MASCARADA

Chapter 1: The Boy with Two Face

Maryvessa:
(whispering in the dark) If only "forever" exist.

(a voice in the dark replied) "Forever" only exist while breath still inbound.

Siglaine:

I guess its true what they said; give a man a mask and watch he becomes his true self. I was a man, like any other. I lived and breathed, and did all sorts of normal things we could possibly imagine. What they don't know is that, underneath all those layers of act, lies a dormant face, a mask, waiting for a prey to unravel my unbecoming.

The evil that lurks within.

You might think that this is a love story turn wrong, but if only you could see past through these flesh and bones, the truth is far more disgusting that what it is.

It was half past twelve in the noon. The scorching heat showered vigorously from the rooms' window, making the air both damp and dry, creating a musky scent from all the sweats that has been absorbed by the pillows. My afternoon nap was cut short and I lie in bed, panting out of breath, because of that dream. My mind was in a state of shock while trying to figure out whether if this is the reality, or just another dream.

There's a pulsing sensation of pain in the pit of my stomach, adding to the half blanking mind. As my senses whiten out, I felt a vicious push from down under and drying up my pipes. I could feel a vomit, thrashing up with no care whether if what it did hurting me or not. The bathroom was only a step away from my bed but it felt like I was chasing a moving finish line of a marathon. I hated the fact, that how I used to think, to believe that this sickening sensation was nothing more than my imagination. My waist felt tighten and finally while facing the sink, I puked out winds. The pain was intense, yet all I could think that time was how I really wish something chunky actually comes out blurting from my mouth.

Along with that unattractive pukes, I was whimpering for air and ended up making noises that resembles a veal being slaughtered on its neck, with blood spurting out like a fontana. Then it hit me; I hadn't had lunch yet. I turned the shower knob and got ready to find something to fill my stomach.

The place I lived is no mansion. No. It was more like an unattended flat; it was dull,the paint had wrinkled off from the wall, with lumps of moss decorating the bare unpainted cement. The eerie atmosphere still could not be vanquished by those searing sunlight. It is as if I have been living in a different dimension. Then again, I pretty much am. Nobody knows who I am and vice versa.

At least not yet.