The Show

She watched from the window of the trailer, cane in hand. The massive tent blazed with light and sound. Tonight, the show begins.

The flap blew to one side dramatically, light flooding onto the grass, illuminating the feet of the rushing horde. Bodies spilled in, filling the seats like hot magma, flowing round the perimeter and colliding with itself, sending sparks into the air. The tent buzzed, each person shrieking above the other.

Light, golden against the silver moonlight, spilled in like smoke from one side, billowing in as unrelenting as the horde. A collective hush filled the tent. Their faces awash, they watched, leaning forward with anticipation. A golden shoe emerged, as though fashioned from the light itself. Followed were a gleaming red coat, a golden embroidered top hat that perched above perfect gilded hair. The boyish face grinned from underneath, her teeth accented gold. Gold seemed to swirl around her, her very being. “Ladies and gentlemen!” she boomed, voice filling the tent as though issued from a loudspeaker. “Tonight you will see magic! The freaks will dance, sing, fly!' Her eyes twinkled with malice. 'I give you.... The Abnormalities!!!” With one flourish the cane was airborne, flying, spinning up into the dark top. Eyes followed it, aided by a spotlight, travelling up, up, up. The cane slowed, suspended for a second, as if held solely by the gaze of a hundred spectators. 

To everyone's disappointment, it fell. No magic held it up, no wonder, no miracle. But the spotlight swung upwards instead, drawing all the gazes, relit and excited. Up on a tiny ledge, a girl stood. She was thin, emaciated beyond belief, her limbs looking like they were about to fall off from the slightest touch. Her face was gaunt, her cheeks sunken in. Her hair was light, greyed not by age. The leotard clung at her body, at what it could reach, accentuating her premature silhouette. What stood out, however, were her eyes. Grey, almost glinting silver, like an oncoming thunder storm. Proud, unfazed.

Whistles sounded, and laughing. The ‘freak’ took no notice. She raised her thin stick like arms, and flipped. She flipped right off the platform. Her gangly form glided swan-like through the air, twisting once, twice, like a ballerina. Except her stage was made of nothing, and one wrong move she would end up splayed on the ground.

Gasps followed her. Their eyes could not. They almost missed the net below, where she was caught in. She bounced up, over the edge, and continued her graceful descent as if nothing had stopped her. She seemed to splash into the light that pooled at the bottom, where some noticed for the first time the set up that had so cleverly evaded their eyes. She was caught by several pairs of arms, each belonging to the children that had assembled there in an instant.

As she landed her talent was spent. She was no longer of interest. The spotlight that once graced her spectacular performance swung away, leaving the darkness to pour around her. It focused instead on a dance troupe, each decorated with gleaming, sparkling make up and body suits, as if it could hide that missing arm, those clumsy fingers or the twisted foot.

Or the fact that they all were all born a mere decade ago.

The music blasted in and they started to move, synchronizing with each other perfectly. Children flew through the air much like the girl had done. Children walked tightropes blindfolded. Children bounced around and pranced about with lions and elephants. No, not children. ‘Freaks’ of nature, with their deformities and addled minds, much like the Ringmaster had so wisely stated.

Unbeknownst to the captivated crowd, some who jeered and crowed with laughter, the girl whom they had so conveniently forgotten slipped from the tent.

The moonlight soothed her. Strange, compared to gold, the girl always preferred the melancholy of silver. She had the distant memory of silver dancing shoes, so worn down that the fabric seemed to fall with every step, adorning the entire room with silver slivers of magic. And a woman, laughing as she flitted around the room. The one who she loved, the one who gave her away.

She tiptoed across the lawn, pass still carousels and snack stands. Unlike inside the tent, there was no one here. She twirled around, her eyes closed, her arms floating around her. Thin, delicate, dainty. The night air took away her pain, and for a moment she enjoyed being on this Earth.

It was therefore with venom she struggled when arms closed around her, lifting her off the ground. She twisted desperately, breathing ragged and labored, head dragged backwards ferociously by a palm clamped over her mouth. She was jostled this way and that as she was lugged around, finally flung into a small space. Her forearm bore the brunt of the impact against cold metal. She gasped, purple already blooming on her arm. She shrunk against the wall, her thin arms barely managing to cover her face as her captor stepped close to her. The tiny square of light vanished as the door swung shut.

For a moment there was only silence. Then, a small flicker of flame roared to life. The lamp illuminated a golden face, weathered by applause and praise. Her top hat had been removed, revealing a messy bun, tied hastily underneath. Flecks of gold were peeling off the usually immaculate hair.

"Don't you know the police are out patrolling tonight? You'll get caught out in the open like that." 

The Ringmaster sighed at the girl's meek apologies. She dropped down on the ground next to the girl, the lantern carelessly dropped between them. Their shadows danced on the wall. Gold and silver sat side by side, each tainted, each dented and broken. 

"Why doesn’t she want me?" The voice was small, fragile, barely even traversing the chasm between the two. 

The Ringmaster looked over at the huddled form. Her pinched brows melted and she reached out a golden hand. The small, pale one slid into her fingers and warmth flooded them both. 

"It's not that she doesn’t want you. She can't."

"Is it because I can’t eat properly?"

The Ringmaster looked down and studied the thin crescents on her palm, nibbled down to its studs. Its jagged edges sliced her heart into ribbons.

"Our government doesn't treasure the flawed," she spat bitterly. Her words were blunt, she knew, but she wanted the girl to know this was the only way, for the other was unthinkable. Taken away from the only people who would love her, chucked into a 'school', as they called it, to weed out the imperfections and make sure those that emerged into society were only the perfect, capable and brilliant. People like her, like them, will never make it. 

Except this. The circus is her life’s work. She built up her reputation to save who she could, but there were still so many. Her eyes hardened. She would save them all. 

That would be her final show.