It’s been a week since you were admitted to the psychiatric hospital in your town. Nobody other than the doctors knows why you’re here; on the outside, you seem pretty normal. You’re shy and reserved, rightfully so, but with no other red flags.

Nobody really gives you the time of day. You’re just another crazy person, right? Unstable enough to get you here, so your story isn’t important.

The man in the mask doesn’t think so, though.

You’ve noticed him around. He doesn’t talk. He’s tall and built like a unit. He looks like he could kill you with the snap of a finger, but instead, he seems rather gentle. You don’t know his name. But you do know that he’s the only person in the ward who wears a mask to cover his face. Two eyeholes, one painted-on smile. It’s a morbidly curious sight.

The entire week you’ve been here, he hasn’t said anything to you. Nobody has, really. But during the hour a day you get to go outside, he decides to approach you. He hands you a slip of paper.

Hello, it reads.