Imaginary Friends

“Hey.”

“Yes, you.”

“Hey, look here.”

“Closer. Under the mask.”

“Tchah, not that one, dumbkomf.”

“Well, yes, that one, but not just that one. Keep going.”

“You’re not there yet.”

“What d’you mean, that’s the last one? There’s at least three more beneath it.”

“Yes, the craftsmanship is exquisite, isn’t it?”

“Has to be. I wear these all the time.”

“Quite long, almost…gods, very long, never mind the exact number.”

“There. That’s much better.”

“No, it’s alright.”

“I’m not in the least offended, m’dear. There’s a reason I wear those.”

“No, I suppose not, but who isn’t at least a little vain?”

“It’s as hard to convince people you are interesting as more than a show-piece when you are grotesque as it is when you are exquisite.”

“No, that’s an entirely different issue.”

“Oh, you’d be surprised.”

“No, not quite.”

“What I mean…”

“Why tell you then, if you’ll interpret it in your own way, no matter what I tell you?”

“No. No. In fact, why tell you anything at all, gossamer figment of a fevered brain? Reality is blowing you to pieces as I speak.”

“Come, I’ll not have you tortured, even by yourself. You needn’t strain to hear my ravings while you perish.”

“Go now.”

“No, never fear, I won’t tell another what you couldn’t hear.”

“Hush, it’s alright.”

“I trust you to keep my secrets, that’s not it at all.”

“It’s just that the wind blows too strong, mellon nin, and you are gone already.”