#im hiring a custody lawyer because i deserve to see him more often !!

[2dap-blog]

“The Mask”

EDIT, 3/31/17: i noticed a few errors / typos and fixed it

TW: Death mention. I think that’s it?

Word count: 2,691

so i had this assignment in class to write a narrative about anything and... well i might’ve taken it a lil too far.

the title has some form of significance but now?? it’s slightly less relevant. u know what im sayin? but yea i hope yall like this read.

When I was little, my older brother used to scare me all the time with a mask he made. Well, it wasn’t really a mask— it was a cardboard box with a face on it. He usually chased me around the house, right on my heels. I remember how much it had shaken me up, especially when he tackled me. He used to laugh about it all the time behind my back.

I had nightmares about it. The mask always was on the face of a man— someone I didn’t know. He carried a huge weapon—often a scythe— that seemed weightless in his hands. The only noise he made was from the chains rattling around him. He used to chase me down a hallway, with an end that I couldn’t see. The sequence always ended in my brother’s laughter. These nightmares occurred often, and I’m glad they stopped.

Time moved on. We grew older, our interests changed, and my brother didn’t find the “joke” very funny anymore. He handed the cardboard box over to me and told me to do something with it. He didn’t want it, and neither did I. I threw it somewhere and never looked back.

Before my brothers and I even realized it, our 18th birthday came around. Our mother told us to pack up and move out in a week. I remember being really stressed and trying to find anything that could hold what we might need— this was completely new. My younger brother found a few containers scattered around the house to start us off.

“Golly, Joey,” my older brother joked as he watched him lug everything around, “Mom said that we’ll have to move out in a week, not a day.”

“Shut up and help me,” Joey grumbled, who was busy packing whatever he could fit into the boxes. He threw one at my brother’s face, which he looked at and grinned. He put it on and slowly turned towards me. It was the smiling cardboard box.

I didn’t see it for very long, though, since Joey walked over and yanked it off his head. “Take things seriously,” I remember him saying, giving him a death glare. My brother just laughed and nodded.

The box began to pop up more often. In the shower, in my room... anywhere that my brother thought I’d go, he put it there. It shocked me when I first saw it, but it didn’t bother me all too much after a while. This lasted for about half a year until spring cleaning came by.

I saw my older brother carrying out a heaping pile of materials in the smiling box. I stopped him in his tracks and asked him if he was throwing the container away too, in which he replied, “Yeah.” He was making his way through the door when he added, “Thing takes too much space and doesn’t do anything. Joey wants it out, anyways.”

Joey’s word was surprisingly final, despite me and my brother being the older triplets, but I tried to make a deal with him anyway. We settled on cutting out the side where the face was drawn on. I took the piece and cut out the face to fit mine before attaching a string on it to make a mask. The rest was thrown out with the other stuff.

The mask surprisingly came in handy later on. Reality came fast, and my brothers and I had to find jobs. I decided to work as a truck driver, but the pay wasn’t enough. I couldn’t find a part-time job with a schedule that I could work with except...

I became an executioner. In the beginning, the whole ordeal didn’t sit with me very well. I kept having second thoughts and was wondering about how the felons’ families would feel after they died. Now, I just tell myself to swing the axe— no deeper thought required. But I still feel guilty for doing it.

That’s why I wear the mask. I can somewhat see the person’s face, but they can’t see mine at all. I don’t want to watch their faces twist with horror as I decapitate them. But why do I care? Those people deserved it— they’re proven killers. They deserved to die...

I never expected to become an executioner, but we live in a pretty rough part of town. Plenty of crimes going about— theft, arson, and murders— so the state found it necessary to find one. But lately, there’s been less and less. The police has been cracking down on the criminals and has been throwing them in jail. There had been a serial killer on the loose, but the department hasn’t found him yet.

Well, not until a few months ago.

It was on a warm Tuesday afternoon. Joey was working overtime, so I was alone with my older brother. I remember him making dinner while I was sitting at the table cutting coupons out of the paper. The windows were wide open— the kitchen was always hot whenever he cooked. I heard a car pull up into the driveway.

“Is that Joey?” my brother asked, looking at me. “He said he’d come in... two hours. He’s early.” I shrug and lean back in my chair, putting my feet on the table. “We’re eating on that, J.”

“Sorry—”

When we heard a knock at the door, we both knew it wasn’t him. I put my feet down and walked over to the door and looked through the peephole.

There was a policeman standing at the doorstep. I felt a nervous jolt go through me. Why were they here? I reluctantly opened the door. “Hello, Officer,” I said, trying to be polite as possible.

“Hello. Do you know this man?” He pulled out a piece of paper from his pocket and unfolded it, showing me a picture.

I felt sick to my stomach. “Yes, he’s my brother.” I saw the officer’s expression change ever so slightly.

“We have to take him into custody. Where is he?”

And speak of the devil. My brother had walked over and was standing by me. “Here, Officer.”

He was smiling. It didn’t look grim, it didn’t look snide, it just looked... happy. I still don’t understand why he was smiling. Didn’t he regret anything?

The policeman took him away, and my older brother flashed me a grin as he was escorted to the back of the car. Why didn’t he say anything? Why didn’t I say anything? I had so many questions then, and they’re still unanswered.

The next few weeks after came as a blur. Court, hiring lawyers, the trial— I don’t remember much at all. I don’t remember what he said to the judge, what I did those days... I sometimes wish that I did, but at the same time, I’m glad I didn’t.

What I do recall is that Joey had been even quieter than usual. Still is. He didn’t speak to me for a long time after I broke the news to him, except for one single sentence: I don’t believe you. I wouldn’t have believed me either. After all, for what reason would our brother be arrested?

Even though this was answered about a couple of days after, it just didn’t make sense to either of us. Why did he do it? What was his reason? Joey didn’t know, and nor did I.

Joey is working harder now that our brother’s gone. He’s beginning to stay at the warehouse into the late hours of the night. I worry for him. He’s going to kill himself that way. I don’t know what to tell him, though, because he doesn’t listen to me, only our older brother.

It’s been two months now. Today, I was called down to the office. It was early in the morning, but I was alone in my house. Joey had already left for work.

I sleepily went through my morning routine, with a coffee brewing in the meantime. When I was done, the coffee was piping hot. I grabbed the pitcher and poured it into a thermos, then headed outside to the car.

Another execution. What a shame, I think to myself blandly, trying to blink the tiredness away as I sipped on my coffee, it’s such a fine day, too. Sunny. I don’t feel like listening to music, so drive’s going to be a long, silent one.

I arrive at the building. It’s tall and a little intimidating, with the worn-down brick. I park off somewhere and walk inside.

The sudden cold’s like a slap to the face. It isn’t usually this cold in the place, but I guess it’s a little reasonable, considering the temperature outside.

I head down to the office and see the chief sitting there, leaning back with her arms folded. “Jason Dixon, how are you doing this morning?” she asks me, a smile on her face.

“Fine, thank you,” I tell her, avoiding her gaze. I always feel a slight sense of unease whenever I look at her; I don’t know why.

“That’s fine and dandy. Now, we have another prisoner on death row. We’re expecting you to execute them today.” She’s still wearing that smile. I feel a chill come down my spine— maybe the building is a little too cold. “Can you do that?”

“Of course,” I say. I lied. I never want to do this job again, never want to see another dead body again, but I have to support my family somehow.

“Good! I wasn’t going to take no for an answer anyways.”

“May I ask who I’m executing?”

“Sorry, sonny, law forbids it. You know the drill.”

“Of course. I apologize.”

“It’s no problem. You’re still young.” She points me over to the outside. “A prison officer’s going to go drive you to the jailhouse. He’ll be here in a moment. Sit down and wait.” I nod and sit down in the chair in front of her desk, a little awkward.

A few awkward minutes later, her phone rings. She picks it up and listens for a bit before nodding at me. “He’s here.”

“Thank you,” I say quickly, heading out the office.

The officer’s sitting on a bench outside, looking occasionally from left to right. He’s smoking a cigarette. I open the glass doors and go back into the humid outside world, clearing my throat.

The man turns to look at me and gets up from his seat, putting the cig out in an ashtray beside him. He doesn’t say a word to me as he walks over to his car and unlocks the door.

I make my way over and slide into the shotgun seat. The whole car smells of cigs, and I struggle to not cough as he starts the drive.

It’s been an excruciatingly long time— I can’t stand it anymore. I quickly ask him if I can roll down the window. “Yes,” he says simply, never tearing his eyes off the road. When the window was down and fresh air rushed in, I don’t think I’ve ever been so glad to feel wind in my face in my whole entire life.

After long trip of silence, we arrive at the jailhouse. It’s big and pretty bland-looking— a huge building of tannish concrete. The officer gets out of the car and motions for me to follow.

The place is just as boring on the inside as it is outside— white floor, ceiling, and walls— and as cold as the department building. This was nothing new to me, of course, but I shiver anyways. I hear a woman laugh scornfully, probably at me. The man shouts at her to shut her mouth, and I try to keep staring ahead.

After a long walk, he turns to me and tells me to go to set up. As I walk past him, he stops at a cell and barks, “Wake up, you’re getting out of here!”

I was about finished with sharpening my axe when another officer walks in. “Prisoner’s ready for you.” I nod and tell her that I’ll be done in a few minutes. She says okay and leaves.

I put on the mask that I brought from home and head out once I finished. I walk down the white halls and head into the execution room. Inside laid the prisoner.

I walk over to him and see his expression change from crazed to shock.

“It can’t be,” I hear him whisper, his voice familiar. His eyes are wide. “It can’t.” I don’t know what to say; everyone else I’ve executed never reacted like this when they saw me.

The prisoner’s looking at me from head to toe, his eyes darting up and down. I hold my axe tighter in my hands as I do the same. He looks disgustingly unkempt— hair everywhere, emaciated, bags under his eyes... like all the others.

He has dark brown hair— or black, I didn’t know— with brown eyes. It reminds me of Joey, but Joey isn’t in jail.

“Jason?”

My eyes widen. He says my name again, and I feel something in my throat. It’s him. He looks so different now.

Why him? I can remember what happened two months ago now, after his arrest. He was found guilty of first degree murder and petty theft. He was sentenced to death. It felt so long ago, but now the day is here...

“It’s really you, isn’t it?” he asks quietly, stopping my thoughts. I see the pain and confusion in his eyes. “Take that mask off...”

But I don’t want to.

“Why?” I manage to choke out. “Why did you do it?” My brother doesn’t reply. I drop my axe to my sides. “Please, just answer me,” I beg, struggling to keep calm, “why did you do it?”

“I had to,” he says to me. I could see him look away.

I stare at him. “You didn’t have to kill anyone!” I nearly scream, my face hot, “Why do you think that— that killing and stealing was the right thing to do?” I feel my body shaking from anger.

“... It was for money.”

“Money, money, money!” I blurt. “Is that all you think of? What about us? What did you think we’ll do once we found out that you’re a criminal?” My vision blurs. “Why are you so— why are— w-why are you so damn selfish?”

“It was for the both of you— not just me.” He looks back at me, tears in his eyes. “Now you got me crying, huh, Jason?” He grins at me. “I— I didn’t expect this to affect you both this much. I’m still as stupid as ever. Guess some things don’t change.”

“You aren’t stupid,” I say to him, “you— you just don’t think things through. You don’t think about the future enough.” I don’t think I worded it well. I take a deep breath and try to settle my nerves. “God, please don’t call yourself stupid...”

“Well,” my brother begins after a moment of silence, “I know what to expect right now. Come on, J.”

“Come on, what?” I ask him, trying to avoid the topic.

“Hey, now you’re being stupid,” he jokes. “You’re stalling. Aren’t I supposed to do that?” His eyes move down to the axe.

I sigh. He’s right. I have been stalling. “It’s only because I— I don’t want to kill you,” I mutter, looking down.

“But you have to. Or someone else will.”

He’s serious. I hold back a sob, then nod. “Okay,” I whisper. “I’ll do it.”

I try to gain my composure again, tightening my grip around the axe’s handle. “Any last requests?” I ask him.

“I want to see your face again.” I hesitate before I take off my mask. He smiles at me again, and I feel myself smile back. “Ah, there’s the Jason I know.” He then grins, this time without scorn. “I’ll miss you two when my ass is in Hell.”

I snort, then lightly hit him. “Don’t make this funny,” I say to him.

“Alright.”

And that was the last word Steve said to me.