Lunar Cirque

Lunar Cirque was a dwarf planet where the rain glowed fuschia and smelled like cotton candy. I hated cotton candy. I hated anything lacking in substance. My boots sloshed through the glowing puddles as the night sky showered over a slum of assorted box cars with windows and sliding doors stacked over one another. The Freights were unlivable quarters designated to razorbacks, carnies and human refugees like myself.  

It made me sick to my stomach that any existent could withstand the torture. Humans didn’t have two tokens to rub together. We were at the mercy of Ringmistress Bolgan, who graciously opened the curtain and allowed us to live here as slaves After Earth five generations ago. I frowned at the dilapidated rise deteriorating like a dying planet.

The skin of my neck prickled as a tingling sensation rushed down my back. I shivered and surveyed the dreary, muddy street. A ratty curtain pulled shut in my periphery.

Being the most hated and feared existent in all of Lunar Cirque was one of the unfortunate benefits of my occupation. Harlequins lived in solitude under the Big Top answering directly to her jovial highness. It was myself I should’ve felt pity for. Harlequins were pitted against each other to fight for Ringmistress’ favor. At least existents in The Freights had each other. I stopped in front of a boxcar embellished with sharp metal pieces arranged in a mosaic and knocked on the door.

Something rustled and scraped against the floor, and feet padded to the door. It slid open to an anorexically proportioned female in a polka dot onesie. Her neon eyes were too large for her delicate face and matched her long, silky hair. She clenched her teeth, “Nadira.”

I hadn’t seen Arlox since I joined the Harlequins a generation ago. She’d been the closest thing I had to family and now I was the enemy. I shifted from side to side. “May I come in?”

“No,” her melodic voice squeaked.

An invisible hand squeezed my heart. I peered over her shoulder. There wasn’t much from what I observed. A card table in a corner with one lonely little chair and a sunken cot in another. Arlox looked as if she hadn’t eaten in days. “I’m here under the order of Ringmistress Bolgan.”

“Obviously, that is the only reason you’d ever show your face here,” She ran her frail fingers through her hair. “What do you want? I don’t have any tokens.”

“The Freakshow was busted for moving a whole shipment of Bozo.” I reached into my pocket and pulled out a baggie of rainbow dust. Mania and euphoria were the main side effects of the drug. An overdose resulted in chronic psychotic episodes. I waved the bag in her face. “Know anything about it?”

“My nose is clean,” Arlox clenched her fists at her side and I couldn’t tell if it was the rain, hunger, or fury that was making her tremble. Maybe a combination of all three. “And I don’t work at The Freakshow anymore.”

Relief swelled in my chest. If she was going to sell her body to the highest bidder, she should’ve at least received proper home and shelter in return. I’d seen the kind of males that frequented those kinds of places, and I was sure there was nothing equally transactional about their exchanges. “How are you making a living?”

“That is none of your business,” she stamped her dirty bare foot and went to shut the sliding door.

“Wait,” I grabbed her by the elbow and she shot me the most disgusted look before smacking my hand away. I swallowed hard. “Have you heard of The Fourth Ring?”

“All I know is it’s a rebel group dead set on taking down the Big Top run by someone named The Heckler.”

That much I knew already. The Heckler was the faceless existent responsible for infiltrating the city with Bozo. If I had to send another one of his innocent bystanders to the cages, I was going to feed myself to a Zorcan.

“Are you done?” Arlox snapped.

I unstrapped the leather bag of tokens on my waist and handed them to her. “The Ringmistress thanks you.”

She frowned and threw it back in my face. The coins clinked on her doorstep. “Don’t ever come back, you grimy traitor.”

Arlox was sadly mistaken if she thought any of this was my choice. Eating crumbs off the dirty ground in the food court, begging for tokens, I did my best to convince her to come with me. She was too stubborn. I’d rather had a full stomach and a roof that didn’t leak over my head than pride. She could hate me all she wanted, but the facts remained, or that’s what I told myself. I picked up the coin bag and shoved it in her hand. “Be well.”

“Of course. The show must go on.” She slammed the door shut.

I turned on my heel and walked away as fast as I could. My throat felt like it was being strangled by a collar I had no choice, but to put on. I didn’t choose to be a Harlequin, it chose me, a worthless, illiterate human from The Freights. We all had to figure out some way to survive. I was too common-looking to work in the pleasure industry. Even though she was gaunt, Arlox was still beautiful. It was comforting to know the tokens I gave her could buy her funnel cakes for a week.

I walked over to the other side of the tracks to Carnival Town, a wealthy contrast to The Freights. I could taste the amusement in the air, feel the joy and wonder of tourists from all corners of the galaxy looking up as a hovercoaster spiraled overhead. This was where I went in my dreams when I was a little one. This was what I abandoned the slums for. This was why I turned my back on the only person who ever cared for me. I got everything I could ever wish for, but for some reason I struggled every night to convince myself that it was all worth it.