The calm and collected sky deeply contrasts with my internal stability. My mind can't move past the thought of the boy's mask. It's cat-like features made prominent in a simply designed children's facial accessory. Or, perhaps it's a Keaton? That would change its meaning, and use, from a childish play toy, to a mask of deep meaning. Despite the mask's true identity, it still must be mine.
While my thoughts continue to revolve around the thought of obtaining the mask, I wander into a section of Clock Town which interests me more than the others. It has several commercial buildings, and an inn. Why does this interest me so? It's always silent. Hardly anyone is out in this area, unlike the other lively sections of this town. My face relaxes into a light smile as I meander into the center of the area. I glance to my side, and two men are tossing a ball back and forth. What a curious sight. They don't even appear to be aware of the actions they're carrying out. I feel an extreme need to approach them. To speak to them. Hold a conversation with them. But I hold myself back. Social interaction with these two people doesn't seem necessary. They show no emotion unlike the most other residents of this town. They do not look like they could be easily swayed by my attempts to prevent their never-ending loop.
I turn away, and face the inn. Possibly, just maybe, I could find someone of interest. I allow my feet to take me there, despite the fear beginning to crawl up my spine. Anxiety is about to grab hold of me, and I'm unable to fight it off. I hesitate before the door, and begin to shake with fear. I stretch my hand to the door knob and grab hold before I fall prey to my fear. In one final breath, I push the door open.
The first thing that hits me is the intense smell of roses and cinnamon. It's so strong it's practically overwhelming. As I take a deeper breath, the musty smell of unkept clothes and mold lies beneath the apparent cover up scent.
I drag my feet through the door, struggling to enter. My hands are shaking uncontrollably now. I do not know why I have gained so much fear towards this inn. Maybe the fact that people act in sensual ways behind the locked doors of the rooms. Maybe it's the thought of a great outward appearance, but a horrifyingly disgusting inward personality.
With all of my force, I push the door closed behind me, causing the receptionist to glance up. Her eyes are strikingly blue, their color contrasting greatly with her rose colored hair. A smile is plastered over her face, making me absolutely positive that her real one must be stunning.
"Good day," she greets, her eyes locked onto the bag of masks I carry with me.
"Good day," I mutter, approaching the reception desk quietly. Why must I be so nervous around her? She's just another repetitive resident of this town. She'll forget me in a matter of days.
"Do you wish to rent a room? We currently have one vacancy," She replies, those lines obviously rehearsed for hours on end.
"Ahaha, yes ma'am. I'd like to stay in a room," What am I saying? I'm only out for a short stroll. Not a prolonged stay.
"Well, let me just write you into our guest notebook," She says, snatching a pen up from next to her. She flips a small notebook open to the current day, and begins to write, hesitating when reaching my name. "Your name is?" She asks, staring expectantly up at me. My heart stops at the sight of her eyes on my own.
"The Happy Mask Salesman," I reply, smiling uneasily. She blinks back at me for a moment before scribbling down my name.
"Here's your key," she says, handing me a partially rusted metal key,"go to your room when you feel. You don't pay until tomorrow." I nod in response, and turn to the stairs. My feet move a bit easier now that I know I'll return to my solitude, even if it's with other people nearby.
The stairs creak and groan as I march up them. The carpet has worn down in spots, showing the dirty, unfinished wood beneath. I let out a disappointed sigh, and continue to the top. I glance down at my key to check my room number. Number 4. I sigh, and scan the doors along the hallway. My room is the one in the center of the hallway. I roll my eyes, and take my time reaching the room. This is one of the few things I truly dread.
I step close to the door, and insert the key, twisting it back and forth several times before the door swings open. I drag myself inside, remove the key from the door, and slam it behind me. I toss the key to the center of the floor, and let a sigh escape my mouth.
The room is hideous. The wallpaper is peeling in some spots, revealing the mold covered wall. The fireplace has ages of uncleaned ashes left in it, practically filling the entire thing. And the bed looks like the most unsanitary thing you can lay eyes upon. The sheets are already messed up, a full rainbow of stains are spread across the originally white sheets, the pillow looks hard as a rock, and the mattress has bits of dirt, hair, and mold embedded into it. I cringe at the mere thought of sleeping in it. Despite the rest of the room, the chair in the corner looks comfortable enough. I approach it, and pull it to the center of the room. I sit, allowing myself to relax as far backwards as possible while still wearing my bag of masks. They will not leave my back until I die. And even then, I'll still have them on my back.
My eyes begin to wander around the small room. Nothing of particular interest is here. Some dead flowers in a vase of cloudy water. An empty, broken picture frame. A window with broken, poorly kept shades. I don't understand how this place can stay open with such poor management, but then again, it is the only inn in town. I take a deep breath in, and instantly feel nauseous. The smell of dirty laundry and, yet again, mold attacks me. The scent is stifling. I don't think I can handle it for three days, let alone today. I cough, and turn, glancing at the window. Maybe if I were to let some air in here, the room would become bearable, or as close to it as possible.
I stand from my chair, and stumble to the window. I shove the blinds out of the way in attempt to find some sort of latch or lock keeping the window shut. Nothing. The window is built into the building. I allow a short sigh to escape my mouth, and I quickly return to my seat.
The room is far from silent. Music echoes from down the hall, the people chatting out in the hallway, even my own breathing is audible. I glance at the clock, and I realize that it also has a curious noise of its own. It's a low clicking noise that sounds every time a second passes. It's repetitive, yet calming. Maybe because I'm so used to the deep drone of the Clock Tower clock, this one reminds me of it. A smile decides to make an appearance on my face.