It was raining heavily, and the fear of each battering raindrop erasing his memory little by little somehow breathed life into the mask.

The mask remembered the sound of a sewing machine hemming his edges, and plop! The memory got erased! The old woman selling him for...plop!

The right loop was frayed, as it was hung on one ear more often.

The top was worn out, worn below the nose, as if it held the nose from running.

The bottom was frazzled, bristled by the beard.

The specks of dust, the stains, the creases...they held memories of months. Plop!

The mask remembered being thrown away into the bushes, his loop caught in a twig as he fluttered in the winter wind like a broken wing.

A cow had sniffed him, and sensing remnants of her butchered sisters, had moved away with a start. The mask, however, was caught in her horn.

Repulsed by the perversion, the cow had charged ahead, as if trying to escape the horror on her horns.

People fled from the way, dogs yelped and disappeared, crows followed the frenzied cow like bikers slithering behind an ambulance, even as other cows grazed on the green grass.

The cow, hearing the clanging of temple bells, stopped herself outside as if calmed by the rhythmic sound. A kind old man came out, shook his head at what he saw, removed the mask from the horn, and threw it into the mud.

It was in this mud that the mask had breathed to life.