Typewriter Ver. 1

the tent flap fell behind him like a sigh. the crunch underneath his feet. the path back to his tent was a wound through the dark. harlequin walked like a man dragging a carcass. he kept his head low. his feet pressed deep against the sawdust. each step was a crunch. it was like it was mocking him. his jaw tightened until he felt the ache. the conversation replayed itself with the persistence of a fly in the summer. it echoes across his mind. the conversation with pierrot was different from their usual conversations. he had tried to reason with pierrot. what a stupid funny thing. why was he worried over that silent clown? but the conversation still clings. still remains like smoke. his hand placed upon his mask, feeling how beneath he scrunched his face. letting out a shaky breath as it was a lost cause. he had lost count the many times pierrot had repeated this same cycle… like how he had repeated the same cycle himself. 

the reminder… the same reminder that he… he had killed them. he closed his eyes tightly… he had been the one to hear it. jester and they did not even hear him. that he had eavesdropped. had heard the whole thing between jester… no, amethyst and them. he had remembered how the two promised. he could almost see it, or possibly envision it. amethyst’s smile had slipped. went dark. harlequin had stood out and listened. he had slipped away before anyone even noticed. he told no one what he had heard. he held it like a secret buried deep. when the time came… when they were weakened by a deep wound. a wound that he questioned if they came faster, didn’t let the wound fester and devour your life… he let out a shaky breath. he remembered how you had finally looked over at amethyst. like you were expecting something… then that dreadful word… that stupid promise… he moved. god he moved. 

harlequin was faster than amethyst… than jester… he always had been. he had denied jester the promise. he had taken the act… the hatred and the weight of it all onto himself. because it was easier. easier to be a monster by choice. easier to be the villain in a story where everyone else got to grieve with clean hands. he had wanted to scream. he wanted to say so much to pierrot. but he chose not to. he chose not to say any of what was going through his mind. all he could remember was how he smiled. razored… forced. even when he felt bile rising in his stomach… even when he couldn’t see clearly with the tears. he was… a coward.

into his tent, he gazed at himself. at the mirror. fixing himself before his green clad uniform. his green gaze tiredly gazed upon himself. testing his grin, his smile in the mirror. yet, all he could think was pierrot, back in his own tent, folding his grief into shapes… into the form of an unknown human. he thought of jester, who had once never accused him, who had looked at himself and said nothing at all… he thought of then… whose last sights… whose last sensation was his claws and his teeth. and all that ran through his mind, what he had thought, ❛ this is what i deserve. this performance. this monotonous endless… exhausting cycle of being alive ❜. he stared at himself once more, his clawed tips grasped some of the puppets. the crowd was waiting for him. the light was bright. the show must go on… even if he was broken down. 

his steps seemed to echo. quieting the audience’s chatter. he had no fool to truly accompany him. a reason why he was no longer permitted any kind of fool. as the ones that had ever ended in his gras ended up as patchwork things. stitched together… walking reminders, apologies for his grief. but he shook his head. grinning his usual grin. he gazed upon the audience. almost like he was seeking for the next fool, for the one who had made pierrot like this… ❝ good evening, my dear monsters ❞ his hands waved towards the audience. the painted grin never left. his eyes gleamed under the light above him. ❝ oh, do enjoy my show. a story of the circus origins ❞ he chuckled. spoke it dramatically. to whoever believed it or not, it was the freak circus of horrors. yet if you squint enough, his voice wasn’t one of venom… it was more tired. 

until his eyes crinkled, noting the human that pierrot gazed so lovingly. you sat beside your friend, looking hopeful. he wondered why. he turned away, standing centre stage, where familiar puppets were waiting for his command. ❝ far from everything, where god’s eyes cannot reach. the monster lived ❞ he mused. sounding amused by a retelling of the story. it was the same familiar story that he was so used to telling on certain days. yet bitterness always rises in his throat like bile. it was the emptiness… the slow fading signs of hope. ❝ forgotten. hungry… silent ❞ his voice lowered. moving his hands with ease, directing all the puppets to his whims. ❝ until a man appeared, he raised a tent upon the dead earth and made a deal: ❛ work for me, you hideous little creatures, and i will feed you ❜ ❞ he suppressed a frown as he spoke. his voice hardened… remembering that man’s face… the greed was barely concealed. ❝ ❛ how wonderful ❜ thought the monsters… and so they obeyed ❞ his voice trailed slowly. ❝ but the man brought more men… and more… and more… and they laughed at the monsters ❞ he moved his hands with ease, weaving a story with the puppets. ❝ they applauded at their pain ❞ his eyes slowly trailed to the audience.

then his gaze dropped on you. you who was watching the story. watching as you pressed your thumb into the wrist pulse point. knowing you shouldn’t be using your thumb to count your heartbeat. however, that was not the case. you were just feeling the subtle rhythmic thumping against your thumb. you were watching the story. but at the same time you were also in your head. that was the problem… it was always your problem. ❛ just breathe. just sit. you’re fine. you’re fine ❜. your reaction had caught harlequin’s attention. why is it that you were acting in such a way? did you know too much? his eyes narrowed momentarily. only to realised he was silent a second too long. 

❝ ❛ what if i charged others to watch ❜ ❞ he spoke. as he continued to remain his eyes on your form. ❝ and the crowd loved it… but the monster wanted more… always more. so he behave to feed them less and less ❞ he held back a growl. ❝ ❛ this way they’ll be weak. harmless ❜ he laughed while the monsters rotted in their cage. swallowed by the dark ❞ he spoke. his face was dark and grim. but somehow the expression of the supposed one was even worse. you looked like you swallowed a lemon. how you had stopped what you were doing. you who watched and listened… there was now an ache. it started low before it started to spread. like a sense of recognition. ❝ but then, one night came, someone new came ❞ his voice was almost quiet. there was a sense of hope as he spoke. he could hear some one amongst the crowd… a strangled hitch that no one but him had heard. 

❝ a human! not with a whip nor the greedy shine in their eyes ❞ he spoke. revealing a new puppet, one he had delicately designed. it took him hours, like he was trying to recreate something he feared that he was losing the image of… in some ways… it was wrong. containing back a frown on his face. reminiscing the memory of them. memory was a strange thing… how the ache of remembering flared… somehow he thought of pierrot’s words… maybe he was thinking… wondering if he answered something different. however, it's too late for regrets. ❝ they came with food… food more than the monsters have seen in so long. ❞ he wanted to just sit and think, to remind himself how their first encounter truly came about. his voice softening… something about his tensed posture slowly uncoils itself… like a strung string slowly… loosening. ❝ ❛ you poor creatures ❜ they had whispered. ❛ what had they done to you? ❜ ❞ he breathed out. it was hard to even replicate any semblance of how they spoke. 

❝ they touched the monsters’ filth stained claws and in that touch… the monsters forgot the ache ❞ his hands loosened a bit. his hands seemed to reach for something that was no longer there… curling around empty air… like he was remembering the warmth. not only the physical warmth… but the warmth of being seen… by simply being loved by someone. ❝ they speak of stories. sang of lullabies no one remembered. and the monsters listened… oh how they listened ❞ he uttered the last part. before his hands clenched. holding on the strings that controlled the puppets. ❝ and in that human’s eyes… it burned… it burned something so… pure… so foolish. it was love ❞ ha paused. well… he wished it was. in the end, he never figured out what they felt towards them. was it love? companionship? he didn’t know. but their smile was always so bright. so damn vibrant.

❝ their little seraph. that’s is what the human must have been. a being that descended down not to smite but to save ❞ his fingers twitched allowing the puppets move with expertise. his eyes flickered over at the one that represented their seraph. they had never believed in such holy things. not until a human knelt in filth and touched them… and now they believed… and he knew… with jester… and some of them… that belief was like hunger. ❝ they asked a monster… asked for a promise to be granted… ❛ live and be free ❜… little did they knew, it was a promise that another overhead ❞ he spoke with a grim look. the weight of a promise as such… made him ask if he ever did live… was he even free? … the answer? he already knew. he didn’t think he would ever be free from the guilt that consumed his every waking moment. ❝ but freedom tastes like hunger when you’ve starved too long… and so when the monster’s seraph aim finally collapsed… arms opened ❞ he quickly directed the arms wide opened. ❝ it was the scent of life and freedom that filled the cages… filled the foul taint in the air ❞ he took in a deep breath. like he was trying to remember what the air had tasted like when it all had happened… when every choice and action he took. 

he let out a shaky breath. ❝ and so the green eyed one… one of the monsters did not wait for their heart to stop. they claimed the first bite ❞ it was not like they were starving. they had not for months. they had managed to regain a semblance of their strength. but the more they ate, the more strength they could gain. yet, all he can remember was being back in those cages… the feeling of their flesh giving away beneath his teeth. not the strength. not the strength they felt eating three human beings… it was the tears, the bile… the guilt. everything wrong. ❝ the others followed ❞ however, he remembered his own hands trembling. he had made that decision when jester could not act. he could remember the tears were streaming down his face so much freely. ❝ it was warmth. it was light… it was blood and salt ❞ his voiced sound amused. though he remembered taking gulps. even when he felt their body grew colder as the night and morning wore on… they had stayed with it until dawn. ❝ their wish, their promise passed through them… until nothing else remained ❞ and in the end… nothing but bones had remained. they did not waste even one thing… nothing. ❝ they devoured their salvation ❞ he tried to hold himself together. ❝ we… they consumed the only one that cared ❞

❝ our little miracle ❞

❝ our little seraphim ❞

❝ their last gift to us… a gift to our… humanity ❞

and somehow the word humanity felt like a curse. like a wound that would never close. 

it was silent for a moment. like he was gathering his emotions. gathering the raw ache that throbbed deep inside him. but the show. ❝ the next morning, the man returned to laugh at their misery ❞ he remembered the aftermath. the taste of their beloved on their tongues… it was so salty… but speaking of the man… his quiet broken tone suddenly was like a blade being drawn. ❝ but the monsters eyes had changed. they were free… they were hungry ❞ they were hungry for revenge. for the cruel world that had resulted them into eating the one they loved. the one they treasured. the word free… seemed more hungry than relieved. he moved his hands in a quick motion. ❝ and thats how the monsters became free ❞ allowing the ringleader puppet to collapse down. he allowed the silence in the tent. ❝ oh, and what happened next, you asked? ❞ he glanced up. his tone was of mockery. as if he owed the audience a happy ending. as if the story was meant to comfort someone. ❝ after that, the monsters… the new humans took their home and began to travel together ❞ he grinned. ❝ searching for a place to build it again and live happily. just as they promised their seraphim ❞

the simple applause rang. the cheers were loud amongst them. it was a beautiful craft, a beautiful story. but you sat there amongst the crowd. you watched the show… listened to the story. every line, every beat… every visual imagery… it was like a mirror tilted, held up to yourself. showing you a life you experienced… through a rather… dark allegory. it felt like being seen by something… like they were opening a book written in a language that was yours and everyone else. you could feel your hands were shaking. your lungs felt so small that breathing was difficult. the blood rushing through your body. this story was not just familiar. it was theirs, mapped into some origin, like some kind of myth. the displacement of it all was vertiginous. though there was something else… a hope. maybe? perhaps? was it them? your eyes shone with unshed tears as you were tugged out by your friend… your eyes never leaving the performer… whose eyes also lingered on you. yet… it was not the familiar eyes… it was cold… it was broken. 

it was of a man who wanted to cry. a man who did not want to reveal his weakness and vulnerabilities so loudly and openly. and no matter how many times he told this story. the ache… the pain will never truly fade. as it is etched in his skin… in his teeth… in his tastebuds. like something that would never fade. oh, minha pombinho. oh, how he longs to truly reunite with you… but he knew his time was yet to come. they would be furious. well… if there was ever such thing as an afterlife.  

just as both of you two left, feeling the evening air hit them like a bucket of cold water. you could not truly breathe. or perhaps you were hyperventilating. you were unsure. the circus lights were too bright. everything smeared into swiped lights. sounds and the chatter blurred into a loud roar. the ground felt like it was tilting. you couldn’t help but stumble sideways. your hand caught onto your friend’s sleeve. ❝ was that too much for you also? ❞ your friend asked, concerned etched on their features. as you were too busy feeling fabric against your palm. your heart felt like a trapped animal… ❛ what is happening? i don’t know what to do. i don’t know what to do ❜ it was an endless loop. there was no exit. like you were constantly running. there was no comfort. only the knowledge that this circus was holding too much secrets and somewhat swallowed their life whole and spat it back as entertainment. and no one understood. 

you had bent over. finally letting go of your friend’s sleeve. hands on your knees. fighting the urge not to vomit. the world swam in a multitude of bright lights. shadows, it was everywhere. they were long. it seemed to twitch and fray. ❝ oh. visitor, are you okay? ❞ the man clad in blue stood, his arms placed behind his back. ticket taker. his voice was smooth, practiced… the kind of voice that knew how to control the moment. ❝ oh, uh. my friend here has been feeling unwell ❞ your friend had answered for you even though you tried to respond but to no avail. you grunted as you tried to speak. ❝ i am fine ❞ you managed out. the words came out unconvincing. you watched ticket taker tilt his head. ❝ no. you’re not. you have not been find since the first performance ❞ he spoke. 

you were silent. the lights seem to flicker. making your hands jolt to grab your friend again. ❝ go to the cyan’s tent ❞ ticket taker said. his words were not a suggestion anymore. they had a weight that seemed to drag you down under. ❝ the doctor… would love to help your case ❞  ticket taker turned to leave. his footsteps were a measured rhythm. he was gone. swallowed by the crowd. and you stood there with your friend. shaking so hard that your teeth chattered. this uncertainty is killing you. and your friend who stood there, started sensing something… perhaps you were right. this circus had a lot… that they were yet to truly know. 

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it was not too long before your friend had reunited with you in front of the red tent. and you did not understand why they chose this tent when it was obvious you were still shaken up from the previous performance. perhaps it was for your sake. ripping the bandaid off. your arms wrapped around your waist, turning around slowly… steadily. almost aware of your surroundings. too aware. the air tastes like copper. something so familiar that the hair in the back of your neck raised. there was an itch in your hands. the itch that made you heave. the itch to scratch, to scrub. trying to mentally calm yourself was starting to become a hard feat. you continued to walk. your legs did not feel like you were carrying lead. it moved like it wasn’t yours. numb. carrying you forward into the red tent. even when your instincts were screaming and shaking you to stop. that something was truly wrong about this circus.

because what you saw… it kept replaying over and over again. the spotlight. the haze of it all. the choreography. it was seamless… until it involved the dove. the mocking bird. the fact, everyone had seen this act. or perhaps some version of it? you were unsure if the stories changed each day that passed. they watched the fool crumple. the crunch that sounded too real that it could have not been some kind of sound effect. you had watched it all. sick to your stomach. it was so deliberate. all you could hear was the applause. it was all around you. like some kind of sick standing ovation. someone hollered and whooped. all of them… and the shape… form… being discreetly dragged away. everyone thought it was just some dummy, some kind of prop… but you knew through your core that was not the case whatsoever. you who had witnessed death, no matter how many psychologists downplayed your trauma, knew with full certainty that you had watched a double homicide. watched it while everyone cheered for an encore. 

now here you are, your friend has betrayed you in the nicest possible way. you felt like you were running a fever. you were breaking cold sweat. you felt lightheaded. fear gripped your heart with a heavy hand. your stomach was clenching into fists. and your hands could not stop trembling. every time you close your eyes, all you can do is envision the crumbled up bodies. and no one believes you. not your friend. no one. they would just call it dizziness… maybe a huge imagination, something in your head. even when your friend tried to reassure you, you could feel it… you can sense that they did not truly believe it. their support felt hollow… but in a way, it was better than being dismissed of having an overactive imagination. gaslighting you that you have possibly watched too much true crime or you were too paranoid.

but the next show. the next performance. where you will be watching amongst the same crowd. how everyone including yourself would hold their breath… but you would be holding your breath for an entirely different reason. since you would be watching, you would be listening for every single drop. and that’s the worst of it. you had witnessed death. but the people around you would tell you of the impossibility of the truth. and here you were about to possibly watch the sequel of the haunting tragedy. finally finding the solid surface beneath you when you found yourself seated. your heart was pounding so hard against your chest, slamming. you felt powerless once again. seated amongst the others as you would witness another possible death. 

then when the tent was jam packed. it was quite the popular attraction. you chewed your bottom lip. you don’t even move when you felt a quick shove. there was a row seemingly left empty. the front ones. it was something you noticed in the last performance as well. you winced when someone behind you jostled your shoulder and didn't even apologise. but you were too out of it to care. then the tent lights cut out. you could hear how the gasps from the crowd that was vibrating with a need to watch. you glanced around, away from the centre ring. almost like you were trying to see if someone can see what you were seeing. but all in the darkness, you can just see how they were open and eager. innocent in a way that makes your stomach feel like it was bubbling. it was the fact they did not know… or did they not care?? or were you simply reaching too much. 

then a spotlight. you closed your eyes tightly. silently counting in your mind. your breath held. your head slowly… stiffly turned towards the spotlight. it was mechanical. you were waiting to see who… or what would be walking into that light. 

then in the blink of an eye, there standing in the middle of the spotlight was the man from earlier. he had a much different air now that there was a spotlight upon him. it was like he occupied the space, not in an arrogant manner. his feet planted on the ground, the same length of his shoulders. the way he breathes was slow… the rise and fall of his chest. there was some gravitational pull towards it. however, it was his eyes that searched the crowd until landing on you. and for a moment, his eyes seem to sparkle. those eyes that seem to gleam with a joy that you have not seen directed at yourself in so long. but it cannot be true. you cannot let yourself believe. you can’t hurt yourself over and over again. laying awake in the middle of the night… wondering, hoping… shedding too many tears that you have lost count. the painful ache in your heart that cried for them.

it would be selfish to put someone else on the pedestal of someone dear to you. putting them in the spotlight of expectation. 

pierrot stood upon the spotlight. the light catches wrong to his figure. it was complete silence before the music was quiet. almost too quiet like it did not want to take away from the performance. his movements were slow… almost like liquid. his hands moved. that you noticed the pointed tips. they were sharp… like claws. you were wondering what was going to happen. people said this was a physical attraction. it was when his fingers and joints were folding… like he had so many of them. watching as it became a bird. why was there so many bird analogies today.. but you sucked in your breath. shadow work. okay. that’s good. that is not scary. though you watched the shadow almost… come to life. wings beating with desperation. his hands moved, the spotlight followed. each feather, each wing that was the work of a simple contortion of the hand. watching it move around the tent, smooth. like you can hear the wings. like you can feel the wings when the light moves across the crowd, across you. like a gentle caress. then the shivers everyone was getting. 

however, you watched as the shadow plummets. making your heart ache. you watched as the shadow changed. to one of a figure. his? it seemed a little shorter. and you slowly realised that he was telling a story. pierrot moves. something almost like a waltz. the performer raises an arm, and his shadow steps forwards. a duet. it was beautiful. a choreograph of something so long ago. of remembrance. every movement was graceful… so tender and loving. like a performance practiced a thousand times before. it was a memory of a grief that you somehow believed you relate to. his body moved along his shadow like his heart cannot simply let go. the way they moved apart, how his fingers reached for the shadow. and the shadow followed in answer. the fingers almost like they were interlaced with one another. and you can hear the crowd exhale. watching this was a love story.

then you caught the scent of something familiar. pierrot faltered. but remained stead fast. you turned towards the direction towards the scent. jasmine. you momentarily saw something green disappeared from the canvas. only to turn back to the performance. watching as he and the shadow turned. how he spins the shadow. how it moved with something so fluid, like it was life. alive. something that was defying physics all together. how the shadow was blurring at the edges into almost smoke. it was mesmerising. you watched him lower the shadow. then the mood shifts, how he watches as he crumbles. his body folds around the shadow. watching the shadow crumbles alongside him. not in the way you had seen, or heard from the previous tent. not with blood and bones. but the way a shadow crumbles when the light changes. dissolving the edges… becoming less of them… an absence. 

you held your breath. watching as his hands clutch at the dissolving form. his claws close around nothing, again… again… like the beat of a heart. of one he tried to remember. you watched him gather the darkness again… bringing it to the shape. but it slips again… and again. and then the shadow was gone when the spotlight was finally directly on him. finding him… kneeling in the sawdust. arms wrapped around nothing. and the shadow… his shadow loomed over him. behind him. you watched as he shook. like he was trying to hold something that wanted to break in front of so many people. but he chose not to. the crowd was silent before it erupted. cheers. it was art. you could hear people calling it beautiful and it was a performance. an amazing act and show.

but you didn’t think it was not a show. you saw his mouth form words… you were not sure if it was a sob or a name. you could see how the performance had truly ended and the grief replaced it. your heart ached. watching him now rising from the sawdust. turning towards the crowd. pierrot stared at the audience. bowing down theatrically. however, his eyes had found yours again. his hands shook. like he wanted to walk towards you… to pull you close to him. and you did not understand why… why he looked at you like you were something so precious. something he needed to protect… something he needed to keep safe. you were unsure and scared if you should be worried for your being, or feel this heavy load of expectation this one was placing upon you…

you could not tell. and somehow you did not know if you wanted to understand it more… or not. 

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he had been wrong too many times… too many he could not count. humans he had followed. studies. approached with shaking hands and trembling hope. only to find things wrong. he had believed every time he found someone that it was you. it had to be reincarnation. transmigration… recursive souls. something he had read to bright hope that his beloved was never truly gone. waiting to be found in the billions. a new face, a new life where he would kneel down and vow to protect you. but no one has truly fit in the puzzle quite right. not in the way they acted. not the way their eyes shimmered. but this was so much different. he watched. he watched you throughout the performance. how your eyes wavered… how you shook before you entered his tent. he had to stop that ache. to cradle your weary soul that has been through so much…

so he changed his performance completely. a declaration of love… but harlequin had definitely noticed the change. he was going to report it to the others. pierrot was delusional once again. that this is the same malfunction. it was just his grieving mind that was looking for signs… trying to find patterns in a single person. that this was just a hallucination.. even if in the cold rational part of his mind told him this can’t be them. even then, he was starving… starving for a hundred years. something in his mind was telling him that this time… this time, it was real. it was them. it was finally you. 

❝ pierrot ❞ 

pierrot chose not to turn around. standing in the backstage of his tent. he could not. ❝ pierrot. please ❞ the voice belonged to the usual mocking and teasing harlequin. but it was devoid of the teasing. the taunting. harlequin, the one who had ended them with his hands… pierrot knew, he knew that it was not his fault. it was an act of mercy, to die a slow death or one that was fast and quick. but the pain that tore out his chest, that harlequin was still to blame… even when it was too late. too late to save them. harlequin’s hand settled on pierrot’s shoulder . which pierrot had shook it off with a violence that did not surprise harlequin. ❝ don’t. ❞ pierrot said even when he could see the hurting in harlequin’s eyes. even when he knew that harlequin was going through the same pain that he had, maybe on the same level. ❝ do not tell me this time… i know what you… and everyone will say ❞ pierrot’s voice scraped out of him. clawing up his throat. like a dead man desperately crawling out of the grave. the interventions… the pain and aggression that followed soon after when it was just not them. 

❝ it’s not them ❞ harlequin forced it out of him. even when he was a hypocrite himself. ❝ it is. ❞ pierrot snapped at harlequin. but the green clad figure stood there. watching how pierrot practically snarled at him. ❝ pierrot. ❞ harlequin trying to stand between pierrot and the exit. it was a bad idea. their fights tend to end in bloodshed. ❝ listen to yourself! you say this every time. in one city, in another. in every show when some soul does something remotely like them. a certain angle. and every single time— ❞ harlequin’s voice cracked, even when he tried to recover himself. ❝ this time is different ❞ pierrot spoke… convincing himself as he falters. ❝ it is never different, pierrot ❞ harlequin tried to reason with one of their emotional ones amongst this messed up family. pierrot turned to harlequin, and harlequin could see the war behind his eyes. 

❝ they are dead. ❞ harlequin whispered. it was not to be cruel. never in their memory. it was just true. ❝ we held them. they bled. we all listened to them stop breathing. and then we— ❞ harlequin remembered what had happened afterwards. it was a cruel reminder of the cruel mercy. ❝ do not. do not say it ❞ pierrot’s fist clenched tightly. standing there, shaking. grief. anger… a complex mixture of hope that pierrot tried to keep a tight hold on. harlequin closed his eyes, turning away from him. ❝ pierrot… they are gone. there is no body to return to. no soul to be reborn. no such thing as reincarnation or transmigration or whatever your mind had conjured to keep you sane. ❞ 

❝ you do not know that. ❞ pierrot croaked.

❝ i know that you have been chasing ghosts of them for over a century ❞ like himself, harlequin was just as much of a hypocrite as pierrot. chasing visages of them. humming a tune that reminded him of them… it got so bad that even jester had to put a ban… he was no different from pierrot even when he claims he isn’t. that he had moved. throwing a facade, a mask to hide what was the grief that constantly bubbled deep within his chest. 

❝ their hair is not the same. their hands are not the same… ❞ harlequin tried to target towards their outward appearance. ❝ souls do not carry the colour of hair. and bodies change. forms change. quim. we know this. we as creatures in this form know this ❞ pierrot placed a hand on his chest. pierrot was already near tears and harlequin had winced at the name used on him. ❝ you are breaking your own heart. every night… in every stranger. you cannot keep doing this ❞ harlequin’s voice quietens. his hands gripped pierrot’s sleeve. shaking himself. he missed them too. he missed them terribly so. in the end, it was like raising a mirror and arguing with himself. pierrot had brushed harlequin off. ❝ then what do you want me to do? forget them? let them fade… pretend they were not the reason why we are alive…they gave every remaining moment of their life for me… for us… what did i give them back ❞ pierrot’s voice cracked. 

it was silence between the two. looking back at each other, seeing the grief between them. ❝ we loved them too, pierrot. we love them still. we will always love them… but this is not love. this is something else… this is just you refusing to let them sleep ❞ it was the last thing harlequin could muster up to say. yet, he knew what pierrot was going to say. he knew because nearly every single one of them… approached this wildly differently. but he knew that every one of them grieved over the loss of them. so the words out of pierrot’s mouth would reflect that.

❛ i cannot ❜

❝ i cannot ❞

two words. that echoed one another. one through one’s lips. and the other through the mind. ❝ quim… just go… go back to your tent. just leave me be… your show is starting soon… ❞ pierrot turned away from harlequin. leaving both in an internal turmoil that both had a hard time truly letting go. and pierrot, in all his twisted beliefs, believes you are them… and they are you. no matter who told him otherwise. he just has to make sure of it. he had to confirm it. but deep inside, he believes it’s you. even if a part of him, the one that has been swayed by harlequin, says otherwise. 

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the sun had disappeared over the horizon, leaving the tent submerged in darkness. the only light source that flickered from the torch that was strategically placed outside the tent. the flickering flame seemed to dance, reaching to the skies like it can be one with the sun that had long had set. his purple eyes narrow, at how it sways. how it wavers. it snaps and crackles like sparks of open and loud defiance. the wind assisted the flame, fanning it. adding the air it needs to continue to light, to continue to live. the breeze being so gracious to open the flaps of the canvas, to allow air to circulate. the air felt like a heavy warm blanket. even with the breeze, it did so little to cool him and the slumbering others. however, it was something he was used to. but he remains awake amongst the others that he had called and deemed family. why? to think. to look over every nook and cranny of any issues will arise during their possible escape. amethyst laid awake, subjected to his racing mind of possibilities, to conflicts to the possible failures… 

his eyes clenched, feeling restless. as the familiar scents and sounds only dulled the headache that want to linger. the scent of night blooming blossoms pumped out scent to attract insects. coffee beans that had been left, forgotten, roasting in clay pots and pans over fires that had long fizzled out. tobacco and sweat permeated the air, leaving the rancid scent of chewed tobacco and sweat over workers and slaves. the cicadas screamed through the night. ringing through the night, making it a common sound of the tropical landscape. it could be almost maddening… the whine of mosquitoes not far but he did not pay it any mind. the birds that seem natural in it’s habitat. a guttural rumble that was reminiscent to a roar, to the screaming kraws’ across fields and rivers. it was truly a symphony of the natural world around them… and it was at most, the most familiar he had gotten in this hellscape that stunk of humans. it was an orchestra of dissonance. 

then… the familiar soapy scent tickled his nose. his eyes jolt open. a shadow loomed over at the entrance. wary. his gaze turned towards the one that stood at the flap. looking exhausted. your eyes were red rimmed… almost hollowed by the nightmare that must have plagued your mind. the remnants of dried tear tracks that traced down paths down your cheek. a sheen of dried sweat that made your usual glow, more clammy. oh, how your shoulders curled forward. arms tightly wrapped around your body, like you were holding yourself together. your hands were stiff. his eyes narrowed… your hands scrubbed raw. a habit that their cyan eyed friend had noted. your hands were intensely red… blotchy. your fingertips were pruned, possibly from constant cleaning. your knuckles were cracked.. the back of your hand was chapped. stopping just at the wrist. 

❝ caretaker ❞ his voice had clarity that had you wince. his clawed hands reached out, beckoning you closer. you stood there, you had woken up in cold sweat. remembering the viscous thick sensation of blood on your hands. hallucinations. it always felt so fresh in your hands. it never dried out. it does not fade. it was a reminder of lives that you had taken. even for the good for them. the blood is always pungent. even when no one could even smell it. but to you, it might as well be there. you could always seem to smell it in the dark of the night, when there was nothing for you to do. nothing for your hands to work to forget. even pressing your palms together in a gesture that once was a prayer, a wish… now felt stained and tainted. because of this, sometimes sleep was an impossible feat. the mental deterioration that eats away at your consciousness. 

but you followed at his wordless command. your steps slow. sluggish. like you were trying to learn how to walk even when you did find yourself walking towards the most dangerous part of this place… however, it was not dangerous. it was safety. it was the lull of a lullaby that rocked you. a need to be in their presence, to remind yourself that what you did was for them. ❝ did you have a nightmare? ❞ he asked, once you were already seated by his cage. you could only nod. tired, you were mentally, emotionally and physically exhausted. ❝ i am so tired, amethyst… ❞ your voice croaked. sounding raw. and his gaze upon your form that had been trembling. persistent. your arms still wrapped around your body tightly. pressing tightly against your torso. flat against yourself to warm… to hide… to absorb the taint that was mentally tattooed on your hands. 

amethyst remained quiet. you were too trusting of them. always walking into the jaws of those who wouldn’t hesitate to snap your neck… yet, he believed he may have gotten too soft himself. he had no words of advice. humans and monsters were so different… yet at the same time, they can be alike. that was always something he had a hard time coming to terms with. ❝ there was, once… a group of performers. they… were not very good at being performers. they were large and terrifying. they had big teeth and claws so sharp… however, even as performers, they lived in a dark place. ❞ he paused. mentally cringing at his lack of story telling skills. ❝ under the rule of a tyrant who used them like fools. and they followed orders. even then, they were sad, cold… and constantly starving. but they did what they were told as they were shackled down, weak at the mercy of the their owner ❞ his mouth pressed in a thin line. and he can see you were typically not enjoying this story. this narrative he was allowing you to envision. 

❝ but suddenly a royal appeared. the royal was not supposed to be there. they are usually not supposed to be amongst the darkness and harsh conditions of the performer’s living quarters. royals had better, important things to do than to be amongst the monstrous performers ❞ he spoke. grazing his claw along your shoulder. ❝ but the royal was lost. so the royal try to befriend the performers… and to the performers… the royal was bright. it was not like the brightness of the sun, where you have to squint. it was bright and… gentle. like the morning light of dawn, where everything looks softer and kinder ❞ his finger stroked your hair. feeling you slowly relaxed at the introduction of another character. ❝ the royal befriended them, lowly performers. they would constantly escape their opulent home to spend time with them ❞ his eyes gentled as he could see your eyelids grow heavy. ❝ the performers realised they deserve better… the royal… they saved them by noticing them, feeding them…talking to them… not like the heroic stories ❞

he closed his eyes. trying to vision it. ❝ ❛ come with me ❜ the royal had said. and just like that. speaking of the warmth of the sun, delicious fruit that would drop from trees. oceans they could have fun at… so they left. escape from the grasp of the tyrant in the dead of night ❞ he whispered. ❝ and the world they have seen before was… much brighter. a sky of endless possibilities. they travelled together, the royal abandoning their duties. they walked through forests. crossed rivers. played amongst the sand. they slept in beautiful meadows full of flowers. i do not know what they were travelling towards… maybe they didn’t know it either. they were not cold anymore. they were not forgotten… they were happy …and they lived happily forever ❞ he simply cringed at his rather mediocre tellings. it had so many gaps in its story. cliche turns. questions of why would a prince or princess ever leave luxurious lifestyle to live a life of travel. 

though his purple gaze watched your eyes closed. your body slumped against the metal. his knuckle trace along your cheek. he hated humans. it was not a casual dislike or a preference. it was hatred that buried deep into the ground. roots so strong that could never be weeded out. he hated their noise, their cruelty that was dressed up as civilisations and empires. he hated how they burnt things… burnt so many things. casting him and his family as the monster in their stories. but here you were. his hatred did not erode away. it only created a pocket… a bubble to separate you to the cruel humans. since hatred of this magnitude did not subsides. you… he had found himself beginning grow fond of your presence. that your presence was now a home for him and the others. this human was not fire. ithey were sunlight through the cracks. 

as he continued to trace their features, combing their hair. he traced every curve of what you were. from your upper lip, to the bridge of your nose. like sculpting you into his memory. he could see the way your eyelashes cast shadows. and he could see the way your breathing was steady. in and out. he continued to trace. the line of your jaw. along your neck… his hands that could squeeze, strangle… easily killing a human… had trembled lightly. his hand cups your cheek. and then… you smiled. in your sleep. not any big smile or grin. just something small… happening while his hands held you like you were a treasured being. he was reluctant. but he slowly pulled his hand from your face. and so he sat in the dark. listening to the breathing of his brethren… focusing and zoning to yours. he could not sleep. perhaps he chose not to sleep. 

he just watches you. and then he finally thinks. ❛ you. you are the fire that i was not supposed to love… no. calling you a fire is an insult. you are the sun. and i want to be where you are… i love you. i will always love you in the morning when you come through the entrance. i will always love you in the evening when you are getting tired. i will love you when you laugh… so graceless and crass… but a sound i will treasure… i will protect you… your sleep… your crooked little smile… i love you… i will protect you… always ❜

——————————————————————————

he was seated in his tent. his hands holding a brush, brushing his long purple locks. the scent of the coppery tang was strong, another one. another human. life that flickered away. the familiar scent of you continue to bloom in his personal tent. he stared at his pale masked form. his mind once again, disobedient, wanders. wondering if you would be happy with what they were doing? you have been long gone now that he feared that he may have forgotten what you had wanted. what you cared for. he let out a shaky breath. no. you would be happy for them. you would have wanted them to be happy and healthy. you would have wanted nothing but for them to ❛ lived happily forever ❜. the brush slowly moves through his hair. the tent was quiet, except for the sound of his brushing.  

as he thinks of your memory. he thinks of it constantly. treasuring and guarding it. like it was something truly sacred. like something that could be stolen by disgusting humans that was willing to desecrate your beloved memory. he… does get a little fidgety whenever someone mentions of you. how he goes very still. but smile it through. he does not correct anyone. he cannot. because if he were to correct them, it would mean he would admit of his belief that he knew you better. somehow know you better the rest. so he choose to be quiet. to keep the moments between you and him as knowledge buried deep in his private and sacred mind. however, he will always listen. he will listen with the intensity of a scholar ready to sort through the errors. the other monsters who had figured out about your gentle soul… hearing the misinterpretations, like they were speaking of some story than you. 

they were getting it wrong. they were getting it all wrong. and he had snapped. he had hurt monsters and humans alike… the monsters who speak carelessly… who reduced you as a character in a story than someone who had lived and breathed… the humans that managed to retain themselves… making jokes of their beloved. it was not only him that acted like a guard, a sentinel of the memory of you. he knew you would have not wanted this. you would have just told them to ignore them. oh… reminding how you were a human. 

but jester was not a human. he can never be a human. he can only guard and protect your memory with the tools he had. and his tools were his calculative sharp mind, his claws… his teeth. and soon the brush stills.

——————————————————————————

the gaze. it was like you were being watched. a surveillance in a way that did not align those of the police or the government. there were no hidden cameras out in the open. there was a camera there on this street, and another in an alleyway. you kept a meticulous folder, spots pointing at different cameras. even simple cameras such as ring door bells. paranoid? perhaps you were, or were you prepared? there was no denial that you were someone who knew, who watched the world with knowing yet careful eyes. you had chosen this life for yourself. a life where you would be the only one that can take the life of another under the belief that cops, detectives… the people high above would do nothing but protect those with money, protect them and disregard the common folk. they would prioritise those that harm and you have seen over the century you have lived. you have seen people fight for their rights. fight so much because they wouldn’t protect, they would be stereotyped, they would rather do anything but protect its people. 

you sighed as the simple drive to your home was quiet. arriving at the apartment, you had parked the car in the designated space. even when you stepped out, you could still sense the gaze of another. which made you whip your head, only to see another reflective surface. you could not help but squint. your mind was running through many different reasons why you feel this. one option was that the ghost of the man was now haunting you. this was plausible, now there was the factor that there was supernatural entities roaming amongst them. something you knew, but you did not expect the paranormal would be a factor. though there was still no definitive fact that there are ghosts and phantoms. then the second option was that it was one of the circus. if one was similar to how pierrot operates and the… slight possibility of what was jester… then it could potentially be one of them… this was the better contender. 

now if you had to narrow it down. harlequin, the doctor and ticket taker. you immediately ruled out the doctor. it did not truly align with how you had perceived the man. a frown was on your lips, tapping against your jaw. you slowly moved as you thought through the options. harlequin or ticket taker. harlequin seemed like the type… but at the same time… so did ticket taker. okay. you may have to piece together other information that wasn’t their personality… okay. how about their tents? just as you slipped your key through the slot. if you could remember what circus goers had commented about each performance. scouring through every nook and cranny, every information filed away neatly in cabinets. information that you were surely going to use eventually when the time was right. 

the green tent and the blue tent. the green tent was heavily associated with story telling, puppetry… and somehow with that criteria. it seems not plausible. there would not be a need to use reflective surfaces… the chances of harlequin’s ability must have to be dealt with possibly puppeteering? or something else… maybe poison… you shuddered. remembering the ache of the fading stomach ache. his cooking was definitely made with the intent to poison and kill someone. then there was only the blue tent left. the tent of mirrors and illusion… you slowly blinked… mirrors. with a soft hum of triumphant joy that you could have possibly pieced the silent watcher. you stepped inside the familiar apartment. even when you entered the place you called home for a while it was empty. there was still the sensation you were being watched. 

he is still watching. and usually there should be some paranoia of being watched. you had a routine. anytime you somehow visited a hotel because you were surely not going to visit an airbnb for obvious reasons as some nightmarish hosts. but your usual routine through the hotels was a quick sweep. checking for unusual objects, any blinking lights, possible sockets, mirrors, using a torch and many other things. you just have to always be careful. though currently, you did not appreciate being watched. so you did the next best thing. yes, it may notify you that you have found out and figured out what had happened but… you were not ready to be watched like some criminal… eh. so you were quick to cover some reflective surfaces. it would be hard to cover every single one, so mirrors were your biggest priority. and after a quick run around, the mirrors were covered. though any smaller mirrors, you tried to place it down the table. 

though with the last mirror, you gave it a smile. ❝ nice try, ticket taker. though i prefer to not be watched while i sleep ❞ you uttered like he could hear you. he possibly can but you had covered the last one. with a quick stretch, you headed to the bathroom. it would be nice to shower, take a bath. without the possibility of being watched. even though you believed that ticket taker was not the type to commit and show such indecent behaviour. 

——————————————————————————

a soft hum left his form, ticket taker was a monster that wasn’t one to get a little rile up to something. he was not in love. that would have been ridiculous. he was simply… amused. you. their human. he knew it was not love… not yet at least. he had lived centuries. he believed he understood the workings of his heart. you just somehow satisfied some itch in him. 

observing you seems like watching a meticulous thriller. wondering what you would do next. you were precise. when you speak, you either mean it or you laced it with a perfect lie. your beliefs were things you truly believed, and you were enforcing your beliefs… you were neat. your apartment, which was considerably cramped by his standards… however everything was neat, filled away perfectly. books aligned. things alphabetised. you were intelligent. this was a dangerous concept of you. you could figure out things from mental notes you took. you didn’t overthink but you didn’t brush information because it was unnecessary or it was just a small tidbit. you were figuring things such as the connection… the understanding they were not humans. you had not ran. you had not screamed… you just took notes… you didn’t ask questions but you didn’t adjust your viewpoint of the world. practical. efficient. 

❝ you are staring at nothing ❞ the doctor had commented, after visiting the eldest’s tent for supplies and budgets. he seem to be peering over his shoulder. ❝ i am merely watching them before they pieced some information together ❞ ticket taker turned to look at the doctor who tilting his head. ❝ you are doing that thing… like the ones when you watch, categorise and catalogue them ❞ the doctor had spoken. knowing the workings of the circus. they would always have to research the ones they would offer the pink ticket. it was a crucial important job that both ticket taker and jester would take over.  ❝ someone should… pierrot is not much of aid on surveillance. he is smitten ❞ seeing how he was so willing to hide this for much longer than he intended if it were not for your rash decision to injure yourself. but the doctor seems rather intrigued in your orthodox method of experimenting.

with the quick exchange, ticket taker was left in his silence. he was not in love. it was a repeat. love was an indulgence humans enjoyed. it was desperate. it was messy and chaotic. but that doesn’t mean that monsters had never dabbled in love. a great example was pierrot. his family life… or what he has told, his parents were truly in love with one another… the rather tragic tale that slowly spiralled down to his mother passing away and his father potentially dying from a broken heart. leaving pierrot alone. it was truly one of the cases that both humans… and monsters may not be too different from one another… the only issue is… their numbers. but you… you would surprisingly fit in their little family. you looked at them, them, monsters and just seemed intrigued. you looked at the horrors of their existence and kept a simple conversation. perhaps that you had to adapt. you were living a long life, you had practically died and still came back to the living realm. 

ticket taker returns back to the mirror. just his reflection. that detective. ❝ they are catching on ❞ he murmured. he had noticed them. tighten were often sitting across the circus for possibly twenty minutes too long. they tried to be sneaky. using binoculars. one tried to act nonchalant, but the sandwich seem to lie forgotten on their lap. there were two. they were asking their customers. they had asked you. and he had watched you quick to act. it was amusing to watch you switch. he quickly shifted the mirror, watching the detectives. ❝ they are not very good at this ❞ there were a few cities and towns where the police, and the detectives were rather decent in their search… however, there were more where they were actually terrible at it. it almost made him wince at the many times they mislabeled something, the many mistakes… these detectives here… are bad but not the worst he had met. 

he could deal with them quickly… but he understood the circus. the need for efficiency. the logistics of it all. they need human flesh to eat. though thankfully, they can survive on human food too. but they did not need to eat a large amount. unless one of them got terribly injured. but compared to the living conditions of long ago. they were not brutally or terribly injured. which helped and aid them to eat little. or at least little without warranting any kind of issues… 

however, this town… there was a killer on the loose as well. he was yet to guess who it was. at first, after figuring out what you did, they would and should have pointed out that it was you who was causing the many disappearances even when it happened a few months before they arrived. but the realisation that if you were caught, they would still feel the connection and pierrot would not be happy. no… he would be furious. and jester knew fully well not to anger their strongest. besides, with their connection, it was better to keep you close under their watch. the issue was the belief that you were the cause of the disappearance. but that seems to not be the case whatsoever. you choose your victims meticulously. you seem to avoid killing in this city. you choose cities and towns a distance away. but not too far. you also choose victims that would almost be celebrated by the common people if they were dead. you were not idiotic. you were knowledgeable and terribly resourceful. you would not make these mistakes if you have been doing this for over possible decades.  

but now the case was the fact who was it that was creating issues for their circus? using the circus as a cover? or directing it their way? while yes, they were also abducting people. but their choices of the pink fools were those who were isolated with not many friends or family around them. or those whose family life seems complicated that the possibility of them running away would not be too much of a surprise. those living a monotonous life then those who lived spontaneous lives seem more of an issue. however, there is a possibility for them. often the ones that were adventurous and too free spirit. there have been many who disappeared into the wilderness and never to be heard from again…but this killer seems… sloppy yet due to the horrendous skills of the police force. so that was possibly how they were able to get away so long.

he slowly leaned against the table. he may have to do some research on the missing people and may have to ask you and your thoughts. 

——————————————————————————

the grass swayed in the gentle soft caress of the wind. it moved like a whispered prayer. his golden eyes swept across the familiar stretch of fields. the field stretched beneath the clear skies. the field was lush and green with wildflowers with an array of vibrant colours. ipê trees were a beautiful shade of yellow. softer than his eyes. but he could not help but reminisce his past. his mother… his father. he took in a deep breath. the air tasted warm somehow. there was even a faint lingering taste of coffee from such a distant. he was a monster. much different from the humans. he had never belonged anywhere amongst the humans… however in this field… this small handful of light and stillness… had once had been theirs. and for a quiet a moment, his ears twitched. hearing footsteps but his nose had picked up a familiar scent that had his heart blossom. there you were. impossibly there… beautiful like the day you saved him and rose… columbina. he remembered that day like he could retell every minuscule detail of that perfect day.

your smile so radiant that it was so bright sometimes… however, even if he were to ever go blind, he would gladly if he could seared your smile in his memory. you stood at the centre. you were not fully turned away from him. your shoulders loose and relaxed. wearing the same cotton shirt. but you were somehow barefoot. dirty frelimo the soil. the way you shifted your weight every once in a while. or how you would tilt your head as you inspect things… something he had memorised across the the time he had memorised. it felt like he had known you for decades. and he couldn’t move… he was simply paralysed. watching you so idly there. so beautiful. so warm. so colourful… so alive. then you had finally turned towards him. and his breath hitched. your face was exactly how he remembered it. it was not a blur that faded at the edges. or some static noise… down to every small little scar to the way your smile.

❝ topaz ❞ you called out to him. the name you had given to him. a name that had became a treasure in itself. and he only ached to hear you say it. ❝ i have a question ❞ you asked. he moved close. closing the distance between the both of you. wanting to feel how real you were. the solid fact that you were breathing in the same space as him. he felt something deep inside him was telling him to stop. to hold himself back. because the fragility of the light… like… like then… but he couldn’t stop himself. he just needed to feel you. to touch you. ❝ would you love me… ❞ you had tilted your head with that familiar gesture that he had memorised. ❝ if i were a worm? ❞ you asked. the question was so absurd. stupid. confusing. it was so whimsical while holding a hint of insecurity. something so human. and you asked him would he still love you if you were a worm… you who had looked and seen his monstrous form and see a home. see safety… not something terrifying. something that was worth loving and caring. and you were asking this?

you had asked him if he would love you… in the smallest yet fragile version of yourself. as if love was something that can be measured and withdrawn. ❛ foolish ❜ he thought to himself. ❛ so utterly foolish ❜ because he already knew the answer. ❝ i would love you ❞ he said. and his words felt like truth… the first truth he had spoken in so long. he took in a deep breath. his claws clutching at his chest. ❝ i would love you if you were a worm in the earth, blind and small. ❞ he stepped closer towards you. his hands yearned to hold you. ❝ i would love you if you were rain that cascades and drips on the ground and soil… here and then gone ❞ his voice seem to grow strain. his eyes seem to hold onto your silhouette with a desperation that he saw in himself. ❝ every single version of you ❞ he continued. his voice breaking down on every syllable. ❝ is worth every once of love i possess. every iteration. every shape. every form you have ever worn or will ever wear. ❞ his voice shook now. ❝ you as a worm. you as a memory. you as dust ❞ his hands shook, as he was so close.

❝ you as gone ❞ he croaked. it was when the light hit off your figure just wrong. it was so subtle but he noticed it. he could feel like it was a wound that was horribly stitched… reopening once more. the surroundings started to lose its colour. your figure that was so solid, beloved…. so real… began to soften around the edges. as though you were not made of flesh and blood. but a haze you would only see from the warm earth at dusk. ❝ no ❞ his voice cried out. his hands trying to grasp you in his arms. pulling you close. ❝ no, please. not again ❞ he cried. his face crumbled. his heart was crumbling so loudly. as his hands grasped at nothing at air. like a cloud that dispersed in his arms. he turned to look at you. as you held his gaze. your smile had gentled into something sorrowful. you tried to say something to him. bur your voice started to dissolve… becoming one with the rustle of the grass. becoming one with the distant cry of a bird.

the field slowly starts to dissolve. as he stood there. feeling the world caves and he stood there, his hands twitched and ached. the world was crumbling around him, everything felt like static. he closed his eyes. letting out a wet sob. his shoulders shook. as the world around him became dark once more. leaving him alone in the spiral of his heavy emotions that consumed him and kept him in grief’s sharp strong jaws.

then his eyes snapped open. his face was damp. his wet eyes opened to the darkness. the ceiling of the trailer. it was morning. the air was different from the fresh air of the field. it carried the sweetness of sugar but not the same one that was carried from distant trade. there was no ipê trees. no wildflowers. no high grass. no clear skies. there was no… you. the weight of it settled into him slowly. it had all been a dream. all of it. the field. the light. the question. the answer he had meant with every single fibre in his being… it was nothing more than the cruelty of the mind. however, he knew that the loss was not a dream. the loss was something that had happened. you had long gone for awhile now. years. long enough that the earth no longer remembered the shape of you. he tried his best to close his eyes again. attempt not to move. wondering if he had stayed very still if he had concentrated hard enough… that he can find his way back to that field where you stood.

back to you. where you were solid, alive and breathing. that you would turn towards him, beaming like the sun you were. where the answer would be on his lips forever. yet he waited. and sleep did not come easily. he laid on his bed. his hands reached to his head. rubbing the tears away. before finally he had pushed himself up. feeling the emptiness lingering in his chest. his back hunched. his head hung low. as he stared at his hands, his claws. another day once more. the schedule he had memorised the night prior when ticket taker had given to him. pierrot was supposed to be handing out fliers alongside harlequin today… and he… did not want to do it. not finding the motivation. but knowing he had to. he had to do something to get his mind off of things.

so he chose to weep. great. heavily. shaking. they were soundless sobs that shook his enormous frame. wondering why must his dreams be so sweet yet so cruel to him. pierrot’s hands clutched at his chest with a deep to feel something warm again.

——————————————————————————

the day continued in a rhythm that he was so familiar to. the injuries he had sustained this morning had easily patched up quickly. humans again. just like what jester had said, humans did not love. how they are not kind. how they were all monsters who crave to see others in pain, to see others humiliated. how they all took pleasure in hurting each other. though when he remembered how jester had said those words. he seem to always twirl his hair between his hair. like he was remembering something. like there was one person aside from him and ticket taker was given the chance to get as close to his hair. them. they were different. he knew jester would never mean them. never them. rubbing at his cheek. even when the pain had long faded now, it had this lingering sensation that he had grown to get used to. the silent pierrot was quiet. his mind was long elsewhere once more.

today was a strange day. his sleep. his dreams were usually always so… quiet. empty almost. like there was nothing to truly dream about. unless it was the same nightmare. the taste of blood and salt… of acidic bile lingering in the back of his throat. the sensation of crushing bone that vibrate along his jaw. he closed his eyes. covering his mouth. remembering the words. ❛ don’t . waste . them ❜ harlequin had said those words. while he shoved torn flesh into his mouth, even when he felt ill. even when all he can taste was salt and blood. it was at that moment, he remembered how sickening it felt to eat someone you cared about. someone you love that you could not enjoy the nourishment that was supposed to aid in their recovery. he remembered how soon enough, his own mind went blank. the awful fact of blood… of how wet it was. the way it dried on his palms. how bits of flesh and blood caked beneath his claws. he had experienced another grief that hollowed him out…

even now, while the whole circus was at full swing. he was in the motion. the dream had been clear cut and felt an extreme whiplash that had him still dazed. the entire day, he was in a complete daze. ❛ clumsy ❜ he remembered harlequin teased at him. and he was too mentally exhausted that he couldn’t really make a comment. while he idly floating around. even when his own performance was going to start eventually. soon after columbina’s performance. a strict schedule he had to follow. he needed silence. he always did. yet he could not truly escape the noise. the meaningless chatter of the circus goers. the laughter. the whispers. it made his mind feel like static. just as he had rounded the corner a little too quickly. his mind was elsewhere, trying to reminisce on the smell of ipê, coffee beans… the scent of soap… on the very laughter he believed he could still hear if he stood still enough. that was when he had collided against someone. making him stumble. usually he wasn’t so… fleeting to be easily pushed. he had once again collapsed backwards, questioning how many times would he be pushed today.

his eyes flickered with irritation. human. he couldn’t even speak. ❝ i am sorry… are you okay? ❞ it was the voice that hit him. not the pitch. it was not the tone. but it was the shape of it. of how it curved around the question. of the way it cared… nearly the same words. his golden gaze slowly lift from the ground. then he saw the figure. you. the world somehow tilted in its axis. not some gentle gradual slide. it was a violent one. like the rug beneath him had been yanked him sideways. leaving him in between the terrible and the impossible. all he can do to answer your question was how his breath only hitched. while he took in the sight of an unfamiliar yet familiar person. it felt like the world had stopped.

it was the furrow of the brows. the faint lines like a ghost of old worries. the tiredness beneath those eyes. bags that spoke of too many burdens carried, too many late nights… the strain across their shoulders, as if the weight of the world had settled there and never left. yet it was that meek smile that was targeted towards him. it was them. it had to be them. standing here in between the tents that whispered of true horrors that would make any ordinary human frozen in fear. you were looking at him with the same expression that mirrored that day. the taste of a bitter brigadeiro, it was a ghost, a phantom linger upon his taste buds. his breath was caught. his chest seized. and he was unable to truly respond. even when you had reiterated your question. but your voice felt so far away now. like the sound of the dum of his heart beat was all he can hear. his hands, his claws, covered in gloves hung useless at his sides. he felt like he was seeing a ghost.

he opened his mouth. ready to rasp something. but he stopped. the rule. but he gulped. he could not utter a word. not now. not yet. ❛ this is not possible… no… this is not…. ❜ the rational part of him whispered. but the rational part had grown very small and very quiet over the century…. that it was easy to ignore. because what he saw was not a strange. what he saw was them. ██████… no… they never liked it when people called them that… his treasure. every little quirk, every little thing he remembered in his fuzzy memory… this had to be them. his hands couldn’t help but tremble. he could hear that you were speaking but his mind was not registering. he could not hear the words. only watch the way you spoke. it was a familiar cadence. but the rhythm of their speech was wrong. the voice was wrong… everything should be wrong. but their concern was perfect. it was right.

their eyes was different. he can see that. but the way it carried, it was the same of his beloved. it truly didn’t matter that it was different. he tried to speak. but with the eyes in the shadows. yet he tried to form words. but nothing truly came out. only a small strangled sound finally tore from his throat. a whimper. the sound of something so broken… so wounded. ❛ it’s you ❜ was all he could think. it was not a possibility. it was a fact. a truth that bypassed logic. reason. all evidence. the stranger in front of him, you… was them. returned somehow. reborn. reassembled different. like the universe had finally taken pity of him and his family. however… deep inside… he knew it was madness. that the desperate hope. he knew. the face was not right. the height was different. their hands that they always washed was not their hands. these hands were the hands of a stranger.

but his irrationality, his desperation was trying to search. the way how your shoulders were always tensed and strained. it was the same way the stranger stood the same way, the same tension. his rationality and his need for hope were at odds with one another. fighting. struggling. because how could it be possible. that this stranger was them. and the answer, that pierrot had believed in, was that this was not chance. it had to be them. it had to be. desperation was a physical sensation. he had lived already too ling without them. a century may be short. but it felt longer than that. it felt like days had blurred into centuries than decades. he had slowly pushed himself up with ease. the way this stranger was looking at him now was enough. it was just enough. he was drinking in the image of this stranger. you. he stared. matching. reinterpreting. maybe in his dream, it was telling him something maybe their soul had chosen a different body this time. but in the end of the day, the soul was the same. his beloved could change. he had changed. his family had changed.

❝ i… i have to go… my friend is waiting for me ❞ you finally spoke. feeling uncomfortable under his gaze. wondering if he was scrutinising you. ❛ don’t go ❜ he thought. as the words were screaming. screeching for himself to stop. ❛ please don’t go. it has been so lonely. it has been so cold… i have been so cold for so long. i can’t do it after see you. please stay. please let me look at you always… let me follow you. let me finally protect you. please let me ❜ as he watched you smiled, giving him a nod. his gaze watched you walk away… walk to the direction of the red tent. ❛ yes. meu tesouro is visiting my tent ❜ the obsession seem to rooted in the foundation of the tall pierrot. but it was just a seedling. and now the sun, the rain had finally came. it had grown voraciously. he needed you. he smiled. giving you a wave. his smile was a mixture of so much. small. shattered. broken. desperate. and unbearably hopeful. even when his rational mind was uttering how it was not them. he chose not to listen.

❛ i found you ❜

you had managed to stray away from that red clad clown? he was wearing jester hat. you were confused as you had temporarily separated from your friend. after they had announced they were going to the red tent. which was quite traitorous due to you were still recovering after the pink tent. before your friend had ran to the toilet. but you kept an eye on the toilet. almost like you were watching. making sure. waiting outside the red tent that was preparing itself… physical acts again. perhaps your friend means well… get the bad stuff out of the way first before… going for more easier… performances. you could not help but sigh softly. waiting.

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