The Show Doesn’t End Until I Say So | Chapter Three Execution
Bunji stood in the center ring of a large tent. In front of them was a large electronic sign, which displayed their name, followed by a number - Zero. Next to it was a another number - 100 - with the word “threshold” displayed above it.
The rules were simple: if they didn’t give enough of a show to reach that number, they would be gunned down. They weren’t sure if this was rigged, but if they didn’t try, they were being killed--so they had little to argue about. And little time.
There was a tightrope. Easy enough. Weights to balance on their head. Okay, that’s a bit much.
And it was on fire. What the absolute fuck.
The guns pointed at them were persuasive enough. They climbed up, staring at the other end like it would pull them into the abyss if they stood too close. With a sigh, they placed the weight on their head and started walking. The flames licked at their shoes, and even through the sole could feel a searing pain.
The counted slowly ticked up. It wasn’t enough.
Bunji groaned. They began to do little twirls and jumps, careful not to fall off and only screamed in pain at a normal volume. The ticker picked up in pace, but it was painful to maintain. They went as far as doing a few majestic jumps and landings, which earned them a good amount of points. Once they reached the other side, they crawled back to the ground and screamed again. Even if they lived, there was no way they’d walk for weeks.
The sign was at 67, but luckily they were given a chance to get the score up one more time. Now there was a unicycle, a bag full of little toys and tricks--
And a cage of tigers. Really hungry tigers. Ignoring the extreme pain, they jumped on the unicycle and peddled like their life depended on it. While their hands were occupied, they reached for the bag, pulling out a few pins to juggle. Hastily, they began, causing the ticker to increase in speed. However, they were getting slower by the second, and couldn’t keep up this act. One of the tigers had nearly caught up and took a swipe--leaving a painful scratch on their back that only increased the bleeding.
They reached for something else while pedaling with the last of their might, a bottle of oil, and a matchbox. They put the oil in their mouth and and lit the match, and in one sweeping motion, faced the tiger and let out a burst of flames. Unfortunately, they were a little hasty and singed their face, causing enough pain that they fell over and hit the ground.
The tigers, now enraged, pounced on them, clawing and biting at whatever they could get until the last few points mercifully ticked them over the 100 point goal. As if one cue, the tigers retreated, leaving the badly wounded performer to lie there.
They struggled to lift their head, barely catching the score with a slight smile, a slight hope…
Before collapsing on the ground in a pool of blood.
