How To Capture A Masquerade (And Other Odd Tales)

The Village in The Southwest

The Village in Southwest Logs

From: Alene Gaston <Agaston90122@gmail.com>

To: Garrett Tyler Hobbes <garretthobbes@nytimes.com>

June 18th, 2029,

Attachments

~ZXC-00005.mp4

~ZXC-00005 Log Notes.mp4

~Dig Site Plans for Operation MSQ-ENRG-SYNC-1009.jpeg

~Employee Records at KOTH Facility.pdf

---DOWNLOAD FAILURE. DOCUMENT CORRUPTED.

~Memo from Elizabeth Steely 10/17/2025.pdf

---DOWNLOAD FAILURE. DOCUMENT CORRUPTED.

START RECORDING ZXC-00005.mp4

Warm lights. Cool breeze. Night sky. Savoury smells flowing through the air. The laughter of little children. That's what ran through the woman's head. The festival was only a few days away and she couldn't wait. It was one of the few interesting things that happened in the village. It was also a very special time, dating back to the founding of the land. However, she was not sure how it came about or what it really meant. All she knew was in the morning, the town gave thanks to La'ana, goddess of protection. Then the village had a gathering, sharing their food together. When the sun sets, she, her best friend and her "mother" would play with the younger children in the streets, like every other woman old and able enough would be doing that night, and wait for the men to come home from their hunts. Last year it was fun and exciting; her son was dancing to the rhythm of the songs being sung, and he had the best dance. Everyone had said so. She was proud of him, her only child.

This year would be different. He was 10 this year, her son was. He was old enough to join the hunt this time. Every time she tried to picture him with some sort of weapon, his paint covered body, his crooked teeth and his lovely laugh would come back to her. She looked through the window and watched him play with the other boys in the street. She couldn't believe they were all the same age; they outrun him with the ball, taking turns to kick it high in the air. He did his best to catch up, occasionally getting the ball and making attempts on the makeshift bucket-goal. He was small, her son was. So frail and faint.

She went back into the kitchen area and went back to preparing dinner for the family. Her husband would be back from the market. He was out trading some of the harvests from the last month. It was better than last year, always a great sign. La'ana was really on their side. Her husband felt that it was because of their son. He was their good luck charm.

It was true, she mused to herself. Their lives were a bloody fight for survival before he was born. No food, no land, no means of taking care of themselves. Everyone they had asked for help from had shut their doors in their faces. They had to walk from one village to another, hoping for some sort of kindness.

I mean how else would you expect villagers to treat the people that committed that taboo. You know, the unspeakable one, the one that the meeting of elders doesn't even like mentioning. The one that gave each of them the marks on their feet, so everyone in the land knew.

What do you mean you don't know about the taboo? This is something everyone knows about. Everyone, except the village at the south-western border of the lands. So unless you're from there, you need to ask your neighbour or something. But I doubt they'll say anything. Its a sort of a taboo to mention the taboo. Strange, if you ask me.

The stew was almost done. The smell sifted around the cosy home, and it brought back to memory a time she made the stew. A friend of her husband came over after a day of working out on the fields. She served them some of the stew and her husband's friend fell in love with it. He praised its texture and taste and then asked how she learnt how to make it. She had gone quiet for a while and quickly said it was her mother. He didn't notice her strange behaviour or the fact that his friend looked down at the dirt floor. He was mesmerized by the stew, which was a reminder for the dark day, the reason for the time in exile.