The Maskmaker.

“I need a mask please. Something different,” he said as the shop door opened. This man had a meeting with the greatest maskmaker of all time. He was the best in town and everyone knew him, and also bought from him; after all, for every mask, there was a price.

He started his business before man ever realized what he was doing; while the wheel was being invented, he was hard at work tracing the curvitures of future generations, molding them into the people desired, not the ones present. He worked a fine art, his brush strokes so finely detailed the paper machete; his blade cut the silhouette precisely to the centimeter. He was a professional and knew what he was doing, sadly though, his customers did not.

As he waited for assistance, he strolled around the shop; tribal masks, party masks, even blank masks were on display. He was amazed by the talent and desired the artwork to wear. After all, he didn’t like what was underneath; he was convinced that there were flaws, problems that no one wanted to deal with, in fact, he didn’t want to deal with them either.

He would sit and question himself constantly; asking questions he couldn’t answer, he’d awake at night in sweats, insomnia set in and he couldn’t face the mirror anymore; he needed relief, he needed the skills of the maskmaker.

“How may I help you?” said the artisan from behind the shop counter. “Anything on display you like?”

“No,” replied the man, “I’m looking for something different, you see these masks still show my flaws.”

“I see,” replied the artist, “come with me and I’ll make you something you’ll appreciate.”

Down the steps they went into the workshop. Immediately the artist went to work, he knew what the man wanted–what he needed. After all, he was the best.

“Sit,” the maskmaker commanded. “Lets try this one on,” he proceeded to say as he delicately placed the paper over the man’s face.

“It doesn’t fit right,” replied the man. “It just seems…off.”

“Look into the mirror,” the maker replied.

Astonished the man loved what he saw. He was perfect; happy, vibrant, joyous, he had it all, or at least appeared to. There was nothing he couldn’t do now, nothing that could stop him.

He walked out of the shop that day with a new perspective, but there were side effects waiting to be had. That mask that didn’t fit right would inhibit him from everything he new. His family didn’t recognize him; his friends were amazed by his success and looked to him for help in times of need. The whole world knew he had it ALL; but behind the mask there was a man that didn’t have it all; he had problems, had flaws, he was human. Behind the mask was a real man, one that needed true conversation, someone who needed to be challenged, but the mask never allowed it. By putting on the mask he never revealed himself, just who he wanted to be.

Frightened by this he returned to the maskmaker. “I need this off, it’s not what I wanted,” he begged from behind the counter. With a smile the maskmaker nodded. “I can do that, but for a price,” the artist said while cleaning his brushes. Words were exchanged and the man left defeated, he couldn’t give up his success, it wasn’t worth it.

That man died a few days later, and his family mourned. The maskmaker passed by his grave, and laid the plaster cast of his face on the tombstone. He looked it over; it was seamless and flawless, no wrinkle or blemish visible. The maskmaker saw how perfect he was, but he could never tell the man that, how would he make a living? He turned from the grave and whispered four words in concordance with his steps–”was it worth it?”

That the man will never know, because no person ever knew the man…