the return of Frankenmask

It came from the depths of the trailer tack room. Patched and torn, it scrambled into the sunlight. Even the flies were repelled by the hideous gaze of Frankenmask! The mask that would not die. Never quite too torn, never quite alive, it survived. Other horses cowered at the sight, their own Frankenmasks' askew.

Belle and Arya, both in their own Frankenmask

Repaired beyond its natural life, the frugal horse owner tries to make it last another season. The flies swarm. After one wearing the holes are fraying again, the mud encrusted, it is found laying in a deadly dirt pile. A resigned scream is heard across the lonely fields.

And a new life is born. This time with an experimental nose flap. But tragedy lurks. What will be destroyed first? Perhaps some unraveling? A rip right by the eye? Muddy Velcro? Or will it be lost in the pasture, only to be resurrected after a severe trampling, or disfigurement by the lawnmower?

Frankenmask is patient. It waits in the trailer darkness, as the frugal owner puts it aside, just in case. Frankenmask knows the other will not survive long, they never do. When will Frankenmask escape again, to take up his ancient duty and make flies cower in fear?

Only the Frankenmask knows.