PROLOGUE
Once upon a time, there was a kid who walked and walked a lot.
Walking and walking, one day the kid met a man. There was something strange about the man, so the kid asked:
“Why don’t you have the mouth?”
“Because in a world where everybody is already talking, whispering, and screaming,” the man scribbled on a scrap of paper “my words don’t really matter and nobody would hear them anyway.”
After thinking about it, the kid took off his mouth and dropped it on the ground. He was about to ask another question to the man, but he was long gone.
The kid resumed his walk.
Walking and walking, one day the kid met another man. There was something strange about the man, so the kid scribbled down:
“Why don’t you have the ears?”
“Because in a world where nobody pays attention to anything but himself, where nobody is listening anymore” the man replied, slowly “I don’t have anything meaningful to listen to, and even if I did I wouldn’t care.”
After thinking about it, the kid took off his ears, one by one, and dropped them on the ground. He was about to ask another question to the man, but he was long gone.
The kid resumed his walk, again.
Walking and walking, one day the kid met a girl. There was something beautiful about the girl, and the kid stopped, breathless. But there was also something strange about the girl, so the kid started wondering how to ask her why.
Why she had no eyes.
CHAPTER I
No matter how hard he thought about it, the kid couldn’t figure it out. So he moved on, leaving the girl to her journey. It was not like she could see him anyways.
Walking and walking, one day the kid spotted a city. He went in.
Everyone there had eyes, ears, and mouth. Everyone there had nice clothes. Everyone there had something to do. Something to say, something to listen to. The mute, deaf, naked kid from the outside had nothing but a bundle of scraps from his travels.
The kid thought he could tell people about his journey. About all the discoveries he had made, all the wisdom he had come by. But people were barely noticing him, and when they did, it was to make fun of his appearance. The kid daydreamed about telling that girl about everyone he met. But even if she was there, it was not like she could see him anyways.
The kid started to think he had made a mistake. He couldn’t stand that the people weren’t paying attention to him, so the kid decided to hide. He descended deep into the city slums, and found shelter in the sewers. The kid spent days looking through the leftovers of this society he stumbled upon. He couldn’t believe the amount of useful stuff that was being thrown away.
Kinda like the kid himself.
The days turned into weeks. Months. Then years. All spent talking with himself, about things he already knew. The kid was still thinking about that girl. He didn’t know her name, so he kept writing “HER” on walls. But even if she was there, it was not like she could see him anyways.
But what if she could?
Would she like what she saw? Would she like him in his sorry state?
Ashamed, regretful, and tired, the kid finally had an idea. Maybe he couldn’t undo his mistakes, but he could hide them. And maybe, just maybe, people would listen to him then.
Maybe, just maybe, that girl will show up again. And he’ll be ready.
So the kid built himself a mask. It was just a box, but at least it covered the roundness of his head. The mask was as heavy as his mind was, but the kid put it on anyways. The kid wrapped his body in bandages and scraps he found in the trash.
And with his newly made costume, the kid left behind the small bag he was still clinging on to, and ventured back into the city.
CHAPTER II
The kid still wanted to tell people about his journey. About all the discoveries he had made, all the wisdom he had come by. He picked up a marker and some cardboard, and he finally could.
The townsfolk started to notice the kid. They pointed him out, not to laugh at him, but in awe. He was the mysterious stranger that couldn’t speak, but that wrote wise words on his cardboard signs.
The people of the city were captivated by his cryptic messages, and started interpreting them as if they were teachings. The kid’s reputation grew: people wanted to talk with him, asked him questions. He tries his best to give honest answers, but sometimes he didn’t know what to say. So he made something up, just to please the townsfolk.
The kid forgot about the girl. Sometimes he still thought about her, but it was brief, it went away quickly under the newfound attention. Until one day, she showed up again. Holding hands with another kid.
The kid noticed they were talkig to each other, tracing shapes on each other’s hands. The kid was livid: how come he didn’t think of that? It was so obvious!
Suddenly, he felt guilt. If that girl was so special to him, why did he give up so easily? How did he forget about her? No mask could save the kid from these thoughts, so he retreated back into the slums. There, every wall screamed “HER” in bold, black ink.
That was it. Oh, he thought he was so special, but he was just a stupid kid. A know-nothing. A nobody. A false prophet. Reduced to writing “HER” on some sewer wall, because he didn’t even have the courage to ask her for her name.
And what about his own name? The kid was tired of being some nameless kid. He wt his own name? The kid was tired of being some nameless nobody. He was faceless, he made himself a mask. He was nameless, and he will now pick himself a name. He got a spray can, and started covering up his past:
Liar was HERe.