The Cannonball

Submitted into Contest #197 in response to: Write a story that includes the phrase “I’m free!”... view prompt

19 comments

American Coming of Age Adventure

They would like me to sit at the end of the barrel and wait my turn.

First the elephants dance, then the clowns cast their pies, then the lions roar and the tigers hiss and only at the finale, is the fuse lit--

The Cannonball.

I stagger my breathing as my body crunches up to fit inside the narrow pipe. No matter how many times I execute my stunt, the sweat still finds me in all the worst places. On the underside of my chin. The back of my ankles. In a small pool tilting upon my right ear. I tell myself that if even a molecule of my own sweat falls off me, I will have failed.

And failed at what?

Regardless of my own superstitions, the cannon will fire. I will be propelled out of it. Provided I don’t somehow magically alter the very form of my body, I will advance in a steady arc towards the net placed carefully and strategically above the audience on the other side of the circus tent. The net has been erected hundreds of times. The tent, maybe even more. The audience will always gasp. The tigers will always hiss. Nobody believes me when I tell them tigers hiss, but why not? They are cats, after all.

As to failing, there are a myriad number of ways to fail aside from failing at your overall task. Each task in life is made up of other, smaller tasks. Some logical, some illogical. If I have a heart attack when the cannon goes off and pass away as I’m exiting the structure, I will have failed at defying death while performing a death-defying feat. I will have failed at entertaining the kind of audience that likes to see a man survive the difficult-to-survive, but I will have succeeded at entertaining the morbid kind of audience that enjoys a bit of bloodshed amongst the clowns.

I might not be expelled from the cannon at all. I come from a long line of cannonballs. My uncle once gained an extra pound in between shows, and when the blast went off, he didn’t move an inch. The force, however, was so strong that it took his hearing and half his mind. From that day on, he was relegated to picking up after the horses as they paraded themselves around the center ring. My uncle lives in my thoughts, but he is the only tragedy in my family. My grandfather, my father, and all my brothers have never failed to find their way out of the cannon.

The trouble is, they always wind up back in it.

When I turned fifteen, I sought after every occupation that would have me. Two shifts in at the fabric factory and I was let go for having “dreamy eyes.” The girls on the other side of the belt would stare at me. I had the aura of a showbiz man, no matter how many coats I wore or how unruly I let my hair become. The same happened at the dairy farm and the grist mill. Even when there were no women around, men found themselves distracted by me. One incident involved a tussle behind a bar where I was tending to winos, wherein I was accused of hypnotizing the customers.

It became evident that I would need to familiarize myself with a helmet and a flashy costume and report immediately to the Big Top.

My family was only too thrilled to hear via letter that I had rejoined their professional lineage. Training took place one afternoon before my first show. My father took the train in from Baton Rouge to do the instructing. Twas more than just a “Do this, do that.” It was a rite of passage. In I went, the imaginary fuse lit so as to not make waste, and my father made a “Boom!” sound to signify what I’d hear at the culmination.

Nothing can prepare you for that first time, but the steps remain the same whether there is fire or whether there is not. You both are the ride and along for the ride all at the same time.

Dozens of shows passed. I became restless. While inside the cannon, I would practice what little education had given me. Multiplication tables, Shakespearean soliloquies, and the names of every clown that had passed through the show before becoming too high or too drunk or too enmeshed in scandal.

That’s what I attempt to do now as the fuse scatters itself to naught.  I list names and consider what sort of controversies I could find myself in if I wished to leave the circus behind me, which, of course, I do. Despite my early failures, my failures now seem to be driving me deeper and deeper into the cannon. Perhaps one day I’ll wind up like my uncle. Failing even to do the thing that science says must be done. A force moves an object. No object is immovable. Religion agrees with science on that one. It is the one area where agreement can be found.

I hear a countdown. The ringmaster has the children worked up today. They scream the word ‘five’ as though it is ‘Merry’ and ‘four’ as though it is ‘Christmas.’ My father would always say that you make a wish on ‘two’ and if you wish hard enough, you’ll find your wish granted at the halfway point between the cannon and the net.

I make my wish as I always do.

The two turns to one, and then--

I am trapped in air.

Air around me, crowds holding breaths, trapeze bars swinging, clowns holding pies, an elephant flapping its ears, and somewhere, at the halfway mark, I feel it.

I feel the wish coming true.

For it is not into the net I go, but up through the hole above the center ring. The sky welcoming me as its newest cloud. The clouds cheering me on as though they have seen every act, and mine is the most worthy of joining them. I go up and up, but there is never an end to the up. No space, no stars, no moon. Just sky and sky and sky.

I’m free.

Down below, far out of hearing’s reach--

A tiger lets out a grateful hiss.

May 05, 2023 22:29

You must sign up or log in to submit a comment.

19 comments

Molly Sickle
14:16 May 13, 2023

Wow. This is an incredible narrative paired with amazing writing. I was reeled in from the very first sentence. The ending was shocking but it works so well with everything leading up to it. You have done a masterful job.

Reply

Story Time
22:04 May 13, 2023

Thank you so much, Molly.

Reply

Show 0 replies
Show 1 reply
04:41 May 12, 2023

This was an amazing story. I loved the characterization of the protagonist, and the sheer poetic irony of his family being thrilled that he is running away to join the circus. This is so detailed and captivating, a very interesting read.

Reply

Story Time
05:48 May 12, 2023

Thank you so much, Alexandra!

Reply

Show 0 replies
Show 1 reply
Marty B
22:24 May 14, 2023

He is a true 'cannon ball' designed to fly, set free of earthly bounds and petty issues of those on the ground. He is not of this earth, his “dreamy eyes” show he is too pretty, the girls stare, the men are hypnotized: he is a showbiz man, and not fit for the mortal earth. So it is fitting that he launches and is set loose. I thought this line summed up the story well: 'The clouds cheering me on as though they have seen every act, and mine is the most worthy of joining them. '

Reply

Story Time
23:32 May 14, 2023

Thank you, Marty. I appreciate it.

Reply

Show 0 replies
Show 1 reply
Amanda Lieser
03:48 May 12, 2023

Hi Kevin! Oh, a trip to the circus brilliant! I love the way that you fleshed out this character, and I thought that it was really interesting to travel back in time with this piece. You did an amazing job of painting, a visit backstory well also keeping us engaged in the action. I was utterly shocked and devastated by that ending. What a twist!

Reply

Story Time
22:05 May 13, 2023

I think people are assuming he dies at the end, so maybe that's my fault. I don't actually think he dies. I think he's going through all the different ways life can go for someone like him and it turns out that he's the one who goes through the tent and flies. It's a surreal ending, for sure, but as he describes it, that's what happens.

Reply

Catherine Hudson
20:04 May 17, 2023

Agreed.

Reply

Show 0 replies
Show 1 reply
Show 1 reply
Lily Finch
20:59 May 06, 2023

Kevin, I thought this was going to end this way and while I know it wasn't gong to have a pleasant outcome for our Canonballer I was, as a reader, super happy that your story ended this way. Thank you. Your choice of words and style of writing reflect clear conscious writing that is refreshingly awesome. "My family was only too thrilled to hear via letter that I had rejoined their professional lineage." - You feel he doesn't want to follow in their footsteps somehow as he says and describes his father showing him the right of passage. Suc...

Reply

Story Time
00:50 May 07, 2023

Thank you so much, Lily.

Reply

Lily Finch
05:36 May 07, 2023

You are always welcome. LF6

Reply

Show 0 replies
Show 1 reply
Show 1 reply
Mary Bendickson
06:40 May 06, 2023

💣now that's explosive💣

Reply

Story Time
00:51 May 07, 2023

Thank you so much, Mary.

Reply

Show 0 replies
Show 1 reply
Ken Cartisano
05:36 Aug 18, 2023

He doesn't die, he flies.

Reply

Show 0 replies
Tommy Goround
19:59 May 15, 2023

Oh pardon. Very good story. Motivates some thoughts on purpose of life. Short, entertaining. Effective. Clapping

Reply

Show 0 replies
Tommy Goround
19:54 May 15, 2023

Second story, this week, that seeks freedom in death. First story to 1) have a protag so gorgeous he must be shot 2) vocation via the cannonball. Much more upbeat than Kafka's Hunger Artist. Theme: you cannot escape your destiny. In the notes you say that you did not imagine the death of the cannonballer. Rocking Horse Winner ....you have the same death zeal as portrayed by the child Paul, singularity focused on one escape. (DH Lawrence for those getting deja vous). Worth a second read? Sure. "They would like me to sit at the end of ...

Reply

Story Time
20:19 May 15, 2023

Yeah, I gotta tell you, I really don't think he dies.

Reply

Tommy Goround
20:32 May 15, 2023

Lol

Reply

Show 0 replies
Show 1 reply
Show 1 reply

Bring your short stories to life

Fuse character, story, and conflict with tools in the Reedsy Book Editor. 100% free.