Fernando

Yordan/ Mask/ 1
Fernando Yordan

Word Count: 4,300

362 Memorial Dr, Cambridge MA

Manuscript Disposable

fyordan@mit.edu
787-485-6024

MASK
By Fernando Yordan

Fernando Yordan/ Mask/ 2

The warmth from the sun hitting my bedroom window woke me up. The rays of sunlight
that passed through the stained glass lit up the dust floating around the room. My body was
ready to start the day, but I was tired of waking up to the same sight. Just once, I hoped to be
able to wake up to something different, something new, and something that the morning did not
inherit from the night before. I knew this was never going to be the case, why would it be?
Everything in this house has been passed down to generation from generation: the furniture, the
artisan profession, the tools of the trade, and the family masks. I can only assume that I inherited
my fate as well, and like masks you were pretty much stuck with what you got.
I got out of bed and looked out the window. I saw people walking down the streets,
presumably on their way to another monotonous day at their dreaded jobs. Whatever their daily
routine was didnt concern me, as long as they were willing to buy from me by the days end. The
lives of those who would never buy from me were the ones I cared about. I took a deep breath,
and let it out with a sigh No more delaying the mundane, time to start.
With the grace that comes only from doing the same repetitive motions every damn day,
I grabbed the bag from under my bed and threw it on top of the mattress, opening it as it
landed. I reached inside knowing without looking where the bread was supposed to be. There
was no bread. Fuck. I always forget to buy bread when I run out. So I sighed again, making a
mental note to later buy more. I then grabbed the family mask I had inside the bag and brought
it with me to my desk. I sat down and looked at my work area, there were five unfinished masks
and they all looked like shit. I did not know how to finish them, or even what was wrong with
them but I had a better chance of selling my hair than selling those masks. While my family
mask screamed, HEY, IM A BROKE ARTISAN, the ones I had in front of me screamed
HEY, IM BROKE AND USELESS! an obviously not desirable trait. So I strapped on my
mask and heard my mothers voice, Everything is okay, they are lovely they just dont show it yet.

Fernando Yordan/ Mask/ 3

The masks needed to be happier, so I carved smiles on to them. I made the eyes more
defined, and I painted them brighter. They seemed bland, so I etched some decorations here and there,
some flora in a few spots, and a few interesting patterns around. I was going to look up a figure that
detailed the most important characteristic of a doctors mask or a knights mask, since those are
the masks most people dream of owning, but I already knew how to finish these 5 masks. A few hours
passed, and I was done. Time flies when you do what you are good at. It was true that no one in the right
mind would buy one of these masks thinking that they were real. If they were real, I would not
be selling them I would be to busy wearing them. But even though they werent real, they
looked lovely, lovely enough to play pretend, which is the only reason I still had a business. Which
honestly, wasnt a horrible business.
My eyes were getting watery and I had to stop. I heard my mothers voice again Its so
dusty here, no wonder you and your brother are always sneezing well before. I knew the dust wasnt why
my eyes were getting red, so I grabbed my mask and threw it back to my bed. For a mask so
simple, it packed quite a punch. It had big eyes and a small nose, as well as being almost purely
white. That masks only purpose should have been to give me an eye for detail and the focus of
an artisan. Yet, it somehow also gave me the emotional baggage that my mother took to the
grave.
That was the problem with the mask I inherited. Yes, it gave me the skills I needed to do
my work, and yes it helped me not hate my work while I did it, but as soon as I would finish
using the masks skills everything would turn to shit. It always brought back painful memories
that would have been gone by know if I didnt depend on the mask.
When my dad died, my big brother inherited his mask. My mom was growing weak at
the time, and so my brother did not let her work. I was too young to work; so all the
responsibility to maintain us fell onto my brother. But the artisan profession started to die, and
my brothers mask was not that useful anymore so he started using his mask to craft burglar

Fernando Yordan/ Mask/ 4

tools, and tried to sneak into a doctors house once and he got caught, and killed all while
still wearing his mask.
When my mom found out, she refused to take off her mask, did not let me wear my
brothers mask since she was afraid that I would end up suffering the same fate. She worked
constantly so I would have some bread to eat every day. I always remembered her as happy, but
now I know she cried underneath the mask. When she died with her mask still on, the doctor
said it was due to a broken heart. If she did not die wearing her mask, it would just be a regular
artisans mask, but now it also comes with a piece of her. So ever since I inherited the mask I
have not been able to wear it without feeling my mothers sadness. Thats why I only wear it
when I need to craft masks, or handle a dispute. The latter skill was the only good thing that
came from the mask having a piece of my mother. If my mom had died happily with the mask
on, it would be a different story and I would wear it every day, but only the hurtful memories
remained.
At least I gain the ability to craft beautiful masks that may or may not sell for the same
price as a piece of bread. So yeah, I had to sell the masks now. So I grabbed the masks from my
desk and put them all into my bag. I made sure to put my mothers mask in another separate
pocket. As much as I hated wearing it, I knew I would have been hopeless without it. I looked
outside the window and noticed the sun going down; it was time to leave for the factory.
~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~
If I complain about my day being too repetitive, thats only because I have never been a
factory worker. Seriously, these people leave work with a face that I would never dare to imitate
on a mask. They are not skilled workers, so they do not own masks themselves but like me
and everyone else stuck with a shitty fate, they fantasize of living with a different mask.
Essentially, I wouldnt be able to make enough money to eat if they were happy with their place
in the world. In fact, if they were happy, Id be one of them but so far they had the only
profession that paid less than mine. Ironically, they were the reason the artisan profession was so

Fernando Yordan/ Mask/ 5

low in the totem pole. There is so little need for personally made products; people just wanted
piles of the same thing mass-produced. Quantity over quality. I blamed them for ruining my
familys profession as much as I needed them to sustain myself. So naturally, I always tried to
sell my masks outside the factory right after the evening shift ended.
I sat in a bench near the exit, so that most workers would have to pass by me as they left.
I reached into my bag and put on what resembled a doctors mask and waited until someone
approached me. Most people gave me weird looks; no doctor in their right mind would wear his
mask outside without some type of protection from thieves. People were curious though, a
doctors mask is not what you expect to see in a factory setting, and so it was only a matter of
time until someones curiosity got the best of them.
Thats not a real mask, is it? Someone eventually asked me.
What makes you ask that? I replied back, noticing that I had the mans full attention.
No, it looks real. But I have never seen a doctor wear one outside his office or
during a house call. And even then, he is usually not alone. Arent you afraid someone might try
to steal it from you?
Ahh, I didnt think of it like that. I said with a chuckle. Once I had him asking
questions, I knew he was a potential customer. To make sure I didnt screw up this sale, I
decided to take off the fake mask and put on my mothers mask instead. She was good with
talking to people, and convincing them to do things her way something that I think was
passed onto the mask when she died. Its not real. I said, as I replaced the mask on my face
and gave him the fake doctors mask for him to contemplate.
Oh? He seemed confused.
Im an artisan, not a doctor. I guess I do a pretty good job too if you thought the mask was real. I
said, now letting the mom in my mask do the talking. My mother was always amazing as
negotiating disputes between my brother and me. This was very useful when it came to selling

Fernando Yordan/ Mask/ 6

the masks. My mother also had a very keen eye for seeing how people felt, so while I had the
mask on I could tell who was a potential client and what they really wanted.
Why where you wearing a doctors mask then? He asked, sounding more disillusioned
than confused now.
You looked at me with respect when you thought I was a doctor. As an artisan, you
look at me as a let down. When you wear a mask like that, everyone respects you.
The man looked down, silent. He was thinking something, but didnt want to say what he was
thinking. He looked like he was in love. Oh, how my mother had an eye for that.
Have you told her you love her yet? I asked, following what I felt the mask wanted me to do.
What are you talking about, crazy man?! He replied back. But I just stared and smirked,
I knew he knew what I meant. She doesnt even know I exist, and I am not her type.
What is her type? I asked.
Not a factory worker He sighed, looking defeated. But after a few seconds, his eyes
lit up and he continued You are an artisan right? So do you sell these masks? I am willing to
give you
The deal with the man attracted the attention of other workers. Some workers wanted a
mask for the same reasons impress a girl, get respect of friends, or maybe just to pretend they
were someone else. Of course, not everyone thought that it was worth spending any money on a
fake mask just to play pretend; but some people did, and those are the ones I sold my masks too.
By the time the sun fell, I had sold all my masks. I put my family mask back into my bag and
went on my way back home.
~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~
I stopped by the bakery on my way back. The smell of bread, chocolate, and sweets was
probably the only thing I looked forward to after a day out selling masks. The bakery was well lit,
and with good reason too. The best baker in this town worked here. His mask was extremely
detailed, with long nose, big lips, and big eyes so it came with no surprised that everything

Fernando Yordan/ Mask/ 7

smelled, tasted, and looked fantastic. It would probably be cheaper for me to buy my food
elsewhere, but the bread here was worth it. You could feel the crust crumble in your mouth, and
then the bread will melt on your tongue. Then there was hint of sweetness, and tingling
sensation that helped relax me. To be completely honest, I am pretty sure that whenever I ate
from that bread I was getting drunk in some way or another.
I went to the counter, passing a man busy reading a newspaper. I asked for 5 pounds of
sweet bread, enough to last me another week. When the bread came, I put my bag on the floor
to free my hands in order to get some money out. In what seemed like two seconds or less, I
hear the door of the bakery slam close. I quickly turn around to see through the window that the
man reading the newspaper had a black mask on and was leaving with a bag eerily similar to
mine. SHIT! HE WAS LEAVING WITH MY BAG! A FUCKING THIEVING MASK!
I ran out of the bakery and attempted to give chase, but the man was long gone. The
fucking asshole had gotten away with my bag, which had my family mask inside my mothers
mask. I felt the worlds weight on top of me now. What the fuck was I supposed to do now? As
much as I hated my monotonous routine, it was the only thing keeping me alive. Now I dont
even have a mask, and there is no way in hell I was going to trade the monotony of an artisans
life for an even more monotonous and less respectful non-masked one. At least with the artisans
mask I could say I had something unique, and dammit, I had my mother even if I hated
the feelings associated with it. So I fell to my knees and did what any rational man would do in
that situation. I started pounding the crap out of the floor and cursed and sobbed and fantasized
about ripping the thiefs face off, mask, flesh and all. I did not just want the mask back; I wanted
to kill him.
The baker walked out of the store and walked up to me. At first I thought he was going
to offer some basic human decency and try to console me, but instead he said:
That man, I know him. I have done catering for him before. I know where he lives. I
dont give out customer information but for a small fee, I could sell it to you

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The money I had on me was all I had for food. Guess Ill have to wait for next week to
eat. I told myself, and paid the man for the thiefs address.
~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~
I returned home. Frantic. I was moving all around my room thinking just what the hell I
was supposed to do. Yes, I had the thiefs address I knew where to find him. What good was
that though? If I went to the police, I probably would have increased my chances of never seeing
my mothers mask ever again. It was well known policemen are not at all happy with their masks
and current lifestyle, so any case involving a stolen mask was likely to end up with the mask
never found and the police officer suddenly retiring from the force. I doubted policemen would
want an artisans mask, but that did not mean I trusted them. If I waited to long though, then it
was possible the thief could sell or maybe even throw away the mask if he didnt think he could
get anything out of it. I needed to act quickly, even if it meant going there myself. However, I
knew I did not have the guts to confront anyone, I didnt know the first thing of sneaking into
someones house, and what if I ended up having to fight him. This was typical of me; thinking
that I was braver and more willing than what I actually was and only realizing it when it was
actually time to carry out a plan. I sat on my bed, and started sobbing trying to remember my
childhood days.
I remembered me always being the shy kid, my bigger brother always giving me crap
about it, and my mom always making us make peace with each other. Not that I would have had
it another way, my brother would have beaten the crap out of me if I ever tried to take him on.
Despite all of that though, he always stood up for me and kept me out of trouble. I guess I
always admired that about him. I wanted to be strong like him, I wanted to be able to protect
myself and others. I wanted to be able to do whatever it took to get what I wanted.
Then it clicked. I didnt have the guts to try to get my mask back, but my brother would
have had them. My mother never wanted me wearing my brothers mask for fear that I would
have resulted to thievery or let my anger get the best of me, but thats what I needed now. I

Fernando Yordan/ Mask/ 9

looked around the piles of boxes scattered around the room until I found one with my brothers
picture. I put it on top of my bed and opened it. It had many of my brothers belongings. Some
artisan tools like knives and scalpels, a few more intricate ones that I assumed he made for lock
picking, and of course, his mask. I picked up the mask, and looked at it. This is going to the get my
mothers mask back. I looked for the first bag I could find and put most of the tools inside,
including the knife because you never know when you are gonna have to fight. With my brothers mask,
there was very little stopping me. Then, leaving the box open in my bed, I left to go looking for
the thief.
~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~
I arrived at the address the baker gave me. I was hungry, tired, and frustrated but to
my surprise I was not worried or nervous. I had faith in my brothers mask. Plus, whatever my
body regarded as hunger, my mind turned to anger towards the thief. The thief stole my mask,
equivalently stealing my food, my profession, my family, my everything. I took a deep breath,
and relaxed. I am here because I want my mask back, not revenge. I told myself, even though I
caught myself fantasizing about knocking his teeth out.
I looked for an open window, and to my surprise I found one that it was attempted to be
forced shut, but the frame was damaged and couldnt close completely. I used one of the scalpels
I brought with me as a lever to open the window slightly more, and then finished opening it with
my hands. I went inside, and was surprised to see many gold and expensive possessions.
Obviously, a thief steals; but they steal with the intent to sell, not to hoard. It struck me as odd,
but I kept looking around to see if I saw my mask or the thief. I walked into another room and
saw a man working in a desk on some crafts. The man was wearing MY MOTHERS MASK!
I marched towards him and knocked him off his chair. When he hit the ground he saw
me, and tried to take a swing at me, but I put the chair between us and ended up hitting him in
the knee in the process. He slightly bent down, and I took another swing at him, making fall
back to the ground. As he fell I grabbed my mothers mask from his face and slid it right off.

Fernando Yordan/ Mask/ 10

It felt good, I wanted to keep swinging my brother would have kept swinging. Maybe
my mother was right to worry about me wearing his mask, but now I understood why he did the
things he did. Sometimes you need to use force to get what you want, something that I will
usually never resort to maskless.
Fine!, take it okay. He pleaded, If that is all you want, just take it and leave. But dont
keep hurting me.
Not so strong without your thieving mask now, are you? I replied back, still angry even
though I got my mask back.
Sorry, okay. It wasnt personal. It was just what I do. But you got your mask back so
just leave okay.
The thief didnt really seem sorry to be honest. I wanted his apology to be sincere, but I
got what I was looking for so it made sense to leave. When I turned around though, I noticed his
bag on the floor. It had a thiefs mask, a doctors mask, a teachers mask, a knights mask, a
chefs mask, and many other kinds. They looked real, much more real than even the most skilled
artisan could dream of imitating.
Those masks are they real? I asked, genuinely curious. Thinking that maybe the
solution to fixing my monotonous life was inside that bag
Emm, no He answered, noticeably alarmed.
Why do you have them then? I asked, now much more aggressively.
I made them when I had your mask on. He replied back, trying to stand up I wanted
to see how realistic I could make them.
I looked back at the masks. The paint was dry and old, something that contradicted his
statement of them being new.
You are lying. I snapped, You steal peoples masks to try out a different life because
you get bored. You are fucking with peoples lives, people who are struggling to make ends meet
that would kill to have another mask because you want to play pretend.

Fernando Yordan/ Mask/ 11

I dont know what you are talking about, he replied, now approaching me I am a
thief, and I steal. Thats it. I only wore your mask to see if it was real or not. I dont go stealing
other peoples mask out of whim, yours was just there when I grabbed your bag.
So, you dont mind if I take them with me then do you? I said as I grabbed his bag and
put it around me.
FAT CHANCE! He screamed and lunged himself at me.
But I was already turning around, almost by instinct; I pulled one of the knives in my bag
and let it guide my next. When I put the knife up, his neck landed on it. And then I pulled the
knife, and sliced one more time. The thief fell, bleeding all over the floor. If he didnt die
immediately, he definitely bled out in a few minutes. I turned around, grabbed the bag with
masks, and left through the window that I entered. I just wanted to get back home and clean up
my tools.
~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~
When I got home, I dropped my tools into a bowl of water and threw out my bloodied
clothes. Then I threw the bag on top of the bed, right next to box where I had gotten all my
brothers possessions. I started to process what had just happened. I killed a man, but didnt
think of it much. I was more concerned with the blood. I was more worried about staining my
tools than whatever guilt I felt for killing a man. In my defense, he did steal from me.
I looked at the masks I took from the thief. Taking them was not part of the plan. I
started to question if I would not have killed the man if I did not see an opportunity there to
escape eternity as an artisan. I always wanted to have a choice, but I ended up losing the ability
to choose for myself when I let my brothers mask do the talking. Yeah, that was it. I was not a
killer, I did not have the guts to do any of the things I had done; everything I did was all due to
my brothers mask. To be honest, it was kind of scary to think that I let my brothers mask take
control of me like that. I should still look at the masks that I took from the thief; after all they

Fernando Yordan/ Mask/ 12

were in my possession now I should not let them go to waste, not after my brother killed a
man for them.
I walked over to my bed, ready to drop my brothers mask back into the box and to
hopefully never have to open it again. When I went to take off my mask though, I felt my hands
hit my skin. I looked into the box, and my brothers mask just sat there, in the same position it
was when I first opened the box.
I then looked at my mothers mask, which had now black tears stained around the eyes.
Finally I looked at the mirror in my room. I saw my bloodied face, and the stoic eyes that cared
more about the blood than the death on my hands. No mask would ever change the fact that I
was no artisan; I was a killer.
Goodbye monotony! I said with a smile.
~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~
fin

Fun fact, I feel I just made an origin story for a serial killer in a fantasy series.
This character has multiple personality disorder, or bipolar? (not really sure what is the most
accurate disease) although not extremely severe at this point. His killer self was suppressed
inside, and only came out because he called it out (yet thought that it was his brothers mask
doing; thats the only reason he did not think twice). From now on, he sometimes feel guilty
about the blood in his hands, and wants to return to his mothers mask (which is much more
peaceful) but other times he embraces his pent up anger and enjoys escaping monotony.