Circus of Silence

Rotten Tomatoes

-ACT II-

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*Under New Management*

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~*~

You run.

You run faster than you ever have before,

so fast that your head bows low and you almost trip and somersault into the dirt.

No one chases you.

No one has to.

~*~

          There was a man whose sole talent was dying on stage.

He'd get up on the stage- under false pretenses, of course- and he would die. He'd walk through the parting curtains and start to say his introduction, and then he would collapse on stage and he would die. Once a night, every night at the show before Whisper's.

The crowd loved it...

Though some sensitive old lady would always have a fit.

He'd get up when the crowds were gone. His pulse would quicken and his lungs would pick up the rhythm buried deep within the Forever Song. They all breathed to the same tune, here. It helped to keep them calm. Keep them captive.

The crowd was reactive. It was the one act here they truly believed wasn't a show. They didn't see that the man had come just to go. They thought that they'd seen something special. One once-in-a-lifetime extravaganza they'd never forget. This time was no different- at least for them.

Rosalind Maybrush screamed, using the front gate of her box to jump into the pit of sand and ash. She screamed and went to her grandmother in a frantic dash. She was too late, much, much too late.

The closer she came to Shula and the Witch, the slower time seemed to go. It may have been magic. It may just have been the way they both started to glow. The Witch went first, her skin peeling of layer by layer like a snake shedding its skin. Before long she was nothing but grey bone, frowning at Shula to the best of her ability.

The veins in the snake-charmer's skin glowed orange and red and yellow, a final freakshow of flashing firelight. Whisper couldn't tell if he knew what was happening. If he could tell his lifeforce was siphoning. She didn't know if he knew he was dying until he bit his thumb at the crumbling crone. Until the face that burned away like paper in fire turned to face her- The Silent Girl who would not be Silenced- and smiled.

Perhaps he thought he'd be seeing that wife and seven children of his. Perhaps he was ready to retire.

He was a living, breathing funeral pyre.

The spell broke.

And then he was gone.

The spell broke and the rancid remains of the Witch seeped into Rosalind as she ran to her, throwing herself to the ground and sobbing. Whisper felt sorry for her- sorry that after all this time she still believed the hag was hers. She was not her grandmother, not directly at least. And she'd played with her mind like bread dough with yeast.

The other carnies were still, but those who were inclined ushered the audience out. For the first time in history, the Circus Everlasting had closed mid show. There was trouble, but it didn't take long for everyone to go. And the second they'd gone, the carnies tried to flee. Whisper thought they were stupid, they'd never get free.

She'd been planning her escape for fifty long years, before her memory book 'Voice' had found the Witch's ears. The one she'd seen smoulder the same way as Shula. Whisper knew what would happen because the Forever Song stopped. That chaos would erupt that couldn't be mopped.

So Whisper stayed still and watched her brother pad over to the girl with the dress bleeding colour. As the soft red and pale yellow and pink piled in puddles in the pit. She watched as the flowers on her hat wilted and died. As Whisper's hopes for Rosalind bubbled and fried. Rosalind, now dressed in black death, grabbed her brother when he came close enough.

Her brother let out a growl that was rather gruff. He tumbled on Rosalind, but the girl had gained strength from her grief. She grabbed hold of the furry flap behind her brother's neck, holding him still as she beckoned to Annie.

"I want this beast shot," said their new and unimproved Witch.

And as silently as the Circus had become, Whisper started to scream.

~*~

No one has to because as you run, the exit gets further and further away.

You won't reach the end by the end of the day.

You sprint until you fall to your knees,

and you know that you're going to get used to tents like these.

Welcome home, someone murmurers. Welcome home.

~*~