An ivory mask, yellowed with age,
sat solemnly upon the crushed blue velvet.
A plain plaque outside a glass case was labeled:
“Tribal Worship/Ritual Mask - Date Unknown”
The surface was intricately carved,
the grooves filled with shimmering onyx.
The stark black etchings depicted ancient, forgotten groves,
filled with twisting vines, and unfamiliar trees.
Other markings showed a menacing, inhuman figure,
towering over a group of kneeling worshippers.
In place of openings for the eyes or mouth,
were immaculately cut rubies.
Each shaped with precise detail:
in the shape of reptilian pupils,
and a maw of needle-like teeth.
Whenever someone asked the curator about the mask,
all he could tell them was that it was an “anonymous donation.”
Most didn’t need the details--
Just the vague concept of savage rituals on blood-caked stone:
enough to keep them interested for a few, brief moments,
but not long enough to really ponder its purpose.
It’s probably for the best.
Sometimes, the past belongs in the past.
Sometimes, we need to forget those ancient loyalties to bygone deities.
Sometimes, we have to ignore what may lay forgotten and unworshipped in the depths.
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