It has been two years to the day. To the day; to the day when all was lost. To the day when all hope was lost. Friday, the 13th was more than just some silly reminder of some silly superstition. It was a day that left me awestruck. I was laying down on my firm, comfortable bed and doing my Algebra homework. Nothing more, nothing less. The mundane hours I spend doing this irrelevant piece of crap came as far from exciting. As usual, my wandering mind took rule and my procrastination was set in place.

“John, you doin’ yo homework?” My mom yelled annoyingly.

As annoying as the constant reminders are, they give me a sort of adrenaline rush and motivate me to actually work on my homework. I took a break from it 5 minutes later and “rewarded” myself with “5 minutes of leisure.”

Then the knock. Oh, that ominous knock. I usually respond surprised with every knock unknown, but this one. It was different. God tells me so. I was in a state of trance. The piercing shriek of my mother that soon followed did not help in reaffirming me either. Thoughts racing. Heart beating faster and faster and faster. If someone had seen me, they’d of thought that I was in some sort of asthmatic shock. I thought of the weapons I could use: A chair? No, that wouldn’t work. A desk? Haha, don’t make me laugh. Myself? Christ, I was desperate. I did not have time to process my thoughts as I thought I was in a life-or-death situation. Then, an indistinctive, raspy voice spoke in a very soft matter. I was confused; this froze me. My mom was actually talking back to this stranger. What is going on? Our house would have surely been burnt down with pools of blood inside by now. Then, the lag of my frozen thoughts hit me all at once. I was intoxicated with my own feelings; the realization that I had come to.

“Me and Johnnie so glad you back come. We miss you so much. Oh my god! Oh my god! Oh my god!” My mom exclaimed.

It couldn’t be. No, I thought. But I knew. I knew.

“Johnnie, comb down! Somebody ready to see you!” She said.

But I wasn’t ready to see him. I could feel my heart dripping black drops of blood. He was the snake and we were the snake charmers. He was playing games with us, thinking he could use his false sense of slyness to hide from us, lie to us. But at each speed bump we encountered, my mom always declared checkmate in the end, pulling his strings like he was a puppet to be toyed with. What has been accomplished, I thought? He has just improved his ability as an artist. The mask that he holds has much more detail and is crafted masterfully, with the exception of a few dents. He has used his talents for evil. He takes his mask off slightly at times but his face is covered by its shadows. Will his mask ever be removed? Only by the hands of God, I say. And even that may not be enough.