The Fall: Chapter 4. Envy

She leaves without saying a word. I feel indifferent, as I believe that witnessing the positive outcomes of wearing the mask overpowers any simple “thanks”.

I can’t wait to feast my eyes on the resurrected form of the lustful woman. Huang Ming will be proud of me for changing her life.

I continue walking down the corridor. Huang Ming Town is on the other side.

I am in town. There is not much to see. People walking about. Children crying. Beggars begging. Drunkards drinking. Crows shitting on people’s heads. People shooting down crows. It is a very busy place. It is also a very stupid place. All I can see are people and crows.

Also, I see a very sad man. He is kneeling on the floor. His mouth is arced downwards. It looks a bit like he came out of a cartoon, with his gigantic teary eyes, phlegm waterfalling down both nostrils, and saliva drooling out of his lips. He speaks something; not to me, but to anyone who’s willing to listen to him; Huang Ming will definitely lend a shoulder, so I have to as well. Huang Ming is my mentor.

The atmosphere is a noisy one. His words are not clear. He repeats fifty more times. I get a rough idea:

“Do you love me?”

Apparently, the folks in the mental asylum did not love me enough to properly examine my body. Damn them to hell.

I approach the man. He seems like a young adult, somewhere in his thirties. I want to tell him that I love him as a fellow human, but before I can say thing:

“How are you… alive?”

                                           

I am not good at answering questions in which I have to vomit out a book’s worth of explanation.

People know my face. I am famous. Well, more like “infamous”. Wearing half the mask allow my past to shine through, but still allow me to be accepted by people. It’s the best of both worlds, as I don’t really have to hide anything.

But wearing half the mask changes situations a little… At least, according to Huang Ming. How little? I don’t know.

“It doesn’t matter… I’m in a much worse situation than anything you’ve ever faced in your entire stupid, stupid life! I’ve been rejected by my asshole of a girlfriend in front of all our friends! I am so damn embarrassed! I can no longer face anyone! It is all because of how I look! Stupid, stupid me! Am I that hideous?”

There are many reasons for me to punch him in the face, but Huang Ming advocates patience, tranquillity and understanding. Getting rejected? Is that any worse than getting involved in that one incident? At least you didn’t stab yourself with a damn pen out of spite!

Yet, I really admire his honesty; at least he doesn’t filter his words. I hide a lot of stuffs. I fear the opinions of others; he doesn’t—or maybe he does, because apparently he hates being called ugly.

But hey, at least he’s being truthful to his heart. I lie a lot. The both of us are but mere peasants to the great Huang Ming; Huang Ming is both honest and indifferent to spiteful opinions.

All he need is something to cover his one flaw, to rid him of his envy of so-called “prettiness”, and Huang Ming will be satisfied.

I want to give him the broken half of my mask, but about ten meters to the right of me, I have uninterrupted view of a man and what is supposed to be his male child. The crowd is still huge, still noisy, and still stupid.

I realize that I am beginning to sound a lot more offensive. Huang Ming is defensive, not offensive. I should start defending myself.

“Daddy, look at the man with the white mask and that crying man!”

“Yes, son, they are weird people, you should stay away from them.”

“No, daddy! I want to be like them!”

“What on earth are you saying? Be like them? Don’t tell me you’re envious of their weirdness. We normal people deserve better.”

They normal people? Oh really? If you people, who judge people based on their appearances and how they act, are normal, then this is truly a shitty world to live in. Those are Huang Ming’s words, not mine.

I shed a tear. I cannot understand. What is so wrong to be weird? The kid’s wearing a shirt with a giant middle finger on it. That’s weirder. The father’s wearing his shirt inside-out. That is the weirdest.

But Huang Ming said that being strange in a strange society is normal. Yet, here I am, still estranged by strange people. I do not comprehend this situation.

“Hey mister! Can I have that mask of yours?”

I look towards the direction of the child’s father; he’s currently speaking with some lady, who I assume is the child’s mother.

I break the mask into another half; each piece is now a quarter of the original. I give one to the crying man, and one to the child.

The crying man wears the mask. It no longer fits his head, as even though this is some free-form “shape-shifting” mask that moulds its shape based on the wearer’s face, a quarter of it is… nothing but a white scrap of plastic.

The crying man brings the mask fragment to his chest. It disappears. It seems that the crying man’s broken heart is healed by the fragment! Such an amazing discovery! The crying man is now a happy man!

The child brings the fragment to his father, who also places it to his chest. It disappears. The man immediately kneel down. He apologizes to me. He even begs for forgiveness. What a wonderful power this is!

Things suddenly seem a little bit more… magical? And the mask now heals hearts, rather than hides one’s past? This is very unrealistic.

From now on, I refuse to believe that this is reality!

However, Huang Ming has predicted all this; two of his most famous quotes read:

“For a man who fears his past, fears his heart. For a man who is envious of others, is envious of his heart. The heart is the pride. Pride is the cause of all sins, and is also the effect of all sins.”

“A mask which hides the owner, hides the heart. A mask which hides half the owner, hides half the heart. Half a heart is still a living heart. A hidden heart is a dead heart. To man with a living heart, you are now resurrected! To man with a dead heart, you are now reborn!”