The Bitten King

The white porcelain mask smiled up at Robert. It didn't mock the scraggle of his greying stubble or the tangle of his pale hair- it was a kind smile, a knowing one. It was a smile that made you feel trusted and respected, that drew you in and made you a friend. He leaned out and stroked the forehead of the mask with his thumb, and it was as cool and solid as it had always been.

"Put it on, Robert." The voice from the corner was difficult to ignore. It carried an expectation of obedience, a surety of command that Robert's voice once had. The speaker reached into a black plastic sack and took a dark shape from within it, and threw it onto the table.

The blue mask clattered towards Robert, and he flinched at the sound. This mask had no expression at all. It was just a dark blue oval with two oversized holes for eyes, and bloody fingerprints from the speaker's hand around the rim.

"You can't leave without a mask, Robert. Pick." Robert had been offered the blue mask once before, and it had scared him then. Now it didn't seem quite so terrible, and as he reached out for the white mask he found himself lifting the blue one instead. It was hard, even brittle, and felt like glazed terracotta.The surface stuck to his fingers like metal left outside on a winter's day, and suddenly the absurdity of what he was about to do struck him. He dropped the blue mask and snatched up the porcelain one as though it would be taken away.

The man in the corner seemed to smile, but it was always difficult to tell. He raised a blood-wet hand and pointed over Robert's shoulder; Robert turned and flinched back to reality as someone knocked loudly but politely on the bathroom door.

"Sir? Senator Ward? They're ready for you downstairs, sir." Robert raised his hands to his face for a second, as though he was putting on a mask, and shook his head to clear the cobwebs away. He quickly checked himself in the mirror- hair tidy, tie straight, clean shaved and teeth shining.

"Let's go win a debate, fella," he murmured to himself as he washed his hands. That was why he'd come into the bathroom, wasn't it? To clean his hands and get the dirt out from underneath his fingernails. Yes. That was why.

"Sir?" The knock came again, insistent but still measured.

 "I'm on my way, Bill." Senator Robert Ward opened the door, smiled that home-grown, hard-working smile at his assistant, and headed down to the debate.