Corban and the Maskman

roses are red,
violets are blue,
I love you so much,
you make me want to puke.

This is far from a love story.

Corban stood up from inside his locked mind as he dreamt of his ideal hell.  The clowns surrounding him were drowning in their own sense of misery which enabled Corban to walk past unnoticed.  They too were locked up in their hell, a hell you could never imagine.  They sat in a morose state sharpening their crooked nails with a pencil sharpener.  Twisting and turning endlessly until they scraped their skin with the blade which brought them immense satisfaction.

In this place lived no children, not real ones.  They were bred by the head clown to promote guilt to the minor clowns.  So if a minor clown felt the urge to devour them, they were immediately made to feel guilty.  Nonetheless these children were still hunted secretly by each and every clown, including head clown when he wasn't too busy playing games.

Of course, these children were hard to find.  The ones that were still barely alive would hide in the nearby woods hunting each other being programmed to be cannibals.  So when captured, they'd be deformed from their own doing.  Sometimes too deformed to look good to eat so were thrown in the fire pit.

And they wore masks which frightenned the sinners.  Once used as a protection against SARS, but gradually transformed, melted like flesh eating bacteria and eventually became part of their faces.  They over-used the protection till protection could no longer protect.  They became their masks or their masks became them.

Oh the humans, those sinners.  The cowards of hell.  Locked in their own private cell, all alone with ensuite bathrooms, XBOX 360, mirrors and clean water and they call this hell! They would groan and moan all day until they  could find a clown to poke fun at.  Struggling for food as they always do, chasing a child and drinking their blood like soup and using their tiny little bones as croutons.

Corban being a man of twenty-three hardly knew the regulations and laws of hell.  He knew nothing of the callous and manipulating nature of a clown.  Little did he know that the moment they were snapped out of their reverie, he would be as good as dead.

Luckily for him, the Head Clown, Salvador Centauri was out tonight probably high above our heads playing chess with the Gods.  It was a game like no other.  Chess pieces where no longer used instead they'd make use of human souls which they considered to be 'bad' on Earth.  But most of the time they were highly antoxicated to decipher what was right or wrong.  So as a result most of the time they would choose an innocent soul.

When they played chess, the clouds would have a gathering and rumble and grumble for having to do so and they humans would drop from the skies like rain.  One drop at a time.  Naked as nature intended and their memories erased from the past whether good or bad.

Corban walked on the mahogany track where the clouds above him rehearsed.  They slivered and slithered like uncomfortable snakes.  When they gathered, Hell would never be the same...

He walked on towards the pit of fire which the clowns used to dump waste.  Sometimes a clown would dump themselves in there as they would think they are waste but most were too obnoxious to think so.

Corban approached it.  He clutched his gun in his bloody hand, took one last glance and threw it into the fire. The flickering flame reflected against his sweaty face. Just at that moment a slight wind came and blew a leaf next to his feet and it flew away gracefully, twisting and turning away until it disappeared into the darkness.

The rain came suddenly and the wind blew harder. The rain fell faster and thicker as it did so. Steam rose from the grounds, suffocating him until that was all he could see.  A spotlight turned on close by and he looked towards it.  It grew fainter and fainter.  He could only catch a glimpse of a silhouette of man standing there.  The cloud and rain curtained his vision.  He fell back and opened his eyes


He was sitting in his shower. Drenched from head to toe and fully clothed.  The water still hadn't washed away from the blood. He was in trouble now...

The lights flickered and he was falling asleep again. His eyelids flickered and closed. He opened them again and It was I. The Maskman.


The End

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