nothing actually stopped him.. technically.. The thought made him smile. He snapped back to the colorless reality when she smiled back. Apparently, she had been narrating some endearing incident from her or her filthy son's childhood. The sudden realization that she had misunderstood his smile as sympathy or enjoyment or compassion or one of those things, to her useless tale made him feel sick and revolted inside. He had to quickly turn away and walk in to the bathroom. As he washed his face, over and over again, he screamed a thousand curses inside.. at himself for being so careless, at her sheer nerve for considering him.. him.. an equal even if it was just for a second, at the magnificently cruel world that wept and fought for all the worms and maggots - their futile rights and moronic freedoms, when they wouldn't let something as awe inspiring and elegant as him scream at the top of his lungs in to their deaf ears - "LOOK AT ME!! THIS IS WHO I AM!! THIS IS WHAT I AM!!"

She was still outside, waiting to complete her unending saga of woe.. or was it joy now? It took him a few minutes to make a decision regarding her.. not yet.. not here. Too many variables not under his control. He looked for a second in pride and self adulation at his restraint. How many people could boast of such will and determination? He decided it was better to pretend to do some 'work stuff' on his laptop. She would shut up out of 'respect' for his important work, which he was sure, she had no clue what was about.. The main thing that annoyed him about her was the stench she brought in to his home.. After she left, he would have to open the windows for it to clear.. And that meant letting the noises in..

A hint of a smile crept across his face as he imagined her reaction if he had made a different, more reckless, albeit daring, decision. Once, a few days ago, while she was sweeping the floor near his feet, she had accidentally touched him and he felt something he hadn't felt before.. For a fleeting instance he tried to comprehend if this was what the others had meant by attraction, but then he decided against it.. This couldn't be it.. His senses had sharpened and his muscles had tensed, his teeth clenched and he had involuntarily let out a low, audible growl.. The fat sack of nothingness had looked up and he had to disguise it as a cough.. Is this what men felt around women? He had never figured it out completely. He had learned to be masterful in disguising that fact though.. around the others..

His breathing was slowing down to its normal, steady, even rate. Today was not the most interesting or productive day but it was definitely better than nothing. He lifted his head that was resting on the head of the couch and he leaned his slouched torso forward to look at his work. What breed was it? The stupid kid with the ridiculously unruly hair and thick glasses from two floors down had mentioned it the day his family had bought it, something about... what was it.. not having a pet or the one before dying or....whatever.. He tried to sort though his memory of the excited, inarticulate monologue the kid had delivered on the subject- there had been a fly buzzing around his unwashed face at the time.. what was it that he squealed.. it was a Pomeranian/ Labrador mix or.... something.. Anyway, it was medium sized, had an impressive musculature.. didn't put up much of a struggle though..

His throat was getting dry.. His stomach was growling as well. Acidity had become a real nuisance because of his unsteady and irregular diet. He hadn't had anything since last night. It was 11.25 a.m now. If he hurried, he could get something from the breakfast menu at the vegetarian hotel two blocks down. The thought of changing first, and then walking all the way there to sit in the unhygienic, badly lit dining area listening to the customers whisper and laugh out in loud bursts of uncontrollable hilarity at some idiotic story, irritated him. That would definitely ruin the mood and bring down the overall tone of the day so far. Besides, he was drenching in sweat, he really needed a long, hot shower.

He looked at the mangy, blood coated thing before him for a few seconds and then thought with a certain incipient excitement.. Well, it's always interesting to try new things..