Help me, Cram, my face cracked!

[.]

   

They will hear about it by the water cooler. Their thoughts will return to it as they stand in the shower, between the Waking World and the Dreaming. As the traffic backs up bumper to bumper, they will look out the window and see a sea of scowling faces. They will feel the scowls lapping at the shores of the mind like an unrelenting tide. These are the faces of primates in kill mode. There are only two possible responses: fight or flight.   This is going to be amazing to illustrate. They will hear about it from a friend, about the day his face cracked. As they turn the story over in their mind, as it ripples through the Dreaming, something begins to grow. Something fresh and wild stirs, and it is hungry. It must be fed. He looked at the clock that day, watched the minute hand slowly come full circle. I can't leave early, he thought, I'll get written up, I'll get fired, and this will be the end. The next day, instead of the tap tap tapping on a keyboard, they heard the whirr of the vaccuum. The cubicle would need to be cleaned thoroughly before someone else was interred there. Someone walked by and raised an eyebrow at the old hispanic woman. "Feathers," she said as she pushed the vacuum. She didn't say more because she was mostly in the Dreaming. He watched the hour hand that day, the minute hand, the second hand (almost time to go home now), he looked past the hands into the clockwork behind it. And he felt the cogs and springs in his mind pushing against one another, making the whole human machinery move. A memory bubbled to the surface, a snippet of an old dream. While he was in the Dreaming, he made a new gear. He installed it years ago. As the morning alarm shunted him from the Dreaming, the dream was gone. But now he remembered. As 5:00 approached, the springs pulled in every single direction. The gears turned silently, approaching the end of the work day, approaching the edge of the waking world, and then --- the shell cracked. A tiny beak poked through, hatching. The baby bird must fight its way into this world, it must crack the veil and push its way past, it must prove to the cold material universe that it is an unstoppable force. The office was filled with the sound of birds, a whole flock of birds all singing. His body slumped back in the chair, relieved, the machine's dream was finally awake. They would hear about it by the water cooler. That day, his head exploded into a flock of birds, all singing. They would think about it in the shower. They would think about it in traffic. About the machinery, and the Dreaming. They would begin to dream of a new machine. The flock of birds did not clock out as they left the building.

[.]

shit that didn't post correctly.. i'm a fucking tard...

This is going to be amazing to illustrate.

[Reginald Ret]

All my masks have this 'flaw' baked into them.

You see i had a very protected childhood and didn't need a mask until i was years older than is normal.
This slow start has given me ample time to analyze people in their maskforming days.
When i finally started making my first mask (it was a hue of blue only slighty darker than baby blue and the cutest thing you've ever seen) i already was addicted to a unobstructed view of other peoples masks.

I had to make my masks so they wouldn't limit my line of sight (as long as it didnt conflict with the mask's other purposes, ofcourse). So i kept the eyeholes from growing as far shut as they usually do. Sadly this had the ununintended side effect of making my real windows to the soul easier to look into.

There were two negative effects and one positive effect. Firstly i found it very hard to block out the true faces of almost all people around me and so many emotional storms are exhausting. Secondly i could never hide all of me from those that would be scared of seeing the real me without looking away. The positive effect was an increased attraction to those with eyeholes wich are still partly open, a rare occurance but worth it for every time i met a human.

Now i am years older and years more set in my ways.
I still wear my masks regularly, and though they are well maintained they are starting to collect scars and most are quite chipped. Cracking hasn't really occured yet, im not sure wether this is a good or a bad thing but in case others wish to try to emulate me: make your masks loose and change them regularly.

[.]

Thought this would do more justice than a comic.

[Triple Zero]

your drawings are getting better and better, NiveK!!!

[Mesozoic Mister Nigel]

Wow, with the birds and everything.

[Rumckle]

Nice!

[Remington]

Nivek is like a rollercoaster of mittens and win!

[Remington]

Also, my own contribution:

I never noticed my mask too much before, but it became readily apparent when I started working at restaurants. You can get away with small, thin masks at school or home, if your face isn't that ugly, but working at a restaurant requires you to be smiling ALL THE TIME. Seriously, just slather your face with several inches of concrete and carve a smile on the fucker. Smile when you seat the people, smile when you take their orders and refill their drinks, put a happy tone in your voice when you talk to them. I wonder if they realize how much of it is fake.

You see, sometimes while I'm smiling and telling them that their table is right this way, something slips. Maybe it's in the face, or maybe the voice, but it's there. A little twitch in my face -my real face- that shows through. I can see that they see it, but they don't say anything. As long as I get them to their table and clear up after them, they don't care too much. I'm only a bus-boy though. The servers have much better, thicker masks; I'm not even sure if they come off.

[The Good Reverend Roger]

I am beginning to suspect that what's under my mask isn't what I though was there.  I've felt more horror than mirth, recently.  More rock, and not so much roll.

Isn't that funny?  You can even fool yourself with your mask.

[Dysfunctional Cunt]

I am beginning to suspect that what's under my mask isn't what I though was there.  I've felt more horror than mirth, recently.  More rock, and not so much roll.

Isn't that funny?  You can even fool yourself with your mask.

The scary part is when you glance in the mirror before you get in the shower.  Your mask hanging on the towel hook in the mirror behind you.  You look in the mirror and scream because you don't know who is looking back out of the mirror and it sure as hell isn't you!

I don't take my mask off in daylight anymore.  I don't know that I want to know who is under it. 

[.]

[Mesozoic Mister Nigel]

God, that's disturbing.

[Pariah]

Also would like to point out that the guy who did that art next to Cram's piece does some other cool stuff
http://www.uncp.edu/art/steeds/gallery/

[Mesozoic Mister Nigel]

BUMP