Pizzazz

CW: Mental health, gore

I take pride in my name. Michael. Sure, it's simple, it's common, whatever. But it's me. Some people call me Mike, some people pronounce the whole name. A couple people have unique nicknames for me, but for the most part, I am Michael.

Everyone here knows me, save for the newest of the newcomers. I went to the public high school because my parents couldn't afford to send me to the private one. But that's okay, and honestly I prefer it that way. If I went somewhere else I don't know where I would be. Who I'd be.

22 years on this Earth, spent building a legacy. I was never quiet, never in the background. I don't understand how people can want to disappear. You just get forgotten that way.

Growing up, all I wanted was attention. Whether it was good or bad had no effect on me, as long as people payed attention to me. Now, I'm a bit more wary of the bad things; I'd rather be loved than hated.

You can find me everywhere here. It's a big city, with plenty of people, but you'll see one name repeated constantly: Michael Ukina. I've volunteered pretty much everywhere you can, I've worked 6 jobs, and I've shook hands with every memorable person in this city.

I value one thing above all else, and that is to be known. When I was 5, my mother had brought me to a beach to meet some new family members. I don't remember much leading up to it, and honestly I don't remember much from that year either, but at one point I saw this beautiful dog. I remember grabbing my mom with both hands and begging to pet it.

She told me I had to ask the owner first, which ended up being no problem. I even got to run around with the dog for a good 20 minutes before I got tired and decided to go back to my mom for a juice pouch.

But I couldn't see her. I didn't know where I was, or how to get back to somewhere I could navigate from. I was lost, and there were hundreds of kids along this beach shouting and yelling with joy. I cried quietly, running back and forth, expecting her to suddenly be there to comfort me.

I sat on the sand and tried my best not to start screaming. My memory at this point kind of blurs, because I just sat there for over an hour as people whizzed around me and all I could think of is my mom had forgotten me. I know now she was looking, but at the time it sure didn't feel like it. A couple of grown ups approached me and asked me if I was okay, and I just told them yes until they left.

Ever since, I've been deathly afraid of being forgotten. It's not that rational of a fear, because I am grown now and able to handle things myself - but it is what I have. My therapist said it's because of that instant that I feel the need to be seen so strongly.

I've never gone to protests, because I don't want to be a part of a crowd. I've never gone to any big events where I didn't get a chance to be in the spotlight.

I tell you this because I have been invited to an event. A masquerade. I didn't know they still did those, but apparently there is one happening a few blocks from my apartment. Jason, who apparently is hosting this, hand wrote a note for me.

Dear Michael,

I am hosting an event which shall be the most opulent this place has seen in decades. Each and every well-known member of the community shall attend, and I want that to include you, my friend. People speak your name, more so now than ever before. You are one of a kind, Michael. I request that you grace this masquerade with your presence, for I believe you will fuel the invigorating fire. I do not often personally invite people, but I feel that you are a truly special case.

Yours in eternal anticipation,

Jason

A sort of swelling pride rises in my chest. Jason was one of the wealthiest men in the country, and everyone wanted to be on his good side. He held an indirect power over the government, seeing as he funded just about everything in this City. Jason is the kind of person I aspire to be. The fact that he not only thought to invite me, but wrote a personal letter to do so, meant I mean something.

- - - - -

My eyes snap open as adrenaline courses through my veins. I had laid drearily for over thirty seconds now, but I realized today was the day. Jason's party. And I still didn't have a proper outfit.

What does one wear to a masquerade? Well, I'm sure the internet has plenty of advice. I stand up with a bit more of a start than I intended, and stand beside my bed nearly paralyzed for a moment or two.

Finally regaining my awareness, I step over to the computer and press the circular ON/OFF button. Wires buzz with life as lights flick on and burn themselves into the image of reality, and the fans sputter and spin until they reach a speed that makes them look like a solid disc. The monitors light up soon after, displaying the logo of the company which made them.

A glance at the small clock positioned to the right of my mousepad tells me I have two and a half hours until the party starts. Was this the kind of thing you arrived early for, or was fashionably late the norm? Fifteen minutes early should do. If nothing else, I'm happy to assist in setting up or welcoming people, and I'd rather get to meet people before there are constant swaths.

Alright, but... What is the theme? Apparently there are many themes, and depending on which, I should prepare a vastly different outfit. I could go in my signature purple three-piece, and just pick up a mask on my way...

Wait. What the hell is the point of a masquerade? I'm not supposed to stand out, everyone is. Every last person should be so extravagant that nobody is recognizable. A place to release your true self, supposedly. How ironic that I am going to attend an event which seems to go against everything I value. But, perhaps there would be some opportunity to reveal myself or something like that. Besides, plenty of people will recognize my voice.

Anyone I truly cared about, at least.

- - - - -

I picked out this beautifully designed white ensemble. There are elegant floral patterns running along the tailcoat and vest, while the pants are sleek and the shoes provide a dark contrast with their deep brown leather. I threw a plain cream colored undershirt on before getting dressed. One hour to the beginning of the event, and I still don't have a mask.

I scanned the invitation over and over again, hoping to see some kind of indication as to what kind of mask to wear, but there was none. I should have started with the envelope. Apparently I had missed the small, red text that stated MASKS PROVIDED. I've been worrying for so long that I probably couldn't get a mask on time anyway, so it is quite lucky that I don't need to bring one.

- - - - -

I grab the keys to the soft pink Corvette. I don't want to draw too much attention to my vehicle, but I want something just flamboyant enough to fit in. Anything less might stand out for a lack of exuberance, but anything more might become the primary focus for a bit. Actually, maybe I should drive something even more luxurious.

No, even being more expensive or lavish, nothing makes as much of a statement as a pink track car. The whole point of the design was to take something powerful, and give it a color that contrasts its identity so much that it cannot go unnoticed. Like the baby blue pickup truck.

I open the door, insert the keys, and twist. The engine roars to life, a satisfying cry of determination before the hum of restless energy. She wanted to fly.

And fly she did, across the pavement and between other vehicles and through the imaginary barrier of stop signs and red lights. Each gear shift felt reminiscent of a singer taking a breath between powerful belts of a tune lost to time. It was a magnificent, sultry tone that pleased me more than any woman ever had.

That was one perk to being friends with every celebrity. I could draw upon the fame and adoration of any of them, all while remaining just anonymous enough that not everyone would know about every girl I sleep with. Nobody spends their time stalking me, documenting everything I do. Most people can't remember seeing me, but everybody's heard of me.

- - - - -

The trees slowly dwindle off, and the wall they formed splits to reveal a glorious palace of brick, stone and towering panes of glass. A wide, lush stretch of deep green spread vibrantly around the house, interrupted only by brief patches of concrete trails leading up to the front door.

Further left, a driveway curved slightly into a magnificent lot. I’ve never seen a parking lot so beautifully decorated, in fact I don’t think I’ve ever seen a decorated parking lot. It’s one of those things you don’t really think about, because it’s always there, but they are usually desolate wastelands.

It seems to me that every possible detail was thought of, and not a single spot was left bare. Yet somehow, it didn’t feel crowded; a wall that is full of posters feels crowded, and an empty one feels bare. Somehow, this place perfectly captured the beauty of the sweet spot between the two.

I apologize, I have been rambling. It’s just such a beautiful estate, and it speaks to me in such a familiar way. I will move on now, from the… enchanting establishment. Yes, the story will continue and I am done describing the palace that lay before me.

I step out of my car and follow the path that leads to the door. A sweet, rich aroma captures my attention and helps me along, drawing me in while the chilly air pushes me forward. The closer I get, the more discernible the noises are. Hundreds, maybe thousands of people clamoring about. Wine glasses clinking. Music that seemed a touch quiet, considering the volume of everything else happening.

My foot reaches the stairs that take me to the porch, and into the venue, and past the tables, and to the stand. Just like that, one fluid glide from outside to the stand where the masks were.

Every mask looks the same, so I choose the one that feels right. There is no string, no ribbons, or anything. How am I to put this on? I hold it up to my face and feel a slight sting where it touches.

Wincing, my hands dropped away from my face. But the mask did not. It was somehow secured, and tight to my skin. Did they put some kind of glue on the back of these?

- - - - -

The pain has cleared up and I only feel a little lightheaded now. I’d like to find Jason, to share a moment with him. It’d be the best way to solidify myself, especially if I could strike a deal…

Was Jason a dealmaker? Where had I gotten that notion? I don’t think he makes deals, not really. Not with someone like me, at least, who does not own a business. Ah, perhaps I meant a deal where I am a face for advertising. What does he sell, again?

I can ask him, but I must find him first. With every mask being the same, I think I will have to focus on large groupings of people and see if there is anyone that people seem especially drawn to-

Nevermind. Among the many black and white masks, there is an opulent red peacock mask on someone wearing a matching suit. Who could that be, but the host? If it was anyone else surely the host would have kicked them out for such a thing.

Step, step, step, jolt to a stop - step, step, sidestep, turn, step, hop, step. No matter where I look, gaps in the crowd last only a few seconds before slamming shut again. I am appalled that nobody has fallen over and been trampled yet. Or maybe they have, and nobody has noticed yet. Wouldn’t really surprise me, with the constant flow of people.

People. Every single mask I see, flurrying about, is a person with years of story to tell. Each one, a magnificent work of art that has evolved over their lifetime. It is easy to forget, with thousands bustling around like molecules.

Ah, there. I have a clear path, now, to who I assume is Jason; The red peacock, the centerpiece of the event. I continue approaching, slowing as I get closer, waiting for him to recognize me.

Wait, no, how could he? I’m masked and he’s never met me before. Best to just walk up.

He has no idea who I am, which makes sense until I tell him my name. And he still doesn’t know me. What the hell? He invites me personally, and can’t even recognize my name? He talked me up so much, said I was special…

I should have known, though. He just filled a letter with a bunch of bullshit fancy words and probably copy pasted everything and added in my name. It was handwritten, though… I wonder if he had someone write them, or if he had a bunch of copies and just left space to add in names, or what.

Whatever happened, though, he lied to me. He sweet-talked me, he tricked me. This motherfucker doesn’t even know me.

I whip around and aggressively rip someone out of the passing crowd by their shoulder, staring into their eye holes, hoping to recognize someone.

But it was much worse. They had no eyes, none at all. Behind the masks were desolate pits, devoid of all life. Not just empty, like a room can be, but like space. A vacuum, a black hole, a space so empty it pulls outside in. The room seems darker looking at them.

I break free from the trance-like gaze and sprint for the door. But where is it? Swaths of people fly about, running now, not just walking. Several people fall over and are crushed immediately by the hundreds of people fleeing. No, running… Just running.

I thought they might have seen the same thing I did, or something worse, but… Now I don’t know. They’re running now, randomly, in loops. When they reach one wall they hit it, and the first few are crushed by the mob hitting the wall as well - then the rest turn and collide with the oncoming force.

No matter how many were squished, there always seemed to be more. Then, I saw him.

Jason, the red peacock, had removed his mask. He stared now, into my eyes. I can see nothing but him, everything around him is melting away. I blink, and as my eyes flick back to Jason, I realize that the world around him has not melted.

It is all there. I can look at anything, but only that thing. Slowly, spots covered even what I stared at directly. All of these people, and I haven’t been hit. They were forming a circle around me? Yes, they are… They are no longer hitting the walls, but running around me. Feral screams escape those who have mouths left, and from the rest, gargles or sputters from the decayed throat.

I’ve not been hit, nor have I moved, in a solid minute. I feel the pulse of adrenaline fading and my body returning to a normal state, and… And I can’t feel my face. Slowly, carefully, I raise up my fingers to touch my cheek, but my finger keeps going. There is nothing there, not anymore.

There is nothing anywhere, nothing but a chunk of flesh keeping the mask up. I cannot see anymore. I do not know who I am, what I look like.

Who am I? What am I? Where…

A body rams into my shoulder, and I almost fall. Oh! I’m supposed to be moving. Right.

So I run.