#sdtfs

the cyan tent loomed. striped in a muted cyan and black… it looked like it was breathing in the evening wind. like the circus was pulsing like a rapid heartbeat. you stood there as you felt like the laughter around you sounded like screams if she listened to it wrong. you felt violated by the recognition. your memories, the ones you cherished while also mourned, was dressed in some little performance and presented in front of an audience. like someone had taken your story… their story… and hung them on a stage. lit in lights… selling tickets to tell the story that you held so dear to your heart. you stood there. everything felt so… wrong. muffled. distant… just wrong. your hands trembled. holding a pen as you started at the waiver form on the clipboard that was offered to you by a person clad in white. it was eerie. as you stared at the letters that blurred and jumbled. your hand on the pen felt so foreign in your own hands. 

your friend was settling onto a bench just outside. ❝ i’ll wait here ❞ they said gently. face masked with concern. ❝ you don’t have to go in if you don’t want to ❞ they reassured you. but you have to. this unbearable feeling. and the sensation that you were being watched… somehow you were hoping for an explanation… maybe evidence that you were not going insane. as you stared at the waiver. you stared and stared. the usual language of one, however… it felt like a contract for something so much darker. like if you were going to sign it, it would possibly be a death warrant. signing meant agreeing to whatever was in there… the pen shook in your hand. ❝ no… i will go inside ❞ you finally mustered. you signed it. your signature came out wrong, wobbly. not yourself. it was like an unfamiliar scrawl. as if someone was trying to forge your own signature. 

handing the clipboard back. you stepped through the canvas, into the dark. the lights were so dim that it was completely dark… hanging figures twisted in ways that made you feel sick in the stomach. you stood there, almost too scared to move your legs. then a scent hit you like a splash of water. familiar. beautiful… unsettling… too impossible to truly forget. it was the faint spice, clove? or was it cinnamon. it was faint beneath the sweetness that was reminiscent of honeysuckle. but then there were other scents that made you nauseous. the air felt sterile… but at the same time, it wasn’t. there was a scent of an attempt to clean with something ammonia based mixed with sanitiser. but it could never truly hide the lingering scent of blood. heavy. sharp. the coppery tang.

was there no end?

though as you stood there. the puppets? moved. the sound of cracking, a forceful movement of joints that made you wince. why did you expect to actually get medical attention in a circus that advertised horror? ❝ come closer, dear patient. don’t be shy ❞ the voice beckoned you closer top the chair illuminated by the red spotlight. then the dissonance of force. the eyes. god the eyes were turning towards you. all glowing cyan. just as the walk way lit up for you to approach. you wanted to turn. to say no. but you moved. approaching the towering figure. this was the closest you gotten to one of the performers. you could see how he looked. how he dressed. the plague mask which made you wonder if it was all for show or that he actually stuffed herbs inside to mask the… foul odour in this darkly lit tent. you were not sure. 

❝ don’t forget to roll up your sleeves, please ❞ the doctor had spoken once more. making hairs jolt up. you were hesitant. your eyes gazed around in the room. unsure if you can stomach what you had eaten. too much was happening at once. you felt like your hands moved. slowly pulling your sleeves up. rolling the fabric up one by one, your hands trembled and shook so hard, you lost count of how much you unroll and rolled it back again. slowly feeling the seat beneath you. sitting there as the gleaming bloodied medical instruments lay on a blue cloth… you were hoping and praying that that was just some fake blood. some prop. until an incense was lit. the scent… it was something you have experienced before… the faint clove and honeysuckle was much stronger. was that…. the azalea that you were smelling? it was masking the other scents. there was almost like a floral scent… something akin to just jasmine… perhaps a hint of something tropical… it calms your nerves more than you like to admit it. 

❝ you wanted to run off, didn’t you? ❞ he asked calmly. almost trying to reassure you. but it was true… you did want to run. but not in the case of running away from this tent… but running away from this entire circus that had done nothing but made you sick. the doctor took your silence as a confirmation but not aware of the many underlying reasons why you wanted to run away. ❝ it’s fine. no one really likes visiting the doctor ❞ he whispered. his gloved hands started to tie down your wrists. ❝ after all, there aren’t any secrets between the doctor and their patient, right? ❞ you started noting at the sharp points of his gloves. was this some type of cosplay? ❝ what… what are you doing? ❞ you were trying to heave through. but the incense was dulling your mind… lulling you to something nostalgic. something that had your heart slowing down. calming down. ❝ it’s part of the procedure. i don’t want you to freak out and run off ❞ he took a small pause. ❝ you could hurt yourself, you know? ❞ he pulled back after securing the ties. ❝ there are dangerous instruments in an office ❞

❝ on your file… ❞ he paused. you sat there. but the doctor was staring at the file silently. pensively as he read what was written down. what ticket taker had quickly jot down between the passing of the form between fool and doctor. ❝ it seems you are suffering from stress induced attack ❞ he finally spoke. tapping the page. ❝ a… a colleague of mine has directed you here, yes? ❞ he turned to you. you were silent. trying to listen, but you were too out of it. finding comfort in the incense that just reminded you to a time. but all you did was nod. parting your lips as you realise it was rude to not respond. ❝ yes ❞ your eyes watched as he tilt his head to the left. ❝ hmmm. don’t worry. i will be very gentle. i am your doctor. and i would examine every fibre of your being to see what is the cause of these… stressful moments, dear patient ❞

his hands moved. touching your wrist. pressing firmly against your pulse to check it. but all you did was lean to it. making the doctor slowly blink beneath. what a strange peculiar reaction. he slowly listened. counting the beats. it was slowly down. he had heard it then. when you stepped in the tent. your heart was thrumming to the roar of a drum. how your eyes darted around the tent like you were waiting for something to drop… for a body to drop. he remembered how your breathing was ragged. you were afraid. you were scared. the rushing of blood all over your body. god… it reminded him of… he paused. he stood there. it reminded him of them. but he was no delusional fool like pierrot… or was he? he leaned in, your fear tasted too much like theirs. and somehow he couldn’t bring himself to pull away from you. 

but worth great effort, he pulled away. clearing his throat, psychology was a little outside his field of expertise. ❝ what is troubling you so? ❞ he asked. and you, who sat there, inhaling the incense that made you rock your head a little bit. this just felt like a therapy session… but a session that was much cheaper than you could get. for a ticket, that was at least half the cost of your actual sessions. leaning against the chair. somehow you were a little too scared at the idea of exposing that you believe if you said something along the lines of speaking of the belief you witnessed a murder in the pink tent… that the second performance made you yearn and crave the touch of people you were unsure were alive and well. to the third performance that was a grotesque retelling of something so sacred to your heart… and here you were, in one tent and two more to go.

the tent was quiet. well, as quiet as being surrounded by the sounds of on goers, muffled by the thick canvas. ❝ i keep… having this dream ❞ you spoke quietly. ❝ well.. it is not like a dream…. it is more like a memory ❞ you wanted to place your hands on your lap. ❝ except it had never happened… or maybe it has happened. i don’t know ❞ no, you did know it happened. that newspaper article meant something, right? that you had experienced something… or were you trying to fool yourself. to hopefully make something make sense. your fingers traced along the groove of the chair. ❝ i am sitting with all these people… they look at me… but i know that i have to do this one thing. if i didn’t, they’ll all… ❞ you paused. you couldn’t truly finish your words. your eyes closed your eyes. ❝ one of them… they.. oh… they took initiative. and i don’t scream. i don’t even think about screaming at all. i just let it happen ❞ you slowly opened your eyes. watching as he stared at you. it was nerve wrecking with how you were not sure if he was blinking or showing an expression. 

❝ sometimes… some mornings… some times after naps… i wake up and ache ❞ you whispered. ❝ at your chest? ❞ the doctor had finally spoke. but you shook your head to answer him. ❝ no. not in one place… not like i have been hurt. it’s so much deeper… it’s so raw. like somethings been pulled out of me me and i can still feel where it was clawed out ❞ you let out a shaky breath. you winced when you realised you wanted to reach to your chest. ❝ and… i am so tired ❞ you whispered. the doctor frowned, not like you can see it. ❝ perhaps some melatonin would do good rest ❞ he didn’t have the qualifications to administer actual medication. but you shook your head once more at him. ❝ it is not the sleepy kind of tired… its just tired. like i have been trying to carry something for so very long… and no one notices… no one understands. no one ever saw it happen… it was just a dream they say ❞ you laughed… however, it sounded so exhausting. it was too thin and hollow. a sound that made the doctor choose to listen longer. 

❝ maybe i made it all up… maybe it’s just… ❞ you were tearing up. feeling frustrated. feeling angry at it all. ❝ i don’t know. like it was just some metaphor… for something stupid ❞ you wanted to cry. ❝ but it doesn’t feel like a metaphor. it… it feels like the truest thing that ever had happened to me… and somehow it is the most loneliest ❞ you whispered. clutching on the chair. there was some silence between the both of you and the doctor. ❝ does that make any sense? ❞ you asked in a quiet voice. your vision was completely blurry. and somehow you felt like you were talking in circles. you waited for his words. waited for what he may say. somehow you were expecting him to be like the others. the same doctors and therapist. that you had such an overactive imagination. that you were probably making everything up… that it was all dreams. that they were never real. 

that it was never real in the first place. 

but the doctor was quiet. ticket taker had written how you knew too much. the possibility that you were aware of what was truly happening behind closed doors. however, instead of getting an admission that you knew, instead… he was met with a dilemma. how was he supposed to approach this… how was he supposed to separate the feeling that you were someone he knew. he was silent. his hands had reached towards you. and for a moment those cyans had become red. ❝ you know… your fear… it’s just like them ❞ his hands trembled. was this the delusion that pierrot felt? his large hand cupped your cheek. his fingers were cool even through the gloves… it was not unpleasant. ❝ your heart pumping… just like theirs ❞ he leaned in. making your breath hitch there was something wrong with how the doctor was approaching this. 

his hand traced along your jaw, ❝ thump… thump… thump… thump ❞ his hands moved, rose ands fell like a metronome that he had memorised its rhythm. it was right. exactly right… too right. the heart beat that he had remembered with precision of something that he spent a very very long time listening to. while his other hand had held a syringe, it was quick. swift. a movement to prick and get you to calm yourself. ❝ the fear… oh the same fear… you wear it so beautiful, dear patient. i can smell it on you like i smelled it on them ❞ his hands returned back to your cheek. thumb tracing the curve of your cheek to your cheekbone. ❝ and your pupils…. ❞ he leaned closer. ❝ blown wide. just like theirs. looking at you now… i could almost pretend… ❞ his voice cracked. not with some emotion but it was something else. his hand paused. his thumb had stopped moving. 

❝ that you… are them ❞

he pulled away. ❝ but they are dead… no they still belong to us… belong to us who loved them to pieces… all the pieces ❞ he paused. ❝ fufu ❞ he laughed a little bit. ❝ i like you ❞ he spoke. before he had miraculously pulled a ticket. a cyan ticket. a special ticket. you were a little dizzy. watching as he had untied the bounds around your wrist. your gaze was staring at the ticket. there was no looming foreboding. ❝ what is this? ❞ you asked as he handed the ticket. his eyes were back to one of cyans. ❝ ale— ❞ you stared as you opened your mouth. until the white clad fool opened the entrance. almost like it was trying to relay information from someone else. ❝ hmm. i guess we would have to cut our appointments short… but i do hope you use my ticket, my dear dear patient ❞

however one thing remained on his mind… ale— what were you going to say?

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anyways; here is an abandoned project because i was a little lazy to actually… learn how to use alight motion. 😭 the trend and all. the song being minha ella está te esperando! for ‘my spiral down the freak show’ fanfic! hehe- um. alight motion truly isn’t my actual forte or editing.

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 fine 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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the bustling nature of the markets, it was loud. annoying. the scent? it was intense. pungent. a mix of odours that made him wrinkle his nose. it was a mix of tropical produce, fresh and sweet. only to follow the stench of decay, the opened sewage system and the lack of sanitation and hygiene of human bodies. he pinched the bridge of his nose. gravitating towards the stalls of coffee and tobacco. they were intense aromatics. but it was better than inhaling what was remnants of… human faecal matter that leaked from buckets. he may have to search for herbs to mask the… acrid malodour that permeated the air. biting at his strong senses. it was truly vile. even when he had tried to get used to the scent of humans. it was hard to avoid it when many of these cities and towns were rapidly expanding. while still having issues with sanitation. he clicked his tongue. this was something he had preferred not to do. 

but now you are asking, why was he here amongst the humans? in an extremely crowded area such as this? it was an order by the ringmaster. go and accompany someone to the markets. he was deemed trustworthy… that he would not escape. not when he had the others in the palm of his hand. humans were truly cruel beings. he did not hate humanity. it did come off as that. but he had watched simple humans burn villages and towns for gold that they had no need after death. watched swindling merchants poison rivers and whispered false descriptions of their own items. he had seen lovers betray each other for status. he watched children taught to measure worth by their own upbringing. he watched as forests were burnt and butchered for trade, leaning the biome altered to fit their rapid need to produce coffee… it was the factor that humans always wanted more. while other living beings and nature followed a path. animals killed when they were hungry. storms and hurricanes destroyed things without discrimination and malice… it was the humans that invented cruelty as entertainment. 

maybe except for one. you. ██████. at first, he was wary. he believed this was some kind of lure, some bait for them to bite. since humans always wanted something in return. yet, you never asked for anything from him or the others. you didn’t laugh or humiliate them. you never asked for protection or wealth. you simply existed in their orbit. befriending them. feeding them more than they needed even when he had noted how your hands shook. how… soft you truly were. like you were out of your element… he knew you should adapt. he knew you should harden yourself. and in a way you did while remaining kind hearted and gentle natured to them. yet quiet and distant from the others. and the question was always why? you must have been scared. beings like them were different. they eat humans. they lived different lives. and you did not turn a blind eye to it. you were messy. you were complicated. 

but watching you wrinkle your nose as you browse the stalls. he slowly approached you, maybe there isn’t a reason for your madness. he leaned over your shoulder. seeing just some trinkets, making his eyebrow arched. you had quite the habit of searching. remembering how rose was bright and glowing. her smile was beaming so brightly after so long being confined. and all he knew was that you were the reason to her smile. in the way she cherished the bracelet. how… reverent she was towards a simple chain. it wasn’t the ones he had seen adorned on the nobility. it didn’t glitter like jewels nor was it expensive… it was plain. it was chaotic. it was… perfect like how you are. 

❝ focus. we are here to retrieve the next supplies ❞ he pointed out. watching you jump, turning to look at him. feeling those cheeks heat up, watching you fumble your words. ❝ i- i know that! ❞ you had set the trinkets down. he couldn’t help but a hint of amusement of your reaction. truly, how peculiar you were. just as they started to move. listening to the sounds of coins against wooden stalls. sapphire moved with a careful grace, almost telling you how he was as a person. he stood back. watch as you started to barter, to haggle. he watched the scene between you and the vendor. the vendor’s literal outrage was theatrical…. practiced but quite comical. however, you were a smidge better. he just stood back, watching. he was there to help with carrying, and stepping in if you had made a mistake. he may be considered one of the weakest amongst the others, but by human standards, he was still above average. he couldn’t help but watch as your hands was moving in the air. painting arguments and counters in the air. he should truly focus and pay attention to the negotiations but he was not. 

he was typically watching you. the way the light seem to catch you hair. the way you were biting and chewing on your lip to suppress some mischievous grin. like you knew you were winning. and the towel was thrown. watching as the merchant threw her hands up in the air. admitting defeat. selling quite a lot for at least… a quarter lower than the usual price. watching you grin. it was truly different side of yourself as you watched you moved with a musical note. some victory dance, perhaps. he couldn’t help but noticed. he knew it was not a new observation. not really. but he noticed even with his own observations that he was changing slowly. he had realised it… maybe for some time but he had never put a name for it. it was when you finally turned to him. quite triumphant. holding your winnings on a simple haggle like it was a trophy. 

❝ you are terrible, you know that ❞ he said bluntly. even though he was not paying attention. ❝ you could have gotten the price lower ❞ he added soon after. though he watched you look offended. ❝ i am terrible? says the one who was just standing there. looming ❞ you pointed out at him. which made the corner of his lip quirk. ❝ i do not loom ❞ he was quick to answer. though somehow your smile was the sun, shining. beautiful. ❝ you absolutely loom ❞ your eyes crinkled as you smiled. how your body was simply full of energy. somewhere so far away from the locked cages, from those who were cruel to them… you just seem so much free here. as he opened his mouth trying to say something dry. but his words had stalled. the way you were looking at him with an expression that got him choked up.

it was then the sky had darkened. the rain was not gentle. it was warm and insistent. and somehow the smell was worst. he watched vendors scrambled to cover their stalls and their produce. watching as those who were shopping, haggling. they all took cover. and then you grabbed his wrist without thinking. beneath the overhang of another shop. your shoulders are already dark with water. hair was already wet. and somehow he couldn’t look away from you. you were laughing. truly the absurdity. the sound of your laughter struck him somewhere deep and unguarded. somewhere… he felt like he had kept locked up because of how humans and monsters were like in general. watching as your lashes were wet with tears… and it was a hit of realisation. ❛ this is what it was ❜ he thought. he would expect it was some kind of stab or strike… but was so much slower than that… it was quiet. like the crashing waves on the shore… it didn’t change it’s course… it was slow and gradual. ❛ i love them ❜ every moment shared. every small touch… every time he stared for too long only to claim he was just observing.

❝ why… why is it that you are not afraid of me… of us ❞ he asked. which you blinked. your eyes gazed at him before out to the skies. ❝ hmm? why? ❞ you muttered. making a show that you were thinking about. before you clapped your hands as emphasis. ❝ why am i not afraid? ❞ you repeated the question. before your smile, your grin… could part the stormy skies. ❝ maybe its because you feel safe ❞ and as you said that… the short lived rain dispersed. and he stood there, looking at you. ❝ come on now, sapphire! the rain had gone ❞ you cheered, you say that but he can see the drizzle. and somehow he stood there. so still. watching the sun that was you. 

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his hands grasped on the leather. a shadow looming over him as he gazed up at the skies. the umbrella creating a safe shelter from the rain. keeping his nicely pressed clothes dry, except for the cuffs of his pants. he had returned from a simple walk along the city. it was… the same as always. nothing much. nothing truly piqued his interest once more. he was the eldest… nothing truly did grabbed his attention. a quick and soft movement as he collapsed the umbrella. walking into his personal tent. a comforting moment of silence. the circus was closed for the day. the bad weather had unfortunately delayed the opening. and from the shifts, it would be raining for awhile. it was of course subtle shifts. if you did not focus on the environmental shifts like the rising humidity and barometric pressure. placing the umbrella down so the rivulets of water can drip. 

he had paused. his fingers brushing along the book. until he opened it. it could be seen as vanity. a portrait so old of himself. though his fingers traced along the initials in the corner. he slowly stared. his thumb tracing the creased corner, protected now. he stared. he did not cry. perhaps he was past crying now. what was left was quieter than grief. yearning, it was something that wears him down. an erosion of the almost and if only and please come back. just as he stood there, opening the other simple portraits of the others. pierrot. columbina. harlequin. the doctor. jester. just as the world continues to carry on… because it was the world. in the silence of his tent…there was only him and the memory of you.

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you look up. the musk of others mixed with the cloying scent of spun sugar. around you, there was quite a lot of people. a crowd… watching. watching the aerialist stand upon a platform. their mouth gaped in absolute sheer delight. their eyes reflected the nauseating spectacle of what was like an angel above all. you sat there on the hard seat. your knuckles were white. clenched tightly on your lap. you couldn’t help but stared at her. the aerialist. watching as the woman was using silks. dyed in crimson red. the show had barely started and somehow you can see, or perhaps you knew that she was a professional. with the precise controlled movements that… showed decades of practice. you can see how she took in a deep breath. inhale and exhale in a gentle rhythm that felt devastating like a mirror of someone you knew so long ago... 

then the soft chiming of a music box. distant but it halted the loud whispering amongst the crowd. ❝ once, in a court where laughter was currency and sorrow was a sin. they had called the fool… the mocking bird… and i was the starlight ❞ she finally spoke. her voice though gentle, calm… so wistful… it was loud. running chills down your spine. just as a fool dressed in patchwork of colours tumbled in. the jittering spotlight found the fool. they were in a garish patchwork motley. the fool had a permanent smile on his face. ❝ a little bird in a gilded cage ❞ her voice rang out. her fingers ran along the silks. ❝ he was the ringmaster ❞ and somehow that word made you wince. ❝ i was the silent one in feathers… the beauty… the wings in the air, he’d say. the tragedy on the ground ❞ she frowned. her body moved along the silks. tightening around her body. watching her as her body arcs so beautifully… turning pain into perfect elegant shapes. before her gaze immediately darted towards the audience. ❝ and the people loved it ❞ before she immediately reached out towards a tarnished hoop. her fingers traced the curve of the hoop. 

❝ he didn’t need me in chains. he found me when i was broken and built a cage around me and called it a stage ❞ she reached and unravelled herself from the silks. ❝ and every night, i will follow his musings, sing to his design… fly to his patterns… my body was not in my mind anymore… it was a puppet for his to control ❞ gripping the hoop tightly. her knuckles were white on the hoop. she did not get into the hoop. still suspended in silks like it was what was safe. ❝ and he spoke. talked to them about me. ❛ look at her ❜  he would sigh. ❛ so fragile, like she will snap in a breeze… ❜ and the audience laughed. was it nervousness in their tone or those watching a bird that could not fly freely ❞ she spun the hoop slowly. the fool gestured towards her, making mocking shakes of the shoulder. before her eyes snapped back on the hoop. watching it spin with a calculative eye. ❝ and then he pulled a mirror ❞ as the fool raised an ornate. facing it towards her. ❝ something that was a warped filthy thing… hold it up to me ❞ the painted grin never left the fool’s face. 

❝ ❛ see yourself, little starling! see how you look ❜ he preened. showing a pale hollow thing… is that myself? moving in that distorted glass? ❞ she hung down the silk, swaying slowly. the silk twists around her limbs like snakes that were tightening its prey. ❝ and this was his masterpiece. his pièce de résistance. he didn’t just control me… he made me an audience to my own captivity. watching the slow dwindling light in my eyes each and every time. he made me hate the thing i became in the air ❞ she whispered. her voice broke. it crack like tugged in your heartstrings. you didn’t like how this story was. it truly felt like a mirror raised to your eyes. showing you the memory of the cruelty that had befallen your friends. ❝ and i believed him… that his voice… that mocking yet honeyed poison was the only truth in the world. that i deserve the cage. that i was the broken thing ❞ she hung limply. like the fight had truly left her body. even when the silks restraint her body. representing the cage. trapped in repetition. climbing. catching herself. swinging. again and again. it became somewhat like a beautiful cage. 

you clutched your fist. feeling your nails dig into your palm. your eyes clenched tightly and head hung low, like you wanted the story to end already. ❝ then… a new bird came ❞ you immediately opened your eyes. your head darted upwards. when the sound of a light flickers on. a fool dressed in complete white, swung in silks itself. ❝ a dove. a white little thing. it must have flown through the cracks ❞ it slowly moved. frantic. panicked even among the silks. but columbina’s voice was of a fondness for hope. even when she spoke of it being panicked. ❝ it was lost. fluttering against the lights… but the mockingbird saw it. of course he did ❞ her tone changed, sneered. watching the patch-work fool gestures to the white fool. ❝ ❛ look! ❜ he had crowed. ❛ even the vermin wants a taste of the spotlight ❜ he laughed. swatting at it ❞ her hands clenched onto the ropes. watching as the mockingbird showed a big theatrical swipe towards the dove. which made the audience gasp. 

❝ and this small… this foolish… terrified bird ❞ columbina’s words felt sad like she was describing someone she held dear that made your heart sink. realising this was an act, she quickly tried to wipe any tear that tried to spill. ❝ it turned on him. it didn’t flee… ❞ columbina took in a deep breath, god, she wished it did. ❝ it dove and became a feathered ball of pure rage… a dove? acting in such a manner… ❞ watching as the dove, the white fool acted. thrashing around. no coordination in the fight. it just fought. and you couldn’t help but feel something with each word. each passing strike. and just like that, you watched the mockingbird, the patchwork fool yelped. batting the air with the white fool. ❝ and all i can do was watch. trapped in my own making ❞ her voice wavered. ❝ i watched this creature so small… contained… show its claws ❞

though perhaps the element of horror truly snapped into action. as the patchwork fool slammed the white fool down. the white fool fell from its silks. broken on the ground. which made your stomach lurch. ❝ the mockingbird… got rid of the dove. completely flustered. and watching that dove… something in me just snapped… not in the way you would think. it wasn't breaking. it felt like an unlocking of some sort ❞ she whispered. as she reached towards the dove that did not move. her breath hitched. watching as the patchwork fool turned to click his fingers. ❝ snapping his fingers at me… a command to descend… and i did ❞ she whispered. she let go of the silks. grasping onto the hoop. practically descending down into a fall. just a few feet. the metal and the entire rig screeched. ❝ oh, he had never truly shown me that birds could have claws ❞ she spoke with emotion. 

the mockingbird who had tried to recover being flustered, noted how she, the starling was different. ❝ he was startled. he tried to command. he tried to do anything… and then i saw real fear then… not the staged fear of a fool… but the cold fear of a man watching what he had built crumble and burn. so for one last show, they both danced. where the starling was in command and he… now the fool that follows the orders ❞ she grasped a loose silk. her movements were sharper. it circled around him. ribbons wrapped around the panicked fool. and the real horror show began. she moved in the air. she inverted and the man contorted. she pun in the hoop with ease. and he spiralled in madness. it was a duet. where she was the graceful bird… while now he was the one confined. the one now trapped. the one who was following her command. she pulled the hoop down. her feet mere inches down the ground. but the fool was slung upwards. one tug. the body of the fool contorted, twisted… the sound of something breaking and shattering was masked by the music box playing its final notes. 

she stepped down the hoop. giving the hoop one last, gentle push. it swings silently in the silence. before it was pulled up to the high rigs above. and watched as the silks that were suspended fell down with a splat. watching the patchwork fool broken… on the ground. ❝ and so the end of this tale. the mockingbird made death his final performance and taught the starling how to bow in an audience ❞ she finally declared. her arms stretched out. as the other fools pulled the two figures.. all fake, right? stunt doubles or perhaps just sacks that represent fools… you couldn’t be sure. just as the applause had roared around you. hooting and hollering.. but you felt like you just watched a murder. you glanced at your friend and seemed a little startled. ❝ that… that was quite a unique show ❞ your friend had uttered. laughing nervously as they clapped. but your hands rested on your lap. clenched. the people behind you laughed into her friend’s shoulder calling it extremely realistic. someone else was already asking for an encore… you watched her. her chest rising rapidly in exertion. dazzling under the stage lights. 

but you knew. god you knew… because you had heard the sound. the supposed orchestrated crunch. the sound of something wet. your own hands trembled violently. fingers numb and cold. every cheer from the audience, every clap…. it landed like a deep sickening blow in your chest. you wanted to shout at the crowd. in the audience. that was a real person. those were real people. that someone had to stop this. but the words stayed lodged in your throat. wondering how… how did no one seem to see. seeing the grotesque display that had your heart hammering. your breathing rushing out in puffs. it was too realistic to be fake… and if your memory served you right… the things you did were as accurate to an actual murdering… then you… everyone here had just witnessed a murder right in front of their eyes and no one knew. 

then when your eyes met with hers. you couldn't help it tense up a bit. you truly felt like you knew those eyes… but you immediately turned your head away from her gaze. your breath ragged. this was getting too much…

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just right after the show. both of you guys sat on a bench. your head hung long as your friend was slowly rubbing your back. you got sick. viscerally sick. your hand was grasping a palm stone. ❝ it is okay ❞ your friend tried to reassure you. but you simply felt trapped. the reassurance from your friend felt hollow. whether you truly had witnessed something or that your mind was truly still healing in its own fucked up way… you wondered if you had made a mountain out of a mole hill. but you felt everything. the feeling was real. the dread was real. all you could do was replay what had happened. the story that hurt you in more ways that you can explain… the audience had laughed, clapped…. asked for an encore. everything felt wrong. the two fools. they were not acting. it was scripted but in a way that it was scripted to be a part of the show. and your friend turned towards you. their expression was steady in a way that should feel comforting. even when you knew they were being calm without being dismissive. and you just hoped that was the case. that everything can be okay… but in the back of your mind, it was like it was a paused image… frozen on the two crumbled bodies… 

taking in a deep breath. ❝ how about we go to a less… stimulating tent? ❞ your friend asked. already had asked around in hopes to find something that wasn’t so physically taxing. you were silent. your hands clasped together around the stone that was slowly warming up. ❝ what… what are the other tents about? ❞ you finally asked. finally peering up. with a shaky breath. you were practically hoping for something tame. something that won’t cause you queasy, or projectile vomit. your friend couldn’t help but press their lips together. deep in thought. almost like trying to consider what to tell you. ❝ well… maybe the red tent is a little intense. it is ground acts, you know. like acrobatics… knife throwing ❞ which immediately earned a shake of the head. ❝ too violent ❞ you answered quick. ❝ the green tent is storytelling! puppetry! ❞ your friend suggested which you answered with a hummed, maybe. ❝ the blue tent is a mirror maze ❞ your friend added which you considered. but you were not in the right mental space… ❝ the cyan tent is an immersive attraction! you sign a waiver and have some plague doctor check up on you ❞ they tilted their head. making you gulped. ❝ and the purple tent… is a little theatrical. they use the fools as actors and there is a narrator ❞ they muttered. 

and all you can feel was this sickening feeling. even water wasn’t helping you. but you paid good money to attend these attractions. it was only fair to attend every single tent. though those tents… that white and black one… it made you curious. and yes, ❛ curiosity killed the cat but satisfaction brought it back ❜ but that saying would be meaningless if you actually died due to your curiosity. but you can just ask. ❝ what about the white and black one? ❞ you asked. your friend couldn’t help but think. trying to remember the quick eavesdropping to conversations. ❝ the both of them are off limits ❞ they answered to your question. ❝ the black one, there is sometimes a line… but perhaps it’s for workers? ❞ they added quickly. and somehow you couldn’t even think properly. letting out a shaky breath. ❝ why… why don’t you choose? ❞ you asked with a wary smile. 

what is the next tent that would haunt you whenever you closed your damned eyes…

from a distance, dressed impeccably. ticket taker’s eyes narrowed. watching you. quietly. both eyes watched your every movement. how you were rubbing upon that polished stone. rose quartz. how peculiar. however, nothing sticking out. there were humans that were interested in gemstones. ticket taker stood perfectly still. he saw the way your hands shook. saw how your breath had came out shallow and quick… and ticket taker understood… the human had seen things… seen the truth behind the scenes.. he could see that you had grasped what what happened during the performance. the fact he could sense a presence behind him. ❝ report, bil ❞ jester’s voice felt like a mist that almost pulsated in the air. ticket taker was not startled by the sudden presence of their leader. he had felt jester had been approaching for some time. he turned. unhurried. seeing the one clad in purple before inclined his head.

❝ the audience satisfaction was high… however, some humans had attempted to prowl into the black tents… they have been attended to. they were quite a stealthy bunch ❞ ticket taker had reported. nothing out of the usual. ❝ however… one of the white ticket holders… we are unable to obtain them due to a companion disruption ❞ he added. jester had said nothing. the silence had stretched between the two. heavy… expectant. ticket taker glanced over to the direction of the two. you and the white ticket holder that was swindled beneath his gaze. ❝ is that them? ❞ jester asked. he recognised the barista. all their targets were well documented. they always made sure to keep an eye. to research and make it so that they wouldn’t warrant any major attention to the public, to the law. but he did not recognise you. his eyes were cold. calculating. while ticket taker took a moment to consider what he would say next. 

you were like a rabbit that was realising you were in the middle of a den of wolves. he didn’t know what he was looking at. and that was a first. it felt cloudy in a mind that was usually so neat. most humans never got that far with their performances. they saw the performances and expected what they saw in a circus that was advertised as the freak circus of horrors. they would clap. they would roar. humans with their strange interest in horror… in crimes… ❝ they are beginning to perceive ❞ ticket taker said. there was a genuine note interest in his voice. which jester hum in shock at their old friend was interested in a little thing like you. ❝ not the full picture… no… not yet… they know something is wrong in that tent with bina… they know it wasn’t just a show ❞ ticket taker answered. jester shifted, his clawed fingers finding comfort in his hair. a brush between his thumb and his index finger. an instinctual habit that had stemmed back then. 

❝ do you believe they can be tuned… controlled? ❞ jester’s tone was cold and clinical. ticket taker was quiet. glancing over at you. some humans' minds shatter and come apart like wet paper. some were hard to sway. ❝ perhaps ❞ he answered. ❝ they are perceptive… and very… aware of danger. ❞ the silence that followed between the two was much different. like a silence that jester was considering. possibly approving. a silence of slight satisfaction. ❝ see to it, bil ❞ jester slowly receded back to his tent. preparing for his performance. the performance for the end of the night.

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