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Masquerade
I was never the same as the rest of them. The self proclaimed ‘cool kids’, the guys who played sport and laughed at my pasty white scrawny body in the changing rooms before mauling me in rugby, the prissy girls who laughed in my face when I asked Teresa to the prom “You’re a loser, Mark” they giggled, even the damned school teachers made me miserable and didn’t make so much as an attempt to console me when I turned to them in my numerous hours of need. I was a piece of driftwood being slowly broken upon a tide of despair, discouraged by my appearance, my intelligence and my inane disability to talk to girls. I was Mark Spate; a self-confessed loser and recluse, a social outcast who longed to fit in with the crowd, to be accepted. Alas, no amount of silent prayer or wishing upon stars could solve the self-contained dilemma that was Mark Spate.
I awaited the end of the spring term with eager enthusiasm as it meant I wouldn’t have to spend any more time with my treacherous peers. The last day of school came along in good time, as did the leaving prom; the big dance to which I couldn’t get a date for. It was being held at the Queen’s Hotel in the centre of town, some of the guys, I overheard, had booked rooms in the hotel and planned to lure their drunken dates to the room and defrock and deflower them. How I yearned to be amongst those boys, with a date and a pretty girl on my arm strutting into the end of year prom with and ambling towards the dance floor to giddily trot and waltz with a starry eyed beauty.
Whilst the rest of the school spent the last afternoon on the school football pitch supping cider and lager and excitably talking about the night ahead, I slunk away to the basement where the friendly caretaker occasionally chatted to me and whispered words of worldly wisdom. Today, however, he was nowhere to be seen. Most folks would be moderately frightened by the dark basement but I was quite accustomed to it, it was one of the few places I didn’t feel at threat from people. I sat in my usual chair, pulled it up to the old wooden table and began to unpack my lunch from my satchel. Half way through devouring a wholesome peanut butter sandwich I noticed a rather large, bulging envelope resting on the fat end of the table. I manoeuvred over to it and read the carefully written label.
Mr. Andrew Markopan
Care of: Leyton Spa School
Leyton Villa Road
Leyton
LT4 6JR
Why the caretaker hadn’t opened this curiosity of a package was a mystery to me, as he had very little else to do with his time besides a bit of mopping with the occasional side order of changing a fuse or two. I knew he wouldn’t mind if I opened the package for him, after all, how personal could it be? I tore carefully along the seam of the bulky envelope and peeled the brown paper back to reveal an odd shaped item wrapped in a plain white cloth. I lifted the thing up and let the white cloth slip off to reveal a carved wooden mask with gaping holes for the eyes and a small O shape for the mouth. The mask was certainly beautiful and I felt a deep almost unearthly urge to put it on. I grasped Markopan’s mask by its solid wooden sides and drew it slowly to my face and then let my hands fall limply to my sides.
At first I felt queasy and had to grab hold of the table to steady myself but after a few moments it felt almost natural to be wearing the mask. I wandered into the caretaker’s bathroom to look at myself in the small mirror above the sink, and this is when the real surprise came. I didn’t stare back at the reflection I was accustomed to but at that of Adam Harrison, the simple-minded idiot who played centre on the school rugby team and was taking the girl of my affection, Teresa Wood, to the prom this very evening. Gone was my pasty white skin and in its place was a healthy tan, gone were my squinty, watery eyes and replacing them were a pair of large blue eyes, my messy mousy locks were vanquished by a boot polish black, slicked back haircut, gone was my pointy miser chin I now had a chiselled jaw which sprouted a manly stubble.
I struggled to comprehend this fanciful change at first but it brought a broad smile to my newly attained handsome cheeks. It seemed I had become Adam Harrison, perhaps the most popular guy in school. I said aloud to myself, “I am Adam Harrison!” in a voice much deeper than my own. I had to test this out, to see if people would be fooled by my guise. I bounded up the basement stairs to get to the school only to firmly crack my head on a ceiling beam I usually passed under without any hassle. It seems I had grown half a foot in this wonderful transformation. I smiled once more before slipping out of the basement door to see if anyone was fooled by my appearance.
I walked casually through the school and out onto the football field where the majority of the year were tipsily seated, laughing and joking. I wandered nervously towards them, unsure of whether I would be accepted or rejected, shunned or endeared. My heart rose when Ben Waterman yelled “Hey Adam, get yourself over here man!” I jogged casually towards him and his group, who all nodded and smiled at me. “How’s it going dude?” queried Ben. In 5 years at the school nobody had ever asked me how it was going before. “Great” I smiled, “Just great.”
”Cool cool” he replied, “Looking forward to tonight?”
”Of course” was my immediate reply. I could finally fit in at a social event. I could spend the evening in the company of people who weren’t plotting to stick signs on my back or trip me over. Best of all, I could dance with Teresa Wood!
”We’ll see you tonight then mate” said Ben and he and the group stood up to leave.
”Sure thing” I grinned “About eight?”
”About eight, man, about eight”
I walked home excitedly with a smile permanently affixed on my face. It was only when I approached my house that I realised my mother wouldn’t recognise me. I would have to sneak into the house, get some reasonably smart apparel for the prom and find somewhere to go until then. I dressed quickly and combed my hair back into a slick style before my mother returned home from work. I left a note telling her I had gone to spend the night at Dad’s, I knew she wouldn’t ring him to check, they haven’t talked in six years. My plan was set; I looked very much the part of a high school prom stud that was ready to dance the night away with a beautiful girl. I got a taxi to the Queens Hotel in the centre of town and waited.
It was a rather lonesome two-hour wait, but I was used to spending a large portion of my time alone anyway. By ten minutes to eight I had butterflies in my stomach though a hormonal mixture of tension, excitement and anticipation. I stood outside the hotel entrance, where it was customary for the boy to meet the girl, and waited for my princess to arrive. A few limousines pulled up and smartly dressed peers wandered inside the hotel, smiling and nodding at me as they went inside. Then a white limo pulled up and a beautiful brunette with glistening eyes and a shimmering satin dressed stepped out. Time seemed to slow down as she walked eagerly towards me. My princess had arrived, the moment I had spent countless hours dreaming of had become a reality and I greeted the occasion with heartfelt enthusiasm. I took her arm gently and walked inside the hotel to the large ballroom where the prom was being held. Popular dance and R&B music blasted from the speakers and with a slender hand capped with pink-painted nails she led me up to the dance floor.
Luckily for my sake, one of the more pleasant memories of my youth was my Grandma teaching me how to dance before her untimely passing, and dance I did. Teresa and I graced the dance floor with all kinds of dances, we did the foxtrot and waltz, the tango and the twist, but the best for me was the slow dancing. I clasped my hands around Teresa’s slim waist and pulled her close to me, until breasts were squashed against my newfound pectoral muscles. She, in turn, sloped her slender arms over my strong shoulders and we slowly and elegantly rotated together. The evening passed in the blink of an eye and midnight was upon us, the prom was coming to a close.
“There’s something I have to say to you, Adam” said Teresa in a sweet little voice.
“Sure” I said, certain that she was going to ask to come to my hotel room, “What is it?”
“Well” she began “this really isn’t easy for me…” she trailed off
I smiled, “Do you want to come up to my hotel room?” I questioned in a flirtatious tone
”…No Adam, I don’t” she paused “You see, I kind of don’t think its working with us any more”
I stared blankly back at her
”You see…I kind of have feelings for another guy”
I continued my dead stare
”It’s this guy who I have feelings for… He’s called Mark… Adam are you listening?”
”Mark Spate?” I questioned, thoughtfully
”Yes, that’s him” she said in a soft tone, “I don’t know him too well but I think we’re just right for each other Adam, it’s hard to explain… I’m sorry.”
A tear crept down my cheek, a tear of bittersweet happiness.
”I’m Mark Spate” I said in a voice that didn’t belong to me, “I put on this mask this morning turned into Adam and now I’m here and, look, you’ve got to believe me Teresa!”
”Adam, you’re drunk…” was her disbelieving response
”I’m being serious here” I cried
”I’m going to go Adam, we’ll talk it through in the morning if you life but it’s over with us, OK”
”Wait!”
”Goodnight Adam” she almost whispered as she left the room and clambered into a taxi
I stood in the empty lobby of the fancy hotel, everything I used to want to be, incarnate. The grass is always greener, I thought, longing to be myself once more. I decided I would sleep on the issue; figure out a way to revert back to myself, but for now I way as well make use of the swanky hotel room that was already booked under my identity.
I approached the reception desk and cleared my throat.
“Hello, I’m Adam Harrison, I have a room booked for tonight”
”Oh” the receptionist sleepily replied, “Just a moment”
She checked her computer screen, her eyes darted up at me for a second, then back to the screen. She picked up the phone and tapped in a three-digit number, “Security? Can you come to reception please?”
”What’s the problem?” I asked “Everything alright?”
A burly man in a dark blue security guard outfit approached the reception desk.
”The credit card you used to book your room with was reported stolen, Mr Harrison. The police have been notified and are on their way.”
I paused momentarily, allowing the news to sink in.
“I’m not Adam Harrison” I said sternly
”You just said you were” retorted the receptionist “The police will sort this out, anyway”
I sighed pitifully and slumped to the floor. Waiting for the police to arrive, waiting to be convicted of a crime I didn’t commit, wishing for my old identity back.
I was never the same as the rest of them. The self proclaimed ‘cool kids’, the guys who played sport and laughed at my pasty white scrawny body in the changing rooms before mauling me in rugby, the prissy girls who laughed in my face when I asked Teresa to the prom “You’re a loser, Mark” they giggled, even the damned school teachers made me miserable and didn’t make so much as an attempt to console me when I turned to them in my numerous hours of need. I was a piece of driftwood being slowly broken upon a tide of despair, discouraged by my appearance, my intelligence and my inane disability to talk to girls. I was Mark Spate; a self-confessed loser and recluse, a social outcast who longed to fit in with the crowd, to be accepted. Alas, no amount of silent prayer or wishing upon stars could solve the self-contained dilemma that was Mark Spate.
I awaited the end of the spring term with eager enthusiasm as it meant I wouldn’t have to spend any more time with my treacherous peers. The last day of school came along in good time, as did the leaving prom; the big dance to which I couldn’t get a date for. It was being held at the Queen’s Hotel in the centre of town, some of the guys, I overheard, had booked rooms in the hotel and planned to lure their drunken dates to the room and defrock and deflower them. How I yearned to be amongst those boys, with a date and a pretty girl on my arm strutting into the end of year prom with and ambling towards the dance floor to giddily trot and waltz with a starry eyed beauty.
Whilst the rest of the school spent the last afternoon on the school football pitch supping cider and lager and excitably talking about the night ahead, I slunk away to the basement where the friendly caretaker occasionally chatted to me and whispered words of worldly wisdom. Today, however, he was nowhere to be seen. Most folks would be moderately frightened by the dark basement but I was quite accustomed to it, it was one of the few places I didn’t feel at threat from people. I sat in my usual chair, pulled it up to the old wooden table and began to unpack my lunch from my satchel. Half way through devouring a wholesome peanut butter sandwich I noticed a rather large, bulging envelope resting on the fat end of the table. I manoeuvred over to it and read the carefully written label.
Mr. Andrew Markopan
Care of: Leyton Spa School
Leyton Villa Road
Leyton
LT4 6JR
Why the caretaker hadn’t opened this curiosity of a package was a mystery to me, as he had very little else to do with his time besides a bit of mopping with the occasional side order of changing a fuse or two. I knew he wouldn’t mind if I opened the package for him, after all, how personal could it be? I tore carefully along the seam of the bulky envelope and peeled the brown paper back to reveal an odd shaped item wrapped in a plain white cloth. I lifted the thing up and let the white cloth slip off to reveal a carved wooden mask with gaping holes for the eyes and a small O shape for the mouth. The mask was certainly beautiful and I felt a deep almost unearthly urge to put it on. I grasped Markopan’s mask by its solid wooden sides and drew it slowly to my face and then let my hands fall limply to my sides.
At first I felt queasy and had to grab hold of the table to steady myself but after a few moments it felt almost natural to be wearing the mask. I wandered into the caretaker’s bathroom to look at myself in the small mirror above the sink, and this is when the real surprise came. I didn’t stare back at the reflection I was accustomed to but at that of Adam Harrison, the simple-minded idiot who played centre on the school rugby team and was taking the girl of my affection, Teresa Wood, to the prom this very evening. Gone was my pasty white skin and in its place was a healthy tan, gone were my squinty, watery eyes and replacing them were a pair of large blue eyes, my messy mousy locks were vanquished by a boot polish black, slicked back haircut, gone was my pointy miser chin I now had a chiselled jaw which sprouted a manly stubble.
I struggled to comprehend this fanciful change at first but it brought a broad smile to my newly attained handsome cheeks. It seemed I had become Adam Harrison, perhaps the most popular guy in school. I said aloud to myself, “I am Adam Harrison!” in a voice much deeper than my own. I had to test this out, to see if people would be fooled by my guise. I bounded up the basement stairs to get to the school only to firmly crack my head on a ceiling beam I usually passed under without any hassle. It seems I had grown half a foot in this wonderful transformation. I smiled once more before slipping out of the basement door to see if anyone was fooled by my appearance.
I walked casually through the school and out onto the football field where the majority of the year were tipsily seated, laughing and joking. I wandered nervously towards them, unsure of whether I would be accepted or rejected, shunned or endeared. My heart rose when Ben Waterman yelled “Hey Adam, get yourself over here man!” I jogged casually towards him and his group, who all nodded and smiled at me. “How’s it going dude?” queried Ben. In 5 years at the school nobody had ever asked me how it was going before. “Great” I smiled, “Just great.”
”Cool cool” he replied, “Looking forward to tonight?”
”Of course” was my immediate reply. I could finally fit in at a social event. I could spend the evening in the company of people who weren’t plotting to stick signs on my back or trip me over. Best of all, I could dance with Teresa Wood!
”We’ll see you tonight then mate” said Ben and he and the group stood up to leave.
”Sure thing” I grinned “About eight?”
”About eight, man, about eight”
I walked home excitedly with a smile permanently affixed on my face. It was only when I approached my house that I realised my mother wouldn’t recognise me. I would have to sneak into the house, get some reasonably smart apparel for the prom and find somewhere to go until then. I dressed quickly and combed my hair back into a slick style before my mother returned home from work. I left a note telling her I had gone to spend the night at Dad’s, I knew she wouldn’t ring him to check, they haven’t talked in six years. My plan was set; I looked very much the part of a high school prom stud that was ready to dance the night away with a beautiful girl. I got a taxi to the Queens Hotel in the centre of town and waited.
It was a rather lonesome two-hour wait, but I was used to spending a large portion of my time alone anyway. By ten minutes to eight I had butterflies in my stomach though a hormonal mixture of tension, excitement and anticipation. I stood outside the hotel entrance, where it was customary for the boy to meet the girl, and waited for my princess to arrive. A few limousines pulled up and smartly dressed peers wandered inside the hotel, smiling and nodding at me as they went inside. Then a white limo pulled up and a beautiful brunette with glistening eyes and a shimmering satin dressed stepped out. Time seemed to slow down as she walked eagerly towards me. My princess had arrived, the moment I had spent countless hours dreaming of had become a reality and I greeted the occasion with heartfelt enthusiasm. I took her arm gently and walked inside the hotel to the large ballroom where the prom was being held. Popular dance and R&B music blasted from the speakers and with a slender hand capped with pink-painted nails she led me up to the dance floor.
Luckily for my sake, one of the more pleasant memories of my youth was my Grandma teaching me how to dance before her untimely passing, and dance I did. Teresa and I graced the dance floor with all kinds of dances, we did the foxtrot and waltz, the tango and the twist, but the best for me was the slow dancing. I clasped my hands around Teresa’s slim waist and pulled her close to me, until breasts were squashed against my newfound pectoral muscles. She, in turn, sloped her slender arms over my strong shoulders and we slowly and elegantly rotated together. The evening passed in the blink of an eye and midnight was upon us, the prom was coming to a close.
“There’s something I have to say to you, Adam” said Teresa in a sweet little voice.
“Sure” I said, certain that she was going to ask to come to my hotel room, “What is it?”
“Well” she began “this really isn’t easy for me…” she trailed off
I smiled, “Do you want to come up to my hotel room?” I questioned in a flirtatious tone
”…No Adam, I don’t” she paused “You see, I kind of don’t think its working with us any more”
I stared blankly back at her
”You see…I kind of have feelings for another guy”
I continued my dead stare
”It’s this guy who I have feelings for… He’s called Mark… Adam are you listening?”
”Mark Spate?” I questioned, thoughtfully
”Yes, that’s him” she said in a soft tone, “I don’t know him too well but I think we’re just right for each other Adam, it’s hard to explain… I’m sorry.”
A tear crept down my cheek, a tear of bittersweet happiness.
”I’m Mark Spate” I said in a voice that didn’t belong to me, “I put on this mask this morning turned into Adam and now I’m here and, look, you’ve got to believe me Teresa!”
”Adam, you’re drunk…” was her disbelieving response
”I’m being serious here” I cried
”I’m going to go Adam, we’ll talk it through in the morning if you life but it’s over with us, OK”
”Wait!”
”Goodnight Adam” she almost whispered as she left the room and clambered into a taxi
I stood in the empty lobby of the fancy hotel, everything I used to want to be, incarnate. The grass is always greener, I thought, longing to be myself once more. I decided I would sleep on the issue; figure out a way to revert back to myself, but for now I way as well make use of the swanky hotel room that was already booked under my identity.
I approached the reception desk and cleared my throat.
“Hello, I’m Adam Harrison, I have a room booked for tonight”
”Oh” the receptionist sleepily replied, “Just a moment”
She checked her computer screen, her eyes darted up at me for a second, then back to the screen. She picked up the phone and tapped in a three-digit number, “Security? Can you come to reception please?”
”What’s the problem?” I asked “Everything alright?”
A burly man in a dark blue security guard outfit approached the reception desk.
”The credit card you used to book your room with was reported stolen, Mr Harrison. The police have been notified and are on their way.”
I paused momentarily, allowing the news to sink in.
“I’m not Adam Harrison” I said sternly
”You just said you were” retorted the receptionist “The police will sort this out, anyway”
I sighed pitifully and slumped to the floor. Waiting for the police to arrive, waiting to be convicted of a crime I didn’t commit, wishing for my old identity back.
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Two things I thought were unclear - the fact that he couldn't take the mask of, and the fact that the "fit" girl suddenly wanted to go out with the pasty geek who she hardly knew.
But - I still liked it muchly overall.
But - I still liked it muchly overall.
Fair enough. I know there's limitations with story-length and all that. I still liked it. Nothing's perfect.
He couldnt take the mask off, it was like stuck or something. Perhaps I'll revise it and have him pulling at the sides of his face ,trying to prise off a mask that isnt there.
I'm not quite sure what happened to the real Adam, it was hard to write him in in a short story. I was either going to:
- Have Adam turn into Mark and not know what was going on.
- Have a second Adam going crazy and planting his fist in fake Adam's face
I wasnt too sure about either so I decided to leave it out entirely.
I'm not quite sure what happened to the real Adam, it was hard to write him in in a short story. I was either going to:
- Have Adam turn into Mark and not know what was going on.
- Have a second Adam going crazy and planting his fist in fake Adam's face
I wasnt too sure about either so I decided to leave it out entirely.
Hm, this left me with mixed feelings.
It was nicely written and it was a good idea, but why didn't he take the mask off and revert to his former identity? That way he would've got the girl of his dreams and avoided the credit card problems. Or did the mask melt away? If so, this wasn't explained.
Also, I was expecting the real "Adam" to be at the prom looking for Teresa, his date. Or had the mask transformed Mark him utterly into Adam? If so, that's just a little too far-fetched, even for my liking.
I'm being quite critical here, but I am The Judge
Good but flawed.
It was nicely written and it was a good idea, but why didn't he take the mask off and revert to his former identity? That way he would've got the girl of his dreams and avoided the credit card problems. Or did the mask melt away? If so, this wasn't explained.
Also, I was expecting the real "Adam" to be at the prom looking for Teresa, his date. Or had the mask transformed Mark him utterly into Adam? If so, that's just a little too far-fetched, even for my liking.
I'm being quite critical here, but I am The Judge
Good but flawed.
FinalFantasyFanatic wrote:
> I'd have to side with Zully.
I agree, great piece, just with people like Wakka around you have to expect some over-hyped ass-fillage. Pretty much as I said earlier.
> I'd have to side with Zully.
I agree, great piece, just with people like Wakka around you have to expect some over-hyped ass-fillage. Pretty much as I said earlier.
Although, on second thoughts, if people are going to completely over-hype anything I write like this, don't bother.
I'd have to side with Zully.
This amount of ass-crawlage is just not nice.
It was good, granted - a comfortable story well told - but not f***king amazing, nor publish-worthy. Seriously people, get things into perspective.
i.e. - my ass is always open, never full.
This amount of ass-crawlage is just not nice.
It was good, granted - a comfortable story well told - but not f***king amazing, nor publish-worthy. Seriously people, get things into perspective.
i.e. - my ass is always open, never full.
Hmm, it was nicely written, although the ending was a little out there and didn't really make me feel anything. The way I would describe my feeling for that story is, meh?
Nicely written, but too meh for my liking.
Nicely written, but too meh for my liking.
Shhhooombody STOP me!
P-A-R-T-Why? Cause I GOTTA
P-A-R-T-Why? Cause I GOTTA
Hehe, 'pasty white body'
Sorry.
:)
Sorry.
:)
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