"A free bird leaps

on the back of the wind

and floats downstream

till the current ends

and dips his wing

in the orange sun rays

and dares to claim the sky.

But a bird that stalks

down his narrow cage

can seldom see through

his bars of rage

his wings are clipped and

his feet are tied

so he opens his throat to sing. . .

But a caged bird stands on the grave of dreams

his shadow shouts on a nightmare scream

his wings are clipped and his feet are tied

So he opens his throat to sing.

The caged bird sings

with a fearful trill

of things unknown

but longed for still

and his tune is heard

On the distant hill

for the caged bird

sings of freedom."

-Maya Angelou "I know why the caged Bird sings"

Thomas brings his butcher knife down on the raw meat before him, splattering red on his stained apron, the table, and the floor beneath him. His beefy arm swings down on the meat again and again, cutting it section by section just as he does any other day.

His dark, greasy curls stick to his sweaty, sticky face. What's exposed of it, anyway. The lower half of his face is covered by a disposable mask. It hides the hideous deformations beneath it, though useless. Everyone already knew what was beneath it, but Thomas did not like the looks people gave him when the mask was off. When mouths weren't open, thoughts were made clear through eyes.

Often times it was open mouths. People in town flapped their lips often. Gossip. Profanities. Venom. Words dripped sickly green from their tongues as he passed by their houses and shops on his way to the meat factory.

Mothers would sit on their porches and watch him pass. They waved their kids inside, and whispered amongst their neighbors.

"There's that Hewitt boy again."

"He's deformed under that mask, real ugly one."

"He slouches over raw meat all day, choppin' away. You can smell it on 'em. "

"Is there a single thought behind those eyes other than 'butcher' ya think?"

Of course not. Thomas was just a big, dumb animal.

His swings become harder as his anger pools into his arm. Slam. Slam. Slam.

A sound breaks his trance midswing. With his cleaver in the air above his head, he turns.

Standing there is a young woman with wide eyes. She clears her throat before taking out a card.

"Are you Thomas Hewitt? Your mother gave me this."

"The caged bird sings

with a fearful trill

of things unknown

but longed for still

and his tune is heard

On the distant hill

for the caged bird

sings of freedom"

Laura recites the poem loudly to her audience. A room full of latex, wooden, clay, and plastic masks of all sorts. Ones of distorted faces, furry snarls, masses of feathers, glitter, paint, swirls, fangs, bruises, all kinds of face coverage.

In the middle of it all sits their mother, Y/n. She hangs her head low over a wooden desk, applying clay to a mask base with her gloved hands.

She takes only a second of her attention away from the mask to smile at Laura.

"Maya Angelou. She's one of my favorite writers." Y/n grins to herself.

"They don't sell any of her books here in Texas. I picked up that copy in California. You're free to borrow that whenever you like. Just don't let the locals see it."

Laura nods, closing the book and putting it back on the shelf.

"I'd rather not risk my parents seeing it."

Y/n nods, turning back to her mask. The peice is an upper half face mask. Masquerade style. She finishes lining the shape with her thumbs, tracing a half circle at its bottom with a small knife , pulling out a box of black and grey feathers.

A couple fly off the box when she sets it down rather inconsideratly.

"Cool it, Y/n. Im only getting paid for cleaning up the front." Laura says, crossing her arms as she watches her work.

"Shouldn't you be out there at the register?"

Laura dismisses y/n with a wave of her hand, but walks out of the room with a grin.

"Yeah, fuckin' freeloader. " She chuckles to herself, before turning back to the mask.

With skilled hands, she grabs a feather and pushes it softly into the clay base. One after another, she grabs a feather and sticks it in.

After a good twenty minutes, the top half is covered. With a hot glue gun, she glues a wooden beak to its bottom. Raising the clay up to the open window, she admires it. The sun brushes the tips of the feathers, gleaming off the polished black beak. For a moment, a breeze flies through the window and rustles up the thick feathers.

It reminds Y/n of a real bird, enjoying the wind as it soars through an open sky. She chuckles to herself, petting the soft mass. With careful hands, she sets it back down on the desk.

A bell dings, signaling a customer. Y/n listens as Laura greets them.

"Hello, welcome to L/n Mask Emporium. Are you looking for anything specific?"

The customer speaks with a southern drawl. Their voice is feminine.

"No, no. I was just stopping by to see what was going on. I've never seen this store here."

"Well that's because we're new to this location, ma'am." Laura says. She speaks with her best customer service voice. A high, nasally sound. To Y/n, it's annoying. To customers who have never talked to Laura outside of work, it's charming.

"Oh? When did you guys move here?" The customer asks.

"Two weeks ago. We just finished and opened up Monday. You're our 12th customer!"

"12th? Doesn't sound like your getting a lot of business."

"Well, it's only been two days. The town is small, too."

Y/n listens as she can hear footsteps. The customer is walking around, examining the masks displayed all over the walls.

"Who made these?" The customer asks.

"My friend, Y/N L/N. She inherited this business from her father. She's actually in the back if you'd like to meet her!"

Y/n sighs, preparing herself to mimick Laura's customer service tone. Something she's learned from her time in Texas, is kind words and batting your eyelashes can get you far as a woman. Unfortunately, not far enough always. she emerges through the door, her office being right behind the front room.

"Hello, You must be Ms. L/N!"

The customer is a short old woman with graying hair. Y/n walks up to her and shake her bony hand.

"Yeah, that's me." She says, cringing at her own voice.

"My name's Luda Mae. I've lived in this town my whole life, and I thought it'd be nice of me to say hello. You have wonderful artistic work here."

The work she is referring to are the sport masks all over the walls. Hockey masks, goaley masks, regular face masks, face shields, practical masks of such. Y/n's real works of art hide in the back, away from judging Texan eyes.

As she pulls her hand away from Luda's, she notices the woman's eyes lingering on her leather gloves. No doubt wondering why someone would be wearing a pair in the Texas summer heat. Her hands were, in fact, sweating like crazy.

To draw Luda's attention away from her gloves, Y/n points to a poster in the shop's window.

"I actually make decorative masks, too. I'll have my own stall up in the festival to promote the new opening."

Luda smiles widely.

"Oh, isn't that neat. I'd love to see you're work."

"Thank you, Ma'am. My father was the one who taught me. I Inherited the business from him."

"How nice. Family first always, right?"

"Always. Is there anything in here that interests you at all?"

She pauses for a moment.

"Actually, yes. I was wondering if you could do me a favor. It's for my boy, Thomas."

Y/n smiles, imagining a little boy.

"He has a messed up face, and he's really insecure about it. Won't leave the house without a paper mask on."

The mask maker nods, leaning against the wall of hockey masks.

"I was hoping you could meet him. And measure him up for a proper one."

She nods.

"Yes, I can do that. I used to do custom masks all the time in our previous location."

"Oh, that is wonderful! Now, I don't have money, but here's a business card to the meat factory on the edge of town. My boy works there. If you go there anytime from 7 early to 6 late, he'll be there. Measure him up and give him this, you'll get free meat for the week."

Y/n smiles through the disappointment. Since she's one of the only customers to come through, she lets her off the hook. Have to get food on the table anyway.

"Sounds good. I'll meet him sometime before the week ends" She smiles, taking the business card and pocketing it.

Luda Mae says her thank you's before exiting the store. Y/n sighs, before turning to Laura.

"Are you really gonna go to that nasty ass factory?" She asks.

"I need to fill the fridge somehow."

"I've heard the place has had several health issues in the last year. It's probably gonna get shut down any day now." She says, pulling her brunette waves out of her face.

"Does that mean your not staying for dinner?"

Laura scoffs. "I didn't say that. Save me a plate, my shifts over so I'm gonna stop at my house for a bit."

Y/n nods, checking the time on her watch. 4 pm. Guess it is closing time.

The front door bell dings as Laura leaves. Y/n pulls the business card out of her pocket.

She sets it back down on the desk.

"Looks like it's steak for dinner tonight."