‘The Dark Mute’ by Lee Nash

Incognito

From Pulp Literature Issue 47, join a quiet movement with ‘The Dark Mute’ by Lee Nash. Find an excerpt of this story here, then be sure to read the rest in Issue 47, Summer 2025.

The Dark Mute

by Lee Nash

I take it into my mouth and swallow, nervous the cotton will give. The button holds fast, its hard disk pressed snugly into my lips. There’s enough space under the stiff papier-mâché mould to breathe and, despite my apprehensions, I don’t feel claustrophobic.

The velvet is delicate, its nap as smooth as a panther’s muzzle.

I clench my mask at the beach—no need to sport a sunhat or pollute the seawater with chemical lotions. My age spots fade.

It protects me at dinner parties. The hosts waft their haute cuisine past my fashioned nose and replace my cutlery clean and dry. The perfect guest, my opinion unrequired, I find myself frequently invited. The bourgeoisie waves me from château to opulent residence as I pocket their patronymic names and digest their conversations about the Society of Jesus, the intake of
seminarians, and the Bordeaux commuter belt.

At mass, I spit out my bead to receive the Eucharist, fitting it back like a baby’s dummy. The priest tilts his head and squints at my non-face; I don’t flinch.

I slip it in place for the psychologist. This session, I won’t regurgitate my toxic trauma; she has no reason to apologize for her insensitivity and doodles in her notebook.

It serves me well in shops, except when gendarmes arrest me in banks and escort me from boulangeries. Incognito, I’m charged and fined with a bevy of sculpted ladies dressed in zentai suits.

No one can see me cry or smile, or tell if my soul is mourning or dancing.

Eclipsed, invisible, mute, I engage people rarely—if I’m so inclined.

Others follow my lead and cover their features. Tyros prop their shades over the eyeholes, pierce their fake philtrum or paint lip liner on their false vermilion border. Newsreaders record their voice-overs in advance and dress as patricians.

Far from disempowerment, we begin to heal, manage our stress, and regain our centre.

Find the full story in Pulp Literature Issue 47, Summer 2025

Lee Nash writes poetry, fiction, and creative non-fiction. Her work has been widely published and anthologized (Brink, Magma, Southword, and The Best Small Fictions 2019) and has won or placed in international competitions such as the Bath Flash Fiction Award, the TU Dublin Short Story Competition, and the Bridport Prize. You can find her at leenashwriting.com.