Wmason
09-15-2007, 08:40 AM
“Go down that way, and then take a right at the first intersection.” she replied monotonously.
123 could see that from behind the thin porcelain mask her small eyes were blinking comically. “Thank you” he said with a smile, and then he fell into an opposing stream on the Belt.
“What a looker!” 123 thought as he moved with the assembled torrent of people, and machines, “but I think I prefer the earlier models, though they had the permit number on the side.” At that very moment he chanced upon a mask shop: ‘Harry’s Face Masks’ the digital sign flashed, alongside dancing graphic logos, and an occasional twitter of a beautiful female mask.
123 stepped off the Belt, and entered the shop.
A masked salesman greeted him from behind the counter, his outstretched hands subliminally directing attention to the plethora of masks hanging around him: smiling ones, solemn ones, laughing ones, and even angry masks.
“Now that is a very nice one you have on sir. The latest, I presume!”
“It is actually!” The salesman’s head bopped with porcelain-like laughter, “You’ve got quite an eye for someone who’s mask-less.”
Masks, staring forward blankly, on hanging aisles that stretched deeper into the shop; hundreds of sections: ‘matrimonial’, ‘adolescent’, ‘celebrity’, ‘high brow’, ‘religious’, ‘foreign flavors’, and so forth.
The ‘special section’ presented an item of interest for 123; a mask with a very neutral, yet striking expression- like that of thinker, and an athlete rolled into one. He placed this mask over his face and turned to a mirror.
“I can’t even tell if I’m blinking!” he whispered to himself.
“We have some complimenting expressions for this model.” the salesman said, appearing suddenly from behind an aisle, “Or are you a one mask type of guy?”
A fat customer, wearing a black fur jacket, and a huge golden necklace intruded affably.
“Yea um…” and he held a pudgy hand over his chin, “I’m looking for like… a bad boy expression.”
“Right this way sir,” and as the salesman lead the fat man away, he called back to 123, “by the way we have different colours for that model!”
A few minutes later 123 rejoined the salesman at the counter.
“So do you provide a permit number on the spot?”
“Why yes of course,” and then the salesman asked automatically, “Have you ever bought a mask before?”
“No,” 123 replied. “You know, I’m not so sure if I want to buy one.”
“Do you know,” the salesman whispered, looming his static head closer towards the counter, “I’ve charmed so many women with this thing.”
“Masked women?” 123 asked anxiously.
“Both!” the salesman declared, standing upright. “Masked and unmasked! It doesn’t make a difference nowadays! Even celebrities wear masks!”
“Ah yes,” 123 paused to look outside of the shop; people passing on the Belt, vehicles in the vacuum tube, an occasional sentinel drifting by.
“I’ll have to think about it.”
As he made his way to the door, he could hear the salesman calling, “You’ll be back, but don’t worry!” and then a pause,
“Supplies aren’t limited.”
Before continuing on his journey 123 turned to stare at his reflection in a shop window. He saw a rugged naturally distressed face and a tuft of unkempt hair that lazily curled around the forehead. “I wonder: would it be any different if I wore a mask?”
BOOM! The Belt stopped. 123 fell to the floor. Everything drowned in a flood of white light. A sentinel had collided with a vehicle. Panic spread in the rows of people and machines.
A man wearing a happy mask and carrying a Credit Box rushed out of the wreckage. Bands of armored policemen came out of nowhere. The robber held his hands up, dropping the box to the floor.
“Identify”, a captain ordered; the mask was removed, and a tattered gasping old man stared wildly at his captors.
A strange machine that had an envelope in its middle was brought to the scene. They placed the mask into the envelope.
“Permit number 7X2356…It’s a fake sir.”
It’s a fake: meaning it hadn’t been produced by the sole distributor and manufacturer of consumer face masks: the government.
123 could see that from behind the thin porcelain mask her small eyes were blinking comically. “Thank you” he said with a smile, and then he fell into an opposing stream on the Belt.
“What a looker!” 123 thought as he moved with the assembled torrent of people, and machines, “but I think I prefer the earlier models, though they had the permit number on the side.” At that very moment he chanced upon a mask shop: ‘Harry’s Face Masks’ the digital sign flashed, alongside dancing graphic logos, and an occasional twitter of a beautiful female mask.
123 stepped off the Belt, and entered the shop.
A masked salesman greeted him from behind the counter, his outstretched hands subliminally directing attention to the plethora of masks hanging around him: smiling ones, solemn ones, laughing ones, and even angry masks.
“Now that is a very nice one you have on sir. The latest, I presume!”
“It is actually!” The salesman’s head bopped with porcelain-like laughter, “You’ve got quite an eye for someone who’s mask-less.”
Masks, staring forward blankly, on hanging aisles that stretched deeper into the shop; hundreds of sections: ‘matrimonial’, ‘adolescent’, ‘celebrity’, ‘high brow’, ‘religious’, ‘foreign flavors’, and so forth.
The ‘special section’ presented an item of interest for 123; a mask with a very neutral, yet striking expression- like that of thinker, and an athlete rolled into one. He placed this mask over his face and turned to a mirror.
“I can’t even tell if I’m blinking!” he whispered to himself.
“We have some complimenting expressions for this model.” the salesman said, appearing suddenly from behind an aisle, “Or are you a one mask type of guy?”
A fat customer, wearing a black fur jacket, and a huge golden necklace intruded affably.
“Yea um…” and he held a pudgy hand over his chin, “I’m looking for like… a bad boy expression.”
“Right this way sir,” and as the salesman lead the fat man away, he called back to 123, “by the way we have different colours for that model!”
A few minutes later 123 rejoined the salesman at the counter.
“So do you provide a permit number on the spot?”
“Why yes of course,” and then the salesman asked automatically, “Have you ever bought a mask before?”
“No,” 123 replied. “You know, I’m not so sure if I want to buy one.”
“Do you know,” the salesman whispered, looming his static head closer towards the counter, “I’ve charmed so many women with this thing.”
“Masked women?” 123 asked anxiously.
“Both!” the salesman declared, standing upright. “Masked and unmasked! It doesn’t make a difference nowadays! Even celebrities wear masks!”
“Ah yes,” 123 paused to look outside of the shop; people passing on the Belt, vehicles in the vacuum tube, an occasional sentinel drifting by.
“I’ll have to think about it.”
As he made his way to the door, he could hear the salesman calling, “You’ll be back, but don’t worry!” and then a pause,
“Supplies aren’t limited.”
Before continuing on his journey 123 turned to stare at his reflection in a shop window. He saw a rugged naturally distressed face and a tuft of unkempt hair that lazily curled around the forehead. “I wonder: would it be any different if I wore a mask?”
BOOM! The Belt stopped. 123 fell to the floor. Everything drowned in a flood of white light. A sentinel had collided with a vehicle. Panic spread in the rows of people and machines.
A man wearing a happy mask and carrying a Credit Box rushed out of the wreckage. Bands of armored policemen came out of nowhere. The robber held his hands up, dropping the box to the floor.
“Identify”, a captain ordered; the mask was removed, and a tattered gasping old man stared wildly at his captors.
A strange machine that had an envelope in its middle was brought to the scene. They placed the mask into the envelope.
“Permit number 7X2356…It’s a fake sir.”
It’s a fake: meaning it hadn’t been produced by the sole distributor and manufacturer of consumer face masks: the government.