io9 is proud to present fiction from LIGHTSPEED MAGAZINE.
Once a month, we feature a story from LIGHTSPEEDs current issue.
This months selection is Caesura by Ashlee Lhamon.
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you’re able to also listen to the storyhere.
Dogs and bears and chimpanzees rip ears off during attacks.
More prosaically, ears are subject to all the samecancers that take eyes and noses.
My workshop lookslike a Hollywood horror prop dream.
It isnt necessary for my work, and they areoften relieved when I express disinterest.
Or rather, Client Xs caretakers.
I could, I assured them.
Painters seek out perfect canvases on which to impose their order.
My art is thereverse.
Life presents me with its wreckage, and from it I create a nondescript whole.
Here specifically: cheeks, chin, lips, the last to be fashioned closed.
Unfortunately, my prostheses arentmechanicalmedical science hasnt advanced that far.
This is my most coveted and essential gift: anonymity.
I took measurements and impressions.
Because of this, there shouldnt have been any rush, but I was backed up with other cases.
I dont remember when, exactly, the sound started.
At first, I thought it must be Rebeccas radio.
Butwhen I passed Client Xs pressed-closed mold, the sound grew almost imperceptibly louder.
Which wouldntdo, of course.
Anonymity is no use if your facial hardware is broadcasting garbled NPR.
In the process of opening the mold, I accidentally broke it.
I will never forgive myself for that.
Cut, they parted, and puckered, and bowed.
That half-mask began to sing to me, beautifully.
It sang me an ariain a language I had never heard before, and never since.
I suppose my immediate reaction should have been disbelief.
The mouth and cheeks were only silicone.
Therewas no throat, no vocal cords.
Instead, I sat for a long time on the floor of my workshop, and I listened.
and, Where are you singing from?
and Are you an angel, or a spirit, or something else?
The mouth sang on, undisturbed.
They were understanding and graceful.
I set upon making another sculpture for a new mold.
This one resembled Client X better, anyway.
I cast themold and filled it.
Thankfully, this one came open in silence.
But nothing matchedthe noses didnt flare their nostrils; the glass eyesdidnt roll in their silicone sockets.
My whispered questions to errant ears continued to go unanswered.
Everyeffort seemed a blind, failed dash in the dark.
In the meantime, Client X arrived for their fitting appointment.
The new, silent mouth clipped perfectly intoplace.
I handed them a mirror, and in an instant they and their caretakers were weeping.
I assured them all Iwould hand paint the flesh to match their skins natural hue exactly.
No one would be able to tell.
The singing mask stayed concealed in its drawer.
This is yours, too, I said, and I gave them a second case.
They looked at me, confused.
Even with the caseslid closed, you could hear the singing from inside.
I confess: I wanted to keep it.
That is the most natural thing, isnt it?
But the beautiful things we bring into the world arent ours, not truly.
Client X opened the case.
I had tinted this mask to match their flesh, just like the other.
They held it in their hands and pressed it against the place of their greatest mistake with great wonder.
hey visitLIGHTSPEED MAGAZINEto read more great science fiction and fantasy.
Cornell, Russell Nichols, Philip Gelatt, JT Petty, Lyndsie Manusos, and more.
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