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|Museum of masks|
|Topic Started: Dec 1 2006, 08:49 PM (426 Views)|
|Alex||Dec 1 2006, 08:49 PM Post #1|
After closing hours, the museum changes. The light that falls in through the great windows grows stronger, more ethereal, illuminating those exhibits hitherto obscured in corners and crevices. Pedestals on which rest replicas of human faces, slack and devoid of emotion, forever captured in their indifferent postures. Dust swirls in the last light of the day. And suddenly, the masks start to twitch and groan, as if awoken from a very long and exhausting sleep. They shiver, nailed to their pedestals. And from not so far off come footsteps, faint at first, but then the sounds increase and the tapping of feet on the marble floors is almost like one large wave, crashing in on the shore. Then long and slender fingers lift the masks of their pedestals, lovingly, carefully, like the caress of a lover once thought dead, now returned.
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