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Sunday, July 13th, 2008
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6:22 pm - Slidescope.
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EARLIER Becky’s gown was simple but beautiful. There were flowers in her hair and soon there would be a ring on her finger.
The audience in attendance was turning to watch her walk between the chairs set up in the field as her bare feet padded softly in the dew-covered grass. On the groom’s side all the carnies were watching her. They didn’t look friendly, but Becky knew they were just jealous. The bride’s side was empty. As she approached her future husband his hair caught in the wind. His shirt was unbuttoned to the mid-chest and as he eyed her his lust and adulation was clear. He stood before the alter beneath an arch of small saplings in front of a large lilac bush in full bloom. He looked magnificent. The ceremony was blissfully brief. She couldn’t wait to take him inside her and consummate their wedding.
The faceless priest had them turn to the attendants. She positively radiated victory and beauty as the clergyman announced;“Doctor and Mrs. Celestine.”
It was a wonderful dream. ***************************************** Calliope’s face twisted and she struck a minor chord, purposely missing the 3rd. The result was a dissonant chord that shot out into the carnival.
*****************************************
A tent rope snapped near Celestine and the rope whipped from the tension, striking him in the face.
Doc froze, wincing, and clenched his fists, sucking a long breath between his teeth. He could already feel the welt it was going to leave. He slowly turned toward the big top and looked at it down the midway, seething.
“Wow did that have to sting!” Davey from the guess your age, weight, (and bra size after dark,) came running up to Doc. “Geez, oh man! Are you okay?”
Doc didn’t look at him. He didn’t move at all. He just continued to fume silently, staring at the big top. There was a stark intensity in his gaze that made Davey uncomfortable.
“Doc, you all right?”
Celestine touched the side of Davey’s face. “Here. Hold this for me.”
Davey screamed in pain from the welt appearing on his cheek as Celestine marched to his trailer.
*****************************************
Calliope pulled her hands from the keyboard. It continued to play (it always did) but she was more interested in the emotion that had motivated her to lash out so.
A shingle was one thing, but the rope…
Perhaps it was time to take a walk.
*****************************************
Envy couldn’t have been more pleased.
Before Bloody Mary Black had left and the freak show’s new master had arrived she had enjoyed her existence as an independent; The Dark Maiden., tormentor of Celestine and promoter of his suffering.
What an amateur she had been.
She wondered if Wrath was having as much fun playing with Celestine.
*****************************************
Man? Woman?
As Doc left, Wrath considered staying with Davey to give him a little poke, but following Celestine was just too much fun. Besides, Wrath had yet to determine it’s shape to continue to goad the Master’s Master into a real “Wild Bunch” moment
Man? Woman? Man? Woman?
*****************************************
Celestine shook his head as he marched to his trailer. His display of anger bordered on the cruel. It wasn’t completely out of character, but still, undeserved.
He would need to re-examine the happenings at his carnival, but after he dealt with… distractions.
Throwing open the door, he strode into his trailer, preparing a deliberate yet succinct preamble to facilitate Becky’s leaving via confusion and double talk. Nothing would stop him from brushing her off quickly and firmly.
He underestimated the staggering stopping power of barely 16 year-old breasts.
“Take me,” Becky said, standing naked and moist from her bath. “My love.”
*****************************************
Lust was hacking a lung from laughter.
*****************************************
“I can’t stand it anymore.” Said Becky, pulling Celestine’s coat from him. “You’re holding back. Believe me, I can handle it.”
Doc wasn’t even looking at her. He was staring down and off to the left, at nothing. It looked as if he was mugging for a camera that wasn’t there. His mind was a frantic blur.
Go on, old man, said the Incubus in Celestine’s memory. You’re only as old as the woman you’re feeling. Is not carnality, the goal? The great desire to be human, no matter how much the god-like creature you seem to be?
*****************************************
Man? Woman?
Wrath’s new mouth formed first, a twisted, savage smile. The rest of the body filled in and innocent yet hateful eyes sparkled with inspiration as Wrath took it’s new shape.
“Child.”
*****************************************
As Becky unbuttoned his shirt, removing it, she kissed his chest, down to his stomach. On her knees, she looked up at Doc, eyes full of desire and submission. Celestine finally snapped out of his stupor and looked down at her.
“It’s okay.” She said. “Daddy made sure I was ready.”
The entire trailer shook as if hit by a bus.
******************************************
Wrath was wracked by an almost orgasmic shudder at Celestine’s rage. The sight was discomforting as it looked as though a ten-year old boy had just achieved a very public climax.
*****************************************
Inside of Celestine’s trailer was a nexus of frustration, confusion and rage made manifest. Becky’s naked form hung before him, suspended by his will, her consciousness shut off blissfully saving her from his existential outcry.
Celestine himself was decaying. His flesh was rotting and falling from him, black, corroded bones peeking through the dismal gore.
How… can they… DO… these things…?
His voice was his will made manifest as his jaw finally dropped to the floor from his rotting face.
Celestine’s opinion of mortal, earthly, fleshy, humanity was making itself apparent. He hated flesh. He hated humanity. He hated.
Suddenly Becky fell to the floor. Celestine rushed into the darkness of his trailer. Reality folded, as it always did, revealing one of the many walls of jars.
This wall, however, was different.
DaVinci’s Design of Man was carved into an oak cabinet face. Upon opening it, he gazed in at the many jars he had collected that he felt most defined humanity.
He quickly grasped the small jar labeled; compassion.
Just then, there was a sense of Stevens, his hand on the door.
Celestine quickly returned to Becky. (And his physical health.) Picking her up from the floor, she regained consciousness. Celestine looked her in the eyes. “You have to go.”
Becky kissed him full on the mouth.
*****************************************
Stevens got to Celestine’s trailer faster than he could have beleieved, and opened the door…
Celestine pulled Becky off him. He stood there, half out of his suit. Shirtless, he was holding the shoulders of a very wet, very naked, very young woman. It was the girl, Becky.
“Um. This… well, shit.”
“You know what,” Stevens growled, “I think I’ll take care of this little catastrophe. You’re obviously busy.”
*****************************************
Wrath watched Stevens storm out of the trailer. “Hey Mister!” He yelled.
Stevens stopped short and looked at the boy. “What?” He blurted rather curtly.
Wrath kicked him soundly in the shin, stuck his tongue out and ran behind the trailer.
Stevens blurted an unintelligible response and continued on his way.
*****************************************
Back inside Celestine’s trailer, Doc was still staring at the newly slammed door and a low, deep rumble started in his belly.
Becky turned his face to her and smiled. “It’s okay. It’s okay.”
Celestine opened his mouth and in her father’s voice, said to Becky; “Go, Becky. Now.”
She didn’t need to hear it twice.
*****************************************
He didn’t so much have a real name anymore. All he knew is they all thought of him and referred to him by the same name.
Runt.
His legs were long but too skinny, his paws big, but he just didn’t seem to be growing into them. His snout was shorter and his tail scraggly. His coat had a strange frazzled look to it.
He looked beat up, and there was a reason. He was at the bottom of a long list of pack-mates. And they all throated him at least once every couple days to remind him he was exactly what they treated him as.
Runt.
They all followed the alpha but he had a special kinship to the big grey one. There was a word for what he called her, but he just didn’t know it yet.
Right now he was so distracted he could hardly contain himself. The sights, the smells, the sounds… this place was an explosion in his senses.
Runt started looking for something to pee on.
*****************************************
As he watched her leave in a huff, he spat on the floor. Normally, a glib ‘bad taste in my mouth’ remark could be expected but he wasn’t in the mood. He looked down at hi naked chest and spat again.
“This will not do.”
Celestine wanted new clothes on. And so they were.
His jacket, normally a flamboyant red was black and plain. It still came to his knees and the trim was coated in silver studs. His gloves were missing, revealing his broken hands, bandages long stained with blood. His mock-collar shirt was a deep maroon and the top two buttons were unbuttoned. His vest was leather and seemed to move slightly of its own accord. His pants were leather as well and widened at the base to allow for frighteningly aggressive boots. The right leg was covered mid-thigh to mid calf by a hinged iron harness. His eyes were covered by perfectly round sunglasses. And his top hat was slid slightly forward. His cane had a sharp barbed point at the end, and the dragon figurine on the handle flicked its tongue and slowly moved its tail.
He strode out his trailer and walked o the center of the midway.
No one got in his way.
Planting his cane firmly in the ground, he leaned on it. “Now then…” he said to no one in particular yet all of them at the same time. “What the fuck is going on?”
He opened himself and sensed everything in his carnival.
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(comment on this)
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| Thursday, November 29th, 2007
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3:17 pm - Dramatickle
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Mr K carried the large plywood piece toward the clown-shaped hole in the wall. When he arrived, the good Doctor was looking through it toward the parking lot. "This is just going to be a mess."
"I'll get it." Said the old man.
"The fire trucks are on the way. Police won't be far behind and we have dead pieces of a policeman lying around."
Celestine absentmindedly held the board while Mr. K quickly tacked it into place.
"Destroyed vehicles. Large holes in the soil. Burning cars. Bent hunks of steel. This is a mess."
"I said, I'll get it." Sighed the old grounds keeper, looking down. His eye caught a copper glint in the carnival lighting. "Sarah." He said, smiling.
Doc looked down as well.
"It's a penny."
Mr. K looked wounded. He shook his head in disgust. Producing a handkerchief he gently lifted the coin and examined it.
"It's just a penny." Said Celestine.
"And you're just a carnival owner."
"Touche'."
"This," said the old collector, " is an Indian Head cent. First minted in 1859, engraved by Longacre. A tribute to Native Americans in the form of Lady Liberty in a headdress." He pocketed the coin. "Legend has it the image of liberty is his daughter, Sarah."
"Lovely." Said Doc. "And this helps me with my parking lot how?"
The old man smiled and picked up his hammer. "It's not always about you, Boss."
Celestine shifted his weight and winced. "Oh, come ON! Not you too?"
"I mean," said the old collector, turning back to his employer, "just because it's a lost coin doesn't mean it's just a penny." Turning around and looking at the carnival he said; "And just because a disaster occured doesn't mean it's your fault. Sometimes things just happen."
And he walked away.
Celestine stared at the old man walking away and blinked once. A smile began to creep over his face. A strange, demented giggle began in his throat. He took off his hat and dusted it.
Sometimes the old ways are the best ways.
He threw his head back and shouted.
"HEY, RUBE!"
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(comment on this)
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| Monday, November 26th, 2007
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11:59 am - Structurbine
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Becky's eyes fluttered lightly as she regained consciousness. She sat up and looked around. The room was warm, comfortable and gently lit. She put her hand to her head and tried to conceive of all that was happening. All that had happened.
She remembered a ticket. She went on some rides. Her mother was laughing and... flirting? And her father?
Becky 's mind immediately drifted. It was as if she couldn't hold on to those thoughts. In her mind's eye she remembered him.
The man in the silk top hat.
She had cried. He had held her. She was hurt. He made her feel better.
She lay back down and thought of him. Is this his room? Is this where he stays? She turned and took a deep inhalation of the pillow. It smelled like him. Musky but light. Strong and sweet all at the same time.
Oh my god, what would momma think-
As soon as the scary thoughts formed they floated away and she smiled, swimming in the smell of him.
"Doctor Celestine." She said, closing her eyes, remembering his face and tasting his name. "Mmmmmm."
Looking around, she noticed an old claw-foot bathtub. "Doctor... Celestine." She said again. There was steaming water in it and a towel on a stool.
He drew me a bath? Becky thought to herself. How romantic.
"Doc-tor Celestine." She giggled.
Taking her clothes off, she climbed into the hot bath and sank down into the warm water. Soaking in the tub, she placed a steaming washcloth over her face and slowly dragged her hands down her neck to her chest.
"Celestine." She said.
"What a man."
************************************************************************ Celestine was picking his nose.
He had left Dav and was walking towards the parking lot when he registered there was a problem in his nasal cavity. So he started digging.
Granted, he did have a hankie, and in fairness was furiously trying to get out a small piece of roofing shingle that had bounced up into his nose from it's impact on his wrist but still...
"Groooosssss!" Said a teenage girl walking by. She curled her lip and snarled her derision at him with all the aloof superiority a seventeen year old princess can muster.
Doc froze and looked at her. She was well dressed. She was privileged. She was beautiful. She was wearing a $3000 watch her mother bought for her because it was a Wednesday.
He quickly went into performance mode and placed the hankie on his hand and said; "Do you like birds?" With a flourish he pulled the cloth from his hand revealing his middle finger."Ta-daaa."
The princess threw her nose in the air and stormed off.
Celestine smiled and shook his head.
"Teenagers."
************************************************************************
Clay looked down at the arm on the ground. It was massive.
Violent Clay was no slouch in the strength department, but in terms of sheer muscle this thing was impressive. And well, quite frankly he needed one.
Clay looked around to make sure no one was looking. He set the cop down and side stepped a couple feet closer, whistling nonchalantly. Standing directly over it, he pulled a penny from his pocket and dropped it next to the severed appendage. He bent over to pick up his coin. Suddenly he grabbed the huge arm laying on the ground. “Yoink!” Clay ran through the carnival midway giggling and cackling like a drunken sailor. “Finder keepers!”
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(comment on this)
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| Wednesday, November 21st, 2007
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2:57 pm
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Roger was a good man. Which meant when he joined the force he was a good cop. This meant when he trained with his weapon he was a good shot. This meant when he shot Violent Clay in the head it was a dead-bang. The clown’s body stiffened and fell off his partner Gerry. The grotesque face with the jaw hanging loose turned to face Roger. The eyes were empty and dead. Gerry was burning from the mid-chest up. The smell of burning hair and flesh and uniform blew into Roger’s face. “Omigod… oh my… Oh my God.” Roger was doing his best not to vomit. The burning face sizzled as it tried to smile. Gerry, (or what was once Gerry,) reached out to Roger with his hand. Roger was struck with an overwhelming urge. Training. He was still locked in his training. Training said; an officer being attacked must be assisted immediately. So he shot the clown (wasn’t I specifically not supposed to do that?) in the head before he killed a fellow officer. Now that officer was burning and extending his hand for help. Roger was about to approach and help his fellow officer when Gerry was chopped at the knees by a tiny muscle builder in a Coors Light T-shirt. ********************************************************************** Celestine was doing an inventory. Jacket. Hat. Gloves. Vest. Cane. Girl still sleeping? Yes. Good.
He was gently shutting the door of his trailer when a shingle fell and hit him on the back of his hand.
This may not seem like a big deal to most. Doctor Celestine is a collector of scars. This is a metaphor often used to describe the emotionally, mentally and socially injured people he collects about him. But his body is its own collection. Beneath his black gloves is one of his worst. Many have often caught a peek of the bandages he hides beneath his puffy sleeves and gloves. Few have seen why. Due to an unfortunate idiom design, Doc carries with him the wounds that made him what and who he is. One of those wounds is a permanent set of blistered, broken and bleeding hands. These wounds are halfway up his forearms. Daily use is not too painful for him, but intense and sudden impacts are. Very small is the list of performers who have received applause from Celestine. And when it is given, it is appreciated. So when Celestine says he’s going to give you a slap on the wrist, well… “Ow.” Doc looked up at the roof. It was solid. No disrepair. Which meant- “She is annoyed, Boss.” Doc looked over at the voice. To say the man facing him was round would be being unfair to the planet Jupiter. He was a collection of mass shaped like a spherical human. Massive and bubbling with a child-like joy, wearing an incredibly well-fitting lab coat, tattered at the edges. Clipped to the left collar was a Hello Kitty key chain and clipped to the right collar was a pin of the sign Aries. It was Dav. The TicketMastyr. “Extremely annoyed.” “I… heard you.” Hissed Celestine, holding his wrist. “Harsh mistress.” “I’m closing the walls. The parking lot has become a playground for kids who don’t play
well with others, Doc.”
“Fine, then-“ Celestine winced and doubled over. “Go. Kill. Return.” He said in Dana’s voice, and dropped to one knee. This will not do. ********************************************************************** |
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(comment on this)
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| Tuesday, November 20th, 2007
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4:39 pm - Stirrupchuck
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Doc sat over Becky, gently petting her hair. She was sleeping. She was having nightmares. She was broken. She was abused.
She was beautiful.
"Rest now." He said. "When you wake up, we'll get you set up and right as rain."
He sat in his chair and stared at her. Children were always best when they slept. Certainly the girl was no child by age. And considering what her father had done to her and her mother had allowed she was older than she looked in some ways but there was a child in there, certainly. And she was wounded.
"Sleep. I need a moment."
Sitting on the edge of his chair he seethed. This night was grinding on the customers. On his staff. On him. He had a mad on and needed to get a grip.
"Let's get a little closer to the source, shall we?" He said to Becky's sleeping body.
He rested back into his chair and closed his eyes, listening to Calliope's song. He rubbed his gloved thumb across his first finger making a gripping sound and watched the music dissolve to find her voice beneath it.
As he slowly opened his eyes he watched the room dissolve away and his carnival take shape around him. His eyed drooped as though he were drunk or aroused. His mouth thickly opened and he licked his lips.
"Hello baby."
He appeared to be floating in the air, sitting in his comfortable chair. His end table was with him and so was Becky, her cot floating across from him. They were floating over the big top with the center post thrust upward between them. He sluggishly smiled and reached out for the central post. His leather gloves groaned against the old wood.
"Show me." He said, and sat back.
***********************************************************
The hole was too comical. It was shaped like you would expect; a running figure. Clay took his mind from it and crouched low to the ground. His bulbous red clown nose twitched and altered shape with each sniff. Sometimes he hated the permanence of the clown nose, but its size did help with tracking.
…car exhaust… …grease… …urine, always urine… …what the fuck is that?
He was just lifting his head when he saw the cop. He was standing there, squaring off against the clown. Violent Clay stared at what could only be the stupidest or most suicidal officer he'd ever met. By his stance, the cop was actually challenging him.
"Hey! Piggy! What th'fuck do you think you're do-"
Clay stopped talking when his left nostril started to curl. He sniffed again. "You smell bad, piggy." He crouched on his haunches. "Real bad."
A low growl started in the clown's throat. Whatever this thing was, it wasn't a cop anymore. It was stinking of things Violent Clay hadn't smelled on this side of the veil.
Clay spat. "This is gonna hurt."
The thing that was once Gerry tilted its head, making cracking noises with the spine. "Thisssss… gonnnn- nah… hrrrrrrt." It answered him, phonetically. "…pig-geeeee."
Clay's eyes popped wide.
Did it just taunt me?
Clay curled his lips back and ground his teeth. The blood from his gums started trickling down his chin. "I'ma be down, Down with the clown, 'Till I'm dead in the ground."
Clay launched himself into the air and into the chest of the Skindancer/Officer Gerry. The impact would have been more impressive had it not been Clay's thorax impacting the palm of the Skindancer, stopping and suspending him in mid-air.
Clay raved and squirmed like an angry cat, clawing at the wrist of the officer. As the flesh started to give way, he realized that shredding the officer would be useless. As suddenly as her ferocious attack started, it ceased. He dangled there for a moment in the grip of the Skindancer.
"Well, fuck."
The Skindancer's smile was starting to tear at Officer Gerry's skin. "Ffffffuh-cccckckkkkk." it snarled, and threw him through a 2006 Hummer. Rupturing everything as he went through it, he was covered in grease and gasoline when he hit the Peterbuilt semi tractor and its engine block stopped his forward motion. Peeling himself out of the
wreckage, some wires began to spark.
"You've got to be kiddi-"
The rest of what he said was lost in the gasoline explosion.
***********************************************************
Becky moaned and rolled over.
Celestine cursed himself for not having popcorn for this.
***********************************************************
Brick scratched at his right forearm tattoo. The skull and gothic vines surrounding it were twisting with his musculature. He followed close behind the officer and wondered how the poor dumb bastard got himself into this.
He's charging headlong into battle. With a gun. Against a 'Skinwalker,' whatever that is.
He shuddered at the idea. He'd gone toe-to-toe with some freaky shit before and found he had no taste for it. He was a straight-up kind of guy.
Rubes causing trouble? No problem. Kick the shit out of them.
Drunks attacking some poor victim? Easy. Kick the shit out of them.
Some date-raping jock having an unapproved thrill behind a tent? Knock him out, get her safe, kick the shit out of him and violate him with a garden hose.
Big tentacles coming out of the Labyrynth? Ethereal cats? Black fire?
"Pass, thanks."
Officer Roger turned back to Brick. "You say something?"
"Just thinking out loud." Brick looked over the trunk of a Lexus at the flames. They were just a couple rows from ground zero.
Roger was staring at the weapon in the short man's hand. He gave a small laugh.
Brick's chip on his shoulder twitched. "Something funny?"
Roger licked the sweat from his upper lip. "Your… uh… weapon." He nodded at the twisted metal in Brick's hand. More and more had been added as they approached the scene. It was quite impressive. "My son plays these video games. One of the characters has this sword. Big one. Too big for him to carry by far. Like a- a- a screen door with a
handle on it."
Brick looked at his weapon. It was twice as long as him and he was hefting it with one hand. He looked back at the officer. "So?"
Roger smiled. "Just glad you got it." He looked at his puny pistol and cocked his head. Making up his mind he nodded and said; "Let's do this."
Brick couldn't help but smile.
He has no idea what he's facing but he's doing his job. Dammit, I guess I'll have to keep him alive. Too nice a guy to let die.
"I'll go left. Try and get behind." He looked Roger in the eyes. "Don't. Shoot. The Clown."
Roger nodded. Brick scooted around him and looked around the front of the Lexus. "Be careful…" he said and slapped the cop on the shoulder.
"Ow. You too." Roger took a deep breath and scuttled the two rows to the edge of a minivan. He stepped around the rear and leveled his weapon.
"DON'T MO- …oh dear God…"
***********************************************************
Clay wasn't trying to put himself out so much as figure out a way to catch the Skindancer on fire.
He launched himself out of the Peterbuilt's frame and connected his knee with the Skindancer's jaw. It didn't even have the decency to look angry that the jaw was shattered. It staggered a few steps backward and VC finished his flip landing on the hood of a cavalier.
The Skindancer/cop's hair was smoking a bit, but not burning yet. Throwing his fist down, Clay shattered the front window. He reached down, picked up a handful of the glass, and ground his fist into it. He was still on fire.
The Skindancer turned and observed the clown savaging his hand. VC raised his fist. It was now a mounting for dozens of pieces of broken glass. The clown was giggling with his mouth closed deep in his throat.
The broken face of the Skindancer's host contorted. A gagging sound came from the throat. Somewhere in the human brain was registering the urge to smile. The body was already deteriorating and it was taking a lot of energy to keep it animated. But this painted creature was delightful. And it was coming to play some more. Clay started a skipping run, rolled into a crouch and leapt into the air. He landed on the shoulders of the Skindancer/cop and started slamming his hand into its head and face. The chunks of broken glass that were mounted in his bones and skin tore into the head as VC twisted his hand with every punch. The mouth of the clown puffed and Clay spit the mouthful of engine oil he was saving from the semi tractor onto the cop in a burst of burning spray. That was when the bullet hit him in the forehead. ***********************************************************
Becky was quietly drooling on the pillow. Celestine slapped his hand to his head.
***********************************************************
Brick was coming around the fight and pinching serrated edges into his blade. Clay was pounding glass into his hand making it a jagged club and Brick just shook his head. He fought with Violent Clay before and generally didn’t trust the sonofabitch. All this and it’s just a cop. He planted his legs and swung his makeshift club/sword/deadly-hunk-of-steel over his shoulder. Watching the clown tumble he landed on the cop, still on fire. He was punching the cop over and over with crushing blows. The cop didn’t move.
Ah, hell. What kind of hoodoo-voodoo horseshit is this?
Violent Clay spit the oil spray on the cop’s head. He still didn’t move. That’s when the bullet went through Clay’s brain. Brick charged. ***********************************************************
Celestine Blinked and closed off the vision. It was time to get personal. Checking on Becky, he put on his coat and top hat and went for the door. It was time to talk to The TicketMastyr.
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(comment on this)
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| Tuesday, November 6th, 2007
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12:52 pm - Drinkblot
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All in all it was another day at the carnival.
*************************************************************
She was leaning on he left elbow on the counter, staring down the midway with her back against the wall. Celestine stared at her profile and she was, as usual, completely oblivious to him.
"He was blonde, right? No. Wait. he was dark-haired. Who cares, he was hot!!! Wait, no... that's not right, is it? No, it's not. It wasn't him... not him... Not him, not him, the game? The Game? The Game. The Game was like... like... like... porn hot! Gotta do it again."
"So soon?" Asked Celestine, directly in front of her, patiently waiting for her to register his arrival. It would be worth it just to see the expression on her face.
"Oh, hell yeah! Are you kidding? I could do that for hours!" She continued to stare down the midway, beginning to search for her new victim. "After all, women are designed to. Guys just get one shot then they're done but we," She almost looked right into the Doctor's face, but rolled her eyes closed with lascivious joy. "-we can have multiple-"
"I know, thank you." Doc took a cigarette from his vest pocket. "But who? There's so many to choose from and you're such a hungry, dirty little-"
"The first one I see when I open my eyes." She said, and she opened them.
Doctor Celestine was standing with his feet firmly planted in front of her. His cane was stuck in the dirt and his hands cupped the flame from his zippo as he lit his Nat Sherman. He was staring right at her, and her at him. The fire reflected in his eyes and Ania slowly realized she'd been talking out loud. And to whom.
I was right, thought Celestine, it was worth it.
*************************************************************
Lady Ambrosia skipped along the midway and arrived at Lady Stacybug's Playland. She knew she could go to town and get her unicorn but Celestine said whenever she did she always had to take an adult. Lady Stacybug was chittering something to the children playing in the jungle-gym and they began crawling about in different directions. Ambrosia liked it when Stacybug talked in her own language. It made her ears tickle.
Stacybug smelled Ambrosia when she crossed the threshold of her domain and her antennae twitched with (joy? anticipation? love?) notice of her arrival.
"Hello, Ambrosia." Stacybug said, bending down to her. "May I assist you?"
"Sure, Queenie!" Ambrosia said. She loved to call her Queenie and it (pleased? engendered? excited?) was noted by Stacybug. "I want to go into town. Can you go with me?"
"Certainly." Clicked Lady Stacybug. "Just one moment." She walked to the midway and looked about. She knew she could go to town but Celestine said whenever she did she always had to take an adult.
Her eyes spotted him and she positively twitched with (pleasure? excitement?) adequacy. "Brick? Precious? Can you help us?"
**************************************************************
Brick looked up at the big woman.
She wasn't fat or obese, she was just tall and matronly and he was the world's smallest giant. He liked her, though, when she wasn't being creepy as hell.
He looked past her and saw it. His weakness. His complete and utter helplessness. It shrieked and tackled him.
"Unca Brick!" Ambrosia yelled and jumped on him. He caught her easily and spun her around.
"How are you?" he smiled and got his hand under her feet. "Straight legs!" She locked her feet and legs together straight and he balanced her easily in his left hand.
"Can you take us into town? Pwetty pwease?"
She only used her W's when she really wanted something. I suppose the beer will have to wait.
"Sure, pumpkin." He set her down and looked at Stacybug. "I suppose by 'we' she means you too?"
"If you wouldn't mind."
Brick sighed and said; "Meet me at the old Ford. I gotta get the keys."
Ambrosia grabbed Lady Stacybug's hand and they made their way to the front gate. Brick walked back to the supply tent and swapped out the keys for the Oldsmobile for the keys to the old, rusty ford.
I hate that Ford.
Walking to the parking area, he passed an argument near the outer edge of "The Dragon's Tail," the roller-coaster that surrounded the carnival. Weaver and some tall, over-muscled asshole that gave Brick "the hairy eye" were getting into it for some reason.
"Whatever." He said, filing away the asshole's face to deal with later and started up the Ford.
**************************************************************
Thunk was getting tired of this.
Everywhere he went people were weird, rude and thought they were better than him. he wondered when Todd was going to just give the word and let him do what he wanted. And now some short little fucker was eye-balling him. He had gone to thew house of mirrors but knew she was already out. Then he-
...well....
He just didn't know what to do.
He couldn't work it out, so he decided to wait for Todd. he looked down at the ground and noticed a small piece of metal. "Cotter pin." He said, twisting it around in his fingers.
"Jesus key!" Someone screamed. Then someone else. Then someone else. Finally a heavy-set man with big eyes in dirty work clothes came running up to him. "Oh." He said. "Yeah." he said. "Bad." he said.
Quietly, Mr. Weaver was freaking out. "This is bad. Really bad!" he was pointing at the pin in Thunk's hand. To Thunk it wasn't a big deal. It was just a cotter pin and wasn't deserving of all the nonsense.
"Fuck, man." Thunk growled. "Let me see it. I'll find out where it goes."
"Proper place! Everything in it's proper place!" Weaver was losing his shit to Thunk and he would much rather search the entire roller-coaster for one missing cotter pin than listen to him shriek like a girl.
He started climbing the south-western face of The Dragon's Tail and checked every joint and connection. Weaver was finally silenced by the meticulous way he searched and the ease with which he skittered across the iron scaffolding.
"Find it find it find it find it." He was chanting.
**************************************************************
There were times when the ever friendly "Doc" would become "Doctor Celestine, Master and Ruler of His Domain, Owner and Proprietor of Dr. Celestine's Carnival of Souls."
This was one of them.
The fire in his eyes was like an inferno. Twin suns burning her, flaking her flesh away from her brittle bones, her blood boiling then ashing, craving fresh blood to live. God I don't want to die, let me feed, let me live I don't want to DIE!
She fell to the counter and bumped her head. When she picked it up and rubbed the bump Celestine was exhaling his first puff of smoke.
"James?" He asked.
She pointed down the midway.
"Thank you." He said. And walked away.
Ania peed a little.
**************************************************************
All in all it was another day at the carnival.
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| Monday, November 5th, 2007
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9:00 pm - Turnaboutshine
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Celestine was running.
For a man with a bum knee he could haul ass pretty well. He came to a skidding halt in the gravel exactly before the games of chance. Ania was smoking a cigarette and looked like she'd been put away wet. His teeth ground and he cursed under his breath, slowly.
"...mother...."
Celestine shook his head and stared at her pale hand trailing about her collarbone as the other placed the smoke between her pouty red lips. It was positively obscene.
"...fucker..."
He planted his cane in the gravel, absentmindedly making patterns and lines and shapes. Where could James have gone? And why leave HER to play The Game? Distressing didn't even begin to cover it.
He walked stridently past carnival-goers without the slightest regard or greeting. A wandering hot dog vendor noticed this minor (yet important) detail and decided to take his cart elsewhere. Arriving at the counter he leaned his elbows on the ragged wood and waited for her to re-connect to reality. In the meantime her jabbering would entertain him.
*************************************************************
Lady Ambrosia was bored.
She slowly flipped tarot card after tarot card and found no joy, solace or pain in the images, messages, truths, hints and possibilities there. She looked around her trailer and decided it needed some new things. Too many old and stuffy remnants about. What she needed was;
"A unicorn. Bright pink! And NOT from here."
The nine year old seer hopped down from her chair, straightened her dress and walked out of her trailer.
**************************************************************
Brick needed a drink.
The Strogman had been lifting things all day for the delight of the crowds and had only had to whip three asses due to smart remarks. Being just over five foot caused a lot of lip from the crowd. Being the strongest man in the world generally silenced them. Still, there were assholes who needed to prove themselves by poking fun at "BRICK - The World's Smallest Giant." It usually ended in a hospital stay for them and paperwork for Stevens and Brick needing a beer.
He changed into his work boots and pulled on a Coors Light T-shirt. "Time to open up a can of something other than whoop-ass." He said and grabbing the keys to a 1968 Olds, he headed for the front gate.
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8:14 pm - mea culpa
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As of just this moment I have completed a three-week process of figuring out my password.
...just 10 minutes before I must leave the cyber-cafe.
New post in a few days.
Watch out.... it's gonna get sticky.
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(comment on this)
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| Sunday, April 11th, 2004
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3:35 pm - Movemental
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The Engineer was staring at the space between.
"Interesting.” He said, arms crossed and lightly rubbing his bottom teeth with his index finger.
He began to rub his hands together, a slight humming noise growing in his belly. His hands began to move to his forearms, then his neck and head, then his chest. They covered his whole body and then began to move outward, the tone now escaping him. As his focus changed, so did reality about him. His hands guiding his focus he dreamed and observed a world taking shape. Images, thoughts, sounds, smells, ideas... His dance quickened and slowed, changed pace and tempo, as he doubted and believed himself to truth. He stepped between and the noise in his belly left his throat and became words.
"A hollow branch. A mother. An offering, unrelieved.”
He transformed himself and danced the space between again. The world changed.
"A grimace. A violent scribble. A coward’s cut.”
The pace became frantic as he began to stretch and fill the places between worlds.
"Planets colliding. A clock stopping. An unwilling thief escapes.”
His body shattered and articulated joints in every molecule.
"A gloved hand, shaking. A betrayal. A painted man.”
His focus settled and he looked around. He stood in the middle of a large tent. A broad-shouldered man in a long coat, cane and top hat had his back to him. Without turning the top hat asked; “Why are you in my tent?”
The Engineer felt the sand and dirt beneath his bare feet and took a long breath, tasting dreams and fears on his tongue. “Should I go?”
The man in the top hat turned to look at him. He had a beard and worried features. Dazzling blue eyes that sat under a king’s brow. He smiled a tired smile and doffed his hat to wipe his brow. “That all depends on what you have come for, visitor. Do you have a ticket?”
“A what?”
The man leaned on his cane, with an indulging grin. “A ticket. An invitation? A reason to be here?”
He thought about this a long time, then answered; “Not yet.”
“Then perhaps it’s best if we speak later, yes?” He put on his top hat, tipping it to him and walked away. “Good day, then.”
The Engineer woke up on the floor of his haven. He rose, walked to his mirror and looked at himself again. Still the same. "Interesting.” He said, turning away, arms crossed and lightly rubbing his bottom teeth with his index finger.
“Very interesting.”
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(comment on this)
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12:55 pm - Semantickle
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Again sight clears. I am slick with blood. I discover I no longer feel pain. Animals gather around me, enemies of old, to watch me die. I give them what I hope will appear a sheepish smile. My heart booms terror. Will the last of my life slide out if I let out breath? They watch with mindless, indifferent eyes, as calm and midnight black as the chasm below me.
Is it joy I feel?
They watch on, evil, incredibly stupid, enjoying my destruction. "Poor Grendel's had an accident," I whisper. "So may you all."
From Grendel by John Gardner
---------------------------------------------
Perc Heddren believed he was an artist.
In keeping with the style of his rebelliously-white, suburban-hip, 20-something generation he had been out all evening passing between dancing, drinking, smoking and beat-mixing until his dreadlocks hurt. All part and parcel of his desperate attempt to not be a dork.
Until he saw Anthony Grey.
Anthony Grey was a respectably-white, borderline-middle-aged, self-proclaimed headmaster of all that is held sacred by the city's intelligencia. And he was a critic for the local newspaper. His specialization was in using a great deal of big words, keeping his audience running to their thesaurus to truly enjoy one of his reviews. He was also a dork.
You can see where this is going.
The entire fiasco began the previous fall. An avante-guarde theater had produced an origional production in which Perc had starred. The specific point of tension in the review by Anthony Grey went as such;
"...played by Percival Heddren, a white, suburban kid who thinks that wearing dreadlocks makes him look like anything but a dork."
Thus, the great Dork War began.
It had been a year, however, and had it been left alone a little longer all of it might have blown over. But Tony Grey walked into the club that Perc was in and the incident occurred.
It should have been a simple matter of dastardly looks across the bar, a few mumbled threats to their friends to make themselves feel big, and then everybody leaves.
That would have been nice.
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(comment on this)
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| Saturday, December 7th, 2002
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1:35 pm - Beginagain.
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Dr. Celestine sat in his trailer. He smoldered in his chair staring at the stacks of stapled stories in front of him on his oak coffee table. His pants were a heavy black material. They were classy, but good for labor as well and hung over strong black work boots. His shirt was a flashy shade of red covered by a shiny black leather vest with ornate silver buttons. His ankle-long black leather jacket looked modern but still held an eighteenth century style to it. It hung on a coat rack near his chair with his black top hat and black posted, silver dragon-headed cane lying below. His black leather gloves were adjusted and then adjusted again as he fumed, quietly.
His face was a mask of worry and rage. He had rugged Scottish features with a hint of boyish charm. His hair was medium length and of a reddish-blonde color that was thinning. His face was rounded but not overly chubby and looked as though it belonged with the thick beard he wore. His eyes were lightning blue and sat under a powerful brow. And the intensity they could pour forth was never so intense as it was now.
There was a knock at his door. He waited for the third round of knocking and calling for him before he moved.
He stood up and started to put on his jacket. “Come.” He said, waiting for the door to open. As it did, the ghostly apparition of Madam Dana appeared through the open doorway. Literally. She passed through the door, the frame and the open space as though they were all the same in resistance for her. Her flowing clothes seemed to fade back and forth between black and white. Her features were tragically and horrifically beautiful.
They are ready, sir.
“Thank you, Dana.” He popped his top hat on and twirled his cane once before he reached down and picked up the stack of stories. He walked strongly across the floor and out the door.
The carnival was barren. The skies were reflecting Celestine’s mood. In this space in-between places and times Celestine’s own essence was all that was needed to sustain them all. As he reached the big top he marched to the center ring. As he reached the podium there, the lights faded except for one gold one shining on him.
Looking through the darkness he beheld them all.
Dante. Wraith and artist.
Bloody Mary. Lycanthrope and enforcer.
Mr. James. Gambler and nemesis.
Violent Clay. Clown and corpse.
Ania. Vampire and paranoid.
Songflower. Crusader and stage manager.
Mr. Weaver. Dragon and ride master.
Lady Ambrosia. Wise woman and fortune teller.
Madam Dana. Horror master and tortured spirit.
Stephan. Ringmaster and elitist.
B.B. Wolf. Sin-eater and demon.
Mr. Johnson. Animal handler and masochist.
Dav. Ticket master and trickster.
Arianna. Contortionist and sadist.
Jade. Guardian and fallen angel.
Gypsy. Acrobat and fairy.
D. Concession stands operator and escapist.
…and so many more.
With each of them and their respective crews, plus the scads of carnies, the big top was almost full.
“My friends. My lovers. My brothers. My sisters. My children.” He paused looking at each of them in turn. There were hundreds. He smiled, wryly. “Ladies… and gentlemen.” He held aloft the stack of papers. “This… will not do!” The papers suddenly burst into flames in his hand. “Are we to let ourselves be so easily defined? Are we not more than what we all once were? Are we to let ourselves fall into such easy obscurity? Simple creatures know not the deepest secrets of your hearts! They write of us for entertainment! They speak for us for amusement! They have forgotten what fear and truth are!”
The crowd had begun to respond. Celestine always knew how to motivate groups.
“I say…” He smiled, reaching into his coat and producing a jar. The light above him went dead. The glow of the jar illuminated his face and chest in an eerie gold glow. “I say we show them.”
You could feel the energy of the entirety of the crowd as they reveled in this thought.
“Let it begin. To your duties, all. The Carnival will be moving shortly.”
The big top emptied with everyone rushing to where they felt they needed to be. As Celestine continued to stare at the jar, he began intoning under his breath in Latin.
“Nescio quid maius nascitur Carnival…”
As the ringmaster watched him, he translated.
“Something greater than the Carnival now springs to birth.”
“…Omnia iam fient fieri quae posse negabam…”
“Everything that could not happen happens now.”
“…Certum est quia impossibile…”
“It will happen because it is impossible”
“…Forsan et haec olim meminisse iuvabit…”
The Ringmaster paused as he watched Celestine weep.
“Perhaps one day it will be pleasant to remember these things.”
The carnival quaked with the shudders of transformation.
It passed from the world between.
And each and every member screamed with the pain of birth.
They were moving into the world.
Celestine threw his head back and laughed the laugh of the perfectly and rationally insane.
They were becoming real…
And soon, the rest of the world world would know.
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(2 comments | comment on this)
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| Friday, December 6th, 2002
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3:33 pm
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Dr. Celestine downloaded all the stories online about his carnival. He had them printed and stapled at a print shop and walked out the door. When he passed through he was in his trailer.
He sat down to read.
*******************************************
There is a change coming in this storyline.
And to this community.
And to this Concept.
To all authors: be prepared.
If you have any questions, please e-mail me.
-GA
********************************************
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(comment on this)
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| Tuesday, August 13th, 2002
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4:10 pm - Wraithimble
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Mr James stormed up to the trailer. There it stood, in it's 17th century wagon style. At least that seems not to have changed. Thought James as he walked deliberatly toward the steps.
-----------------------------------------------------
0010100010010fluid00101001011101010
10breathing10101001010blink10010101
000111010cynergistic001010time01001
01space00100calliope0100010infinite
010110flesh1101001omniscience001010
0failure10100restart10010100flesh11
101bone010010fluid010001breathe0101
-----------------------------------------------------
Dr. Celestine was staring at the enormous jar in his trailer. It stood at least 12 feet in height and was easily six feet in diameter. It still resembled a Mason jar. Simple, flawed and antiquated. There were cables running into the tin lid from all the shelves of jars within his home. When he heard the stern yet unassuming knock at the door he barely turned his head (his eyes never leaving the large jar) to say;
“…come...”
Mr. James threw open the door and marched to stand beside Celestine, profiling him.
“Listen.” He said, “I have tolerated many things in my employ here at the Carnival and I have suffered more indignities and simple failures of your employees but this ‘uniform’ business has gone too what in the world is that?” Mr. James had finally turned his attention to the enormous jar. Floating within the shimmering liquid was a man with too many cables flowing from his mouth towards the top of the jar.
“That…” Said Celestine, taking a light puff from his Nat Sherman, “…is birth.”
James could not help but approach the thing. The man inside, though mildly obscured by the glass could be easily recognized as Celestine. James leaned in to the jar, resting his head against it and closing his eyes. (It was quite cool.) He slowly banged his head against it.
“Do you have any idea how frustrating you are?” He asked. “The cathartic pulsing of this carnival is like an earthquake, not the occasional flash of lighting mirroring insight it should be. This is ridiculous.”
“Not my doing.” Celestine said, finally looking away to pick up his brandy bottle and pour a glass for James. “And it’s not another replacement, so don’t get all excited.”
James opened his eyes and looked at the floater again. He was Celestine, true enough, but he looked too plastic, synthetic. Moreover, he was wearing the same outfit James was. As thedawning realization crept over James’ face he looked at the good Doctor. “I’m going to run you over with Molly. Then I’m going to back over you. Then I’m going to offer free tickets to those who wish to do so as well. But… before I do… get. Me. Out. Of. This. Costume.
“I did not put you in it, James. As a matter of fact… no-one did. Haven’t you noticed that it is just… there? No means of putting it on. No means of taking it off.” He handed James the brandy. “Much like his.”
As James took the brandy, he considered throwing it in the Doc’s face. But that would have been a waste of good brandy. Still, after he took his first sip he allowed the almost full glass to shatter on the floor. Celestine was covered in a complicated grid-like patters that was dissecting him piece by piece. After the jigsaw puzzle shifted and warped the jar man twitched and the liquid frothed. As Celestine fell to the floor, James caught his arm and tried to steady him. Celestine seemed to be fading in and out as if his plug were being jiggled out of the wall. With every fade, the liquid glowed and the jar man pulsed. Celestine seethed with his eyes closed and sweat poured down his brow as he collapsed in the chair.
-----------------------------------------------------
0010100010010fluid00101001011101010
10breathing10101001010blink10010101
000111010cynergistic001010time01001
01space00100calliope0100010infinite
010110flesh1101001omniscience001010
0failure10100restart10010100flesh11
101bone010010fluid010001breathe0101
-----------------------------------------------------
Mr. James helped Celestine into his chair in a more comfortable position and then turned to observe the jar a little more openly. It’s true… he wasn’t a replacement… but he was being created. And he wore the new ‘uniform’ albeit with a few Celestine-like eccentricities. He smelled the room and realized the ozone smell that was offending his nostril was centered on Celestine and where he was standing originally and not from the jar. Without another word he crossed to the door and exited. He headed towards the house of games, passing Ania on the way. She tried her best to cover her pink shoes and get in front of him.
“Hey boss-“
James was busy in the middle of something, so as he hurried by he held out a finger. It was the ‘in a minute’ guesture. As he ran past her, extremely occupied and blowing her off, Ania held out a finger as well. You can guess what it was.
Entering his tent, (now a set refugee from an episode of Logan’s Run,) he went to his quarters. His glasses were on his nightstand. (he hadn’t even noticed that he wasn’t wearing them.) The room smelled of ozone. He looked in the mirror, trying them on. He could not see with them on anymore, so he took them off. Standing in the mirror was Mr. James reflected back at him, terrycloth robe and all.
With his glasses on.
The two looked at each other and examined their features. The James in the mirror looked normal but very uncomfortable. “So that’s what I look like when I have to wait for the bathroom to be empty.” He said. In the middle of the ‘my, but you are a handsome devil’ thought, James had a breakthrough. As he smiled at the reflection having difficulty with the concept of a pimple and said;
“I daresay we are being… copied.”
As the mirror-James soiled himself and looked down in horror at the inconceivable concept, James went outside. There had to be soft spots between the two carnivals. He just had to find them. As he made his way down the midway, Ania tried to stop him again.
“Sir, Clay is doing some fucked-up-“
“Not NOW Ania, I’m busy.”
Ania hissed at him walking away and decided to look for someone else who wanted to hear about Clay passing through walls.
-----------------------------------------------------
“…..Ouch….”
Celestine opened his eyes and looked at the jar man. He was staring at him with his hands pressed against the inside of the glass.
“00100101011010desist01001010with00101001your001010010
resistance100101010010source00101001and001010the00101001
0010duality00110100will001010110cease00101000010101101”
Celestine snorted his derision at the facsimile. “Up yours, xerox. One of them has figured it out. I knew I could count on James.” He couldn’t help but notice how much the facsimile looked like the Symmetrical Man.
“11010010The00101001duality00111010100must001011010end00101
00101cease00101001your10010100resistance1001010the001010001
10010James0100100unit01011010is0110100duplicated101001000010
01010100once0010100the1001001reproduction010110is001010010
001101complete00101we0010100will100101001be0010010the1010011
1101001010new10100100110carnival1001001and0100100you100101
0110100will1001010be010110obselete101001010was-celestine110100”
“And with a major player like James already yours I am as good as beaten, yes.” Celestine smiled and he rose to get his coat. “But what is the chance that the copy and the original were switched?”
“0010010100impossible001010000the0100100odds010010are00101010near10010010infinite10010”
Celestine nodded. “That they are.” The two of them stared at each other across the room for what seemed to be an interminable amount of time. As he finally accepted that the staredown would last forever, he walked outside, slamming his door.
“This will not do.”
He looked at the world of his carnival and between them, trying to spot the bridges and it made his head hurt. Grunting, he made for entrance.
“This will not do at all.”
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(comment on this)
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| Friday, June 7th, 2002
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5:03 pm - Changel
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Mr. James stood in front of the mirror and scowled at his "uniform". Leather and plastic had it's place in the world of fashion but it was a planet that he had never desired to visit.
And what was worse, it was, indeed, uniform. Every employee that he had gone to investigate their transformation (covered in a terrycloth robe to hide his newly adorned body) had also suffered the same clothing disorder.
It can often unnerve a person when they wake up in a full suit of black synthetic, form-fitting, rubberized wool with no visible means to remove it. No zippers. No buttons. No velcro. No visible means of removing the "suit". Nor any means of indulging in those necessities that make life bearable. Like going to the bathroom.
James decided to find Celestine.
And a can-opener if he must.
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(comment on this)
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| Wednesday, January 23rd, 2002
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1:23 am - nuh...nuuhhhh....nhhhh...
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Dougie Milton had been a conspiracy theorist for a long time. It started back in his youth when he played Dungeons and Dragons with his friends. He had loved the idea of fairies and dwarves and elves and dragons and goblins and magic. As he grew older his skill at math made him an excellent candidate to become a DM. (That?s Dungeon Master for the geek-illiterate.) He found himself drawn to other ideas. Vampires, werewolves, aliens and the like. He even found a girl who didn?t mind his hobbies and interests.
Jennifer.
She was everything John Hughes taught him to look for in the perfect girl. She was absolutely beautiful. She had a smile that would make your knees buckle. He could remember every detail of her. Including the first day she touched him. It was on his hand at lunch hour his junior year. She was a sophomore. He had dropped his binder and it landed and bounced across her foot. People laughed. She just smiled, handed it back to him and when he apologized until he though he would die, she smiled, touched his hand and said it was okay. She asked him his name and he said Doug, but people called him Dougie. She asked if she could call him Douglas. He said yes. Then he asked her what she should call her. She said;
Jennifer.
It sang in his ears. It was the perfect name for the perfect girl.
But that was 1984. In 1985 everything went wrong. They all laughed at him. They all turned on him. Even her.
Jennifer.
She begged him to seek therapy. She even said she?d stand by him as he tried to understand his delusion. But Dougie knew it was no fantasy. There were aliens? and they had taken him. It was the only possible explanation for the time lost. For the scars he bore. For the age he showed. He had always looked a little ?fresh? for his age. Smooth skin and fair complexion with not even the slightest hint of blemish. The other boys at school told him he had skin like a girl. But after the three days he was missing in 1985 his skin didn?t look so ?fresh? anymore. He was sporting some new scars that looked to be years old. Yet he had only been gone three days. They were healed over and had already begun to fade. There were more lines around his eyes and his complexion had taken on a gray pallor. People didn?t make fun of Dougie as much, either. At least out loud. And finally, she left him. He wasn?t even sure what it was that made her go in the end, but she had.
That was a long time ago.
Jennifer was gone and so were the 80?s. And Dougie had even carved himself a nice, quiet niche for himself. There was no strangeness, no fantasy, nothing abnormal in his life whatsoever.
Until the driver of the semi had his head demolished in the road in front of his house by an enormous flying dragon bearing a huge war hammer and a carousel horse.
Some days it just didn?t pay to get out of bed and find out ?just what the hell that noise was.?
He jumped away from his window and hid his head under the covers and his pillow and tried ever so desperately to slow his breathing. He would have to answer questions. The police would investigate. People would want to bother him. It happened right in front of his house, so of course they were going to invade his perfect sanctuary. And what would he say?
Yes, officer, I heard a loud crash and tires squealing so I went to my window to look. That?s when the giant lizard decimated the drivers head with a 20 foot sledgehammer and then picked up his horsy and flew of into the night.? His temples throbbed with the strain of it all. His blood thundered in his ears until he fell asleep.
Dougie awoke and crawled to his medicine cabinet. His equilibrium was non-existent this morning and the pain in his cerebellum was worse than usual. He took thee of the blue pills and two of the yellows and went to get his paper. It wasn?t until he was returning from his porch that he remembered the previous night. He stopped, frozen in place. As he turned around he noticed that the semi was gone and there were no police around. The only odd thing at all was his mail was all wrapped in a rubber band and laying on his porch instead of at the mailbox. Attached was a note from the police.
Mr. Milton,
Your mailbox was destroyed due to a semi driver losing control of his vehicle. Should you believe any contents are missing, please contact myself and the post office as soon as possible.
Dept. Sheriff J. Henton
Dougie ran into the house, slamming his door and bolting all seven locking mechanisms. He threw his mail onto the kitchen table, where it scattered and went immediately to his bathroom where he ingested three whites, a brown and two red and whites. As he lay whimpering, curled in the fetal position in his bathtub, pulling at the short hairs behind his ears, he failed to notice the golden ticket laying on the kitchen table.
Which was fine.
It would still be there when he came to.
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(comment on this)
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| Saturday, December 29th, 2001
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1:01 pm - Bloody weather.
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SONGFLOWER
Very strange things happened to you when you joined Doctor Celestine?s Carnival of Souls.
Sometimes you didn?t even notice the change.
Songflower sat with her arms crossed in a very ?adult? fashion. The effect was very childish but it made her mood clear. She was still angry with Dragon for what he had said. She unfolded her arms and pet Smokey who was sitting in her lap. ?You never mind him. You?re my cat an you?re beautiful.?
James glanced into the back seat. ?Smokey?s a good shill. We work well together. Perhaps she and I could work together more often.?
?Well, she?s kind of busy at the moment.? Songflower lied. She knew James was a cat person. You could tell by the way he looked at people as if they were mice. She was new around here but had heard the carneys talking when James asked for his car and Celestine pointed out that it was only his for now. Apparently it had been put up as an ante in a bet between James and Celestine. Suddenly she didn?t like the idea of James being interested in her cat. ?Very busy.? She hugged Smokey close to her.
?Suit yourself.?
People made strange deals around here. They did strange things to one another and said very strange things. Yet it all seemed so very natural. It seemed to fit. All her life she had felt out of place. And now, in this place where everything was out of place, she fit in. James and Celestine. They fit in. They just looked right. Sitting in the front of Molly laughing like fools at something hysterical. She was tired from the weekend and was falling asleep. She knew better than to listen in if she wasn?t supposed to. Not that she could if she wanted to. They had a way of ?keeping you on the outside? if you weren?t meant to hear.
She turned sideways, adjusting Smokey, and laid the left side of her head against the back seat. Looking towards the driver?s side of the back seat as she fell into slumber, she mused at the empty space where Dragon had been sitting. I can?t believe he left Dragon with the carousel horse.
DRAGON
?I can?t believe he left me with the carousel horse.? Dragon stood next to the carousel horse and watched Molly?s taillights fade down the road. It is at times like this that men like Dragon immediately resign themselves to the fact that if they said; ?At least it?s not raining.? The sky would open into a torrential torrent.
As if on cue, the white Christmas lights on the house all shut off plunging him into darkness.
??.hookers?.?
He hefted the large carousel horse and started walking. This was a tragic sight for people watching, not that there were any. Which was equally tragic because it was terribly funny. He itched his nose and then regretted it immediately. As the sting of the hot sauce and the blood from his nose began, he positioned the horse and pole over his shoulder and began to walk.
?Stupid horse.?
He bore a striking resemblance to a man named Simon.
?Stupid cat.?
He bore his burden and continued to walk.
JAMES
??Stupid cat?? I said with all the disbelief of an audience to Cassandra, ?This stupid cat, as you so disparagingly call it, is the only reason I am in here.? Which was not altogether untrue, but was, I admit, a farce.? James was in high heaven. The only thing better than actually harassing those in desperate need of it was sharing the story with someone who would appreciate it. And Doc, although sometimes flaky, was always a happy listener. And he was laughing. He had always liked Celestine?s laugh. It was hearty and unrestrained. ?That was when you came in.? James started laughing himself ?With Dragon??
?Dragging him by his ear!? Celestine looked like he was ready to cry. His red face was stretched with a huge, laughing smile.
?It was priceless!? They both laughed until their sides hurt and then drove in silence.
Mr. James looked over at Celestine and smiled. ?Go ahead and get some sleep. I?ll get us there.
Celestine was looking out the window and watched the turnpike signs go by. He adjusted the ringmaster?s hat in his lap and laid his head against the window. He was soon asleep.
James relaxed and turned on an oldies station. He could hear the ringmaster?s hat thrum with and join with the cars vibrations as they traveled not just through space but time. It was the simplest time machine ever created. Molly and a hat. A 1986 Chevy Impala four door? and a metaphysical black hole with a brim. ?We are an absurd people.? James mused aloud. His only response was from Smokey who had made a squeak when she stretched and giggling from the trunk. ?Be careful with that upholstery, Smokey. I will not be cleaning urine out of them.? But of course, on this trip from Michigan to the east coast the cat had religiously used her litter box on the floor of the back seat. Never making a mess. ?And you! Pipe down or I?ll put the litter box in there with you!? The thumping and the laughing from the trunk stopped. It always amazed him how far he could push Violent Clay. This incarnation was certainly more volatile than the last and was much more unbalanced. He would have to be very careful with this one. It wasn?t that he was afraid to face him. He had faced a previous clown and stood up to Dante?s ?partner? and Mary unleashed. (Those memories made him shudder a little, but not nearly as much as his subsequent visit from the Empress.) Regardless, James was not about to allow indiscriminate damage to his car. Doc may have been testy about damage to Molly when he owned her but now the car was his. He looked over at the chain falling out of Doc?s vest pocket. Yes? things would go very badly should V.C. punch a hole in the trunk.
At least for the clown.
VIOLENT CLAY
Violent Clay was staring at the roof of the trunk, trying to remember why he hasn?t punched a hole in it.
Oh yeah? th? gambler?
He couldn?t wait to get to the next stop. His anticipation of this new wonderland of fear and insanity was making his lip quiver. Inside he was always giggling but he kept that for himself. That was going to be his and his alone.
The Joke.
No one else understood it except for Doc. And he thought it was hysterical when he would be reminded of it. He would laugh until he cried. He usually cried more than he laughed afterward, but he still appreciated it.
??So a clown walks into a bar?? He giggled out under his breath, ??and he walks up to the bartender and says, ?Bartender! You ever laugh so hard your head fells off?? The bartender? hee heee heeeee?. The bartender says; ?Get the fuck outta my bar, you freak!? Heh heh? hee heee heeeeeee.? Violent Clay started shaking from laughter. ?And so the clown cuts his fucking head off ? hee hee heeeeeee?. with an AXE!? ha ha ha ha HA HA HAAAAAA! And pours the blood into a mug and slams it down! Hee hee ha ha ha haaaaaaa! And he says; ?I Axed you a question!? HA HA HA HAAAAAA!?
Violent Clay laughed and thrashed until the spare bottle of anti-freeze exploded from a sharp impact of his elbow. The sweet-smelling liquid splashed all over him and ran in his eyes. It didn?t seem to bother him. He continued laughing until his throat was raw and the image of the dead bartender from their ?pit stop? in Vassar on their way out of Caro faded in his memory. The patrons all just sat there shocked. They didn?t move but they seemed to react as though the bartender needed a good laugh. He didn?t ask why the Doc stopped there. He didn?t even ask why Doc wanted the bartender to get The Joke. He had to decide what variation to take on The Joke and once he told it he was happy with it?s outcome. After all, he hadn?t told one in a while and it felt good. Doc didn?t laugh when he came out this time, though. But he did cry.
Violent Clay smiled a huge insane grin and bit the end of his tongue off for fun.
?Maybe he was laughing on the inside.?
Fluffing the spare tire rim for a pillow, Violent Clay repeatedly smashed his temple against it until he slipped into unconsciousness.
It wasn?t easy being funny.
SMOKEY
Smokey wondered if Clay truly thought he was funny. She was, after all, a cat. And cats know funny. Then she thought about food. Then she thought about cleaning herself. Then she thought about a noise she just heard from the trunk. Then she thought about food again. Then she thought about staring. Then she thought about hunting.
But when Songflower?s touch made her start purring and she slipped into a cat nap? not once did she think about why she was starting to think like man.
Very strange things happened to you joined Doctor Celestine?s Carnival of Souls.
Sometimes you didn?t even notice the change.
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| Sunday, November 4th, 2001
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2:11 pm - Dictionaryplay
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The house was barely hidden by the trees and would have been easy to dismiss by day. It was a two-story modified colonial with a peeling paint and a long porch with a swing on it that could seat possibly three people that was suspended from the ceiling by small chain links. On this night, however, it was a strange sight indeed. White Christmas lights covered the entirety of the face of the house. They had been carefully placed to not be in perfect rows yet that placement?s compulsive arrangement added to its oddity. The color of the house had been white, at least at one time, and now its off-white discoloration was illuminated beneath the strung up Christmas lights and it made the whole building shimmer with an almond glow. The image was shining through the trees and the screening effect of the low branches almost made it seem as if it were an apparition.
The 1986 Chevy Impala, affectionately known as ?Molly? was sitting at an odd angle in the road in front of it, partially because the house was directly past a quick curve in the road. Mostly because Dr. Celestine had grabbed the wheel and screamed, ?STOP!? in James? ear as he was driving.
Mr. James sat staring straight ahead, gripping the wheel tightly even though they were no longer moving. As he caught his breath he was sure there was a perfect place to calmly turn around and come back to the house. But he was also sure that doing so was not within Doc?s idiom. However, leaving Molly?s passenger door hanging wide open and running across the road at 4 in the morning towards this unique domicile was well within Doc?s style. He looked in the backseat via the rear view mirror, checking on the other passengers. Dragon was nursing his bloody nose he had just acquired from slamming it into the headrest of James? seat. Songflower picked herself up from the floor of the backseat and started looking for her cat. Smokey, the aforementioned feline, was looking up from her perch in the rear window with the; ??whatever.? look that cats are so skilled at giving. As James leaned over and closed the door to the passenger side with a grunt for the stretch, Dragon accepted the Taco Bell napkin found on the floor by Songflower. By the time James had sat back up and started pulling the car around to the driveway Dragon had figured out that there was hot sauce on the napkin vis-?-vis his nose. The conversation was as expected.
?AUGH! Damn!?
?Here, let me see.?
?It hurts!?
?Well, use this one then.?
?Check it first!?
?Will you stop??
?What the hell is that? Look at that stuff!?
?Just hold it against your nose!?
?Augh!?
?Don?t you hit my cat!?
?It tried to eat my face!?
?Well, it smells like taco! That?s not her fault!?
James got tired of listening to them, shook his head, exited the vehicle and lit a cigarette. He looked up and down the road to se if there were any police on the way from their ?emergency? stop. Content that this section of the neighborhood was used to this type of noise he made a mental note of the sign down the road that said; ?Tony?s Italian Eatery. Open all night.? A smile came across his face as he considered the difficulty of his order. At the mewling at his feet he leaned down and picked up Smokey who had exited the car with him in favor of listening to the ?angry monkeys? yelling at each other. Smokey was not a cat that liked to be picked up, but James always managed to get her to sit quiet on his forearm as he pet her.
?Why do you put up with them, Smokey??
?Meowr.?
?I thought as much.?
He set her back down and she trotted over to sit and enjoy the warmth of Molly?s hood. James walked down the drive to check on Doc and see exactly what it was that caused his reaction. James liked to play off Celestine?s eccentricities as childishness but curiosity being what it was had got the best of him. Doc was squatting on the porch and staring at the one object that had been completely obscured from view by the trees.
A carousel horse.
It was magnificent. An obvious antique that had been cast aside, only to be lovingly repaired and refurbished in such a way that only a craftsman could do with love. The post running through it was hand-gilded with ornate grape leaves running down its length. The white of the stallion had been painted with several shades of off-whites and creams to give the coat an almost life-like texture. James thought for sure that he could see hints of silver in its color. In this odd lighting, it seemed to breathe with life. The saddle was of a classic carnival presentation, with bold reds, blues, golds and purples. The bit draped wonderful silken reigns to the saddle horn and its entire bridle was of a joyous flash of color and flair.
James sighed heavily. Artistry like this was lost on the average mundane. But this was obviously no ordinary mundane. The decoration of the house was a clue to the disturbed nature of its owner? that and the shotgun being pressed against the back of his head.
??.Doc??
Celestine was staring enraptured at the horse. ??.?
?Doc.?
??..?
?DOC.?
Celestine turned around, annoyed at the interruption. ?What??
As if on cue, the owner of the house cocked the twelve-gauge shotgun pointed at James? skull.
Celestine peered around James towards the owner of the weapon. ?Oh, that shotgun.?
The resident was standing in his slippers. Appearing in his late sixties his beaten and ratty terrycloth robe covered his pea-green pajamas. The man was so thin if he turned sideways he may have slipped from view. ?Y-you t-t-two are t-t-trespassing!?
?Celestine, Mr. Barnette. Dr. Celestine, owner and proprietor of Dr. Celestine?s Carnival of Souls. This man is my friend, employee and most capable associate, Mr. James. We were just admiring your exquisite handiwork. You have a talented hand for craftsmanship, sir. And as I drove past this spot, as I have so many times before, I saw this carousel horse call out to me in a voice like the muses of old! Strange and fantastic coincidence, is it not, that I find myself in need of a new carousel horse on the very eve that I just happened to be driving by your most unique lodgings? Which, as any fool can plainly see, you have a carousel horse available right here on your very porch, Mr. Barnette! Happenstance? Coincidence? These are the dismissal words of the timid! And we are not timid men, are we, Mr. Barnette? Or may I call you Stanley? Or is it Stan??
?It?s? it?s Stan.?
?Excellent. Let us discuss terms, Stan. Over coffee, perhaps??
Stanley Harrison Barnette did not remember giving his shotgun to Mr. James before letting in the good Doctor for coffee. James took it and placed it inside the door of the house so it would not be lost and walked back to the car. Listening to Celestine ramble on to get the horse was not his idea of a grand evening. He figured to drive down to the Tony?s and get himself some breakfast.
?It stings.?
?Well if you would stop squirming...?
?Your hands smell like litter!?
?My hand fell in when we stopped quickly!?
?See? You should have put it in the trunk like you were told!?
?But Violent Clay is back there!?
?So? He smells funky anyway!?
?Stop it! Its just litter!?
?Then why couldn?t you have wiped them off on the napkin with hot sauce on it??
Lighting a cigarette, James decided that it was a good night for a walk. Reaching the Tony?s, he looked in the large window to see a waitress with the most un-amused expression ever mustered on a human being?s face. This waitress was obviously a woman who was not going to take any crap and who had made up her mind that a sense of humor and patience were a waste of time.
Hearing a mewl, James looked down to see that Smokey had joined him. A smile crossed his face. He?d never tried the ?seeing-eye-cat? idea before.
Perhaps the night wouldn?t be a total loss after all.
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| Friday, November 2nd, 2001
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11:17 pm - Solitude
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From the outside the trailer of Dr. Celestine was set perfectly for the light of the dawn to shine in gloriously. The same went for the sunset on the opposing side. Those who had been there before knew the contents within. There was an easy chair at the 'back' facing the door. It set beside a small coffee table with an oil lamp and ashtray upon it. There were two folding chairs facing the larger chair at suitable angles with a long, flat and unimpressive table at about knee level in front of them. There hung a cheap lamp, much like the ones found in seedy taverns hanging over a pool table. There was a coat rack and umbrella stand just inside the doorway. And there were no walls. Once the door was shut it was impossible to tell the size of the room you were in. The windows on the outside apparently never made it to the inside world that Doc liked to have there. Many times Celestine had entered that darkness to return with a jar filled with... well, it was filled with whatever was needed. Hopes, dreams, sins, mistakes, forgiveness, love and pain. To Celestine the racks of jars was endless. Up and outward they rose holding more jars than you could even imagine. No matter how many he seemed to give away, there were always more.
Today, however, there was one space empty.
Celestine's cane rested cozily in the umbrella stand. His coat and hat were hanging comfortably on the rack. His gloves were lying across the coffee table. A Nat Sherman sat in the ashtray and lazily created faeries and demons of smoke that would wisp and vanish as quickly as they were formed. His spare change was laying next to the pack of Shermans with a plain silver Zippo on top of the pack. There was a bottle of Lagavulin single malt scotch on the longer table and a glass of it was in his hand. Celestine was standing and staring at the empty space that once held Dante Avatar's/Dave Banker's jar.
He wept.
How long?
How long has it been since I have parted with one of you?
Little jars...
He slowly walked along the line of the shelf, trailing his finger across the jars that sat there.
...little jars...
He finished his drink and went back to his chair, plopping heavily in it. He was tired. He wiped at the tears in his eyes and picked up his Nat Sherman to take a long, heavy drag. Doc refilled his glass and turned himself sideways in the chair a bit, hanging his left leg over the left arm of it and leaning heavily upon the right arm. He closed his eyes and listened. The calliope music was sweet and beautiful. His carnival sang to him with such a lovely voice of purpose and dignity. He smiled.
"I love you."
He didn't remember finishing the glass nor putting out his smoke before he fell asleep. But he did remember the voice of his carnival in his ears.
I love you too
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I know the pieces fit cuz I watched them fall away
Mildewed and smoldering. Fundamental differing.
Pure intention juxtaposed will set two lovers souls in motion
Disintegrating as it goes testing our communication
The light that fueled our fire then has burned a hole between us so
We cannot see to reach an end crippling our communication.
I know the pieces fit cuz I watched them tumble down
No fault, none to blame it doesn't mean I don't desire to
Point the finger, blame the other, watch the temple topple over.
To bring the pieces back together, rediscover communication
The poetry that comes from the squaring off between,
And the circling is worth it.
Finding beauty in the dissonance.
There was a time that the pieces fit, but I watched them fall away.
Mildewed and smoldering, strangled by our coveting
I've done the math enough to know the dangers of our second guessing
Doomed to crumble unless we grow, and strengthen our communication.
Cold silence has a tendency to atrophy any
Sense of compassion
Between supposed lovers/brothers
SCHIZM by TOOL
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| Monday, October 15th, 2001
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6:20 pm - Meat.
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?Dragon. Skippy. Dave. Dragon. Skippy. Dave.?
The man in the black suit was murmuring to himself as he wandered towards the Big Top. He had originally been marching towards it with a purpose, but the fire had gone out of his belly. The carnival as a whole was making his stomach turn. On more than one occasion he had seen the exit but knew it had to be his mind playing tricks on him. There was only one way in and one way out. Sure, you could just walk between the fences and bypass the cables and trash cans and just walk away? but it just didn?t work that way to him.
?You?d find yourself right back inside, wouldn?t you??
He closed his eyes and cursed lightly. The voice was familiar enough. It was exactly as he had always known it would be, even as the first time he heard it. Celestine. He stood directly in front of him with pieces of a torn up ticket at his feet, under the tip of his cane.
?You know, I have been looking for you for two days. Two f?ing days. I got a mustache drawn on my lip. In pen. A sharpie, no less.?
?I had nothing to do with that. I promise you.?
?Fine. Then you do show up. You try and kill my friend??
Celestine raised his hands from his cane, leaving it to stand perfectly straight while he gestured acquiescence. ?I would only let him die. My hand would never have been a part of his death. Or at least the cause, in any case.?
??fine. You would allow him to die.?
?Actually, the goal was for you to save him.?
He sighed. ?..fine. You wanted me to keep him alive.?
?Only for a time. I mean, after all, he will perish at some point-?
?FINE. All right? You?re right! Why?? You were? Dammit. You sound like G.A. storytelling on crack! Why are you making this so hard??
Celestine?s face went cold. ?And should it be easy? Should it always be that simple? Especially with friends? How is your game, David? How are your friends? When you gave them their positions did they all fall right into place and do as they were told? Or were they their own people with their own strengths and flaws??
?I didn?t do anything to you! I just wanted to talk to you!?
?And I have been. Subtly. Mysteriously. Not in so many words as a conversation, yet you seemed to get the point.? He kicked lightly at the ticket remains upon the ground.
?That was me saving a friend. I did what I had to.?
?And I am doing what I must. Show me the difference.?
?I?m not a? a? whatever the hell you are!?
??aren?t you??
Celestine practically spat the words at him. Skippy/Dragon/Dave wanted to retort with just as much bile, but he was smart. He knew they had just hit a point. He just couldn?t quite get it.
It?s not that I am like him? it?s not that simple. I know that. He?s telling me something but he?s saying it backwards? I know it.
Celestine took a slow breath and smiled. ?What would you do, in my place, Skippy?? He looked up and saw Celestine walking away. ?..or Dave? or ?whatever.?
Dragon/Dave/Skippy plopped down right in the middle of the gravel path on the runway. ??hooker?? He knew the insult wasn?t totally warranted but it made him feel better. What does he want? It?s not my Carnival and it never will be. I have enough problems with my personal life and extra curricular activities. Granted, if my friends had the kind of power his did. I?d be all messed? up? too.
He pulled out a hard-backed journal and began to write.
(To be cont?d in drgnwvr lj)
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| Monday, October 8th, 2001
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2:26 pm - Gutterminal
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Marci was screaming. She had grabbed something off her dresser to defend herself with. The corpse that was once her fianc? Dave looked up at her with rotting skin hanging from his cheek asking her what was wrong.
James walked in the door from a late shift at the restaurant and hung up his jacket. He heard his wife sleeping in the next room. He sat down to check his e-mail quickly before he went to bed. Suddenly he leapt up and ran to the bedroom. Slowly peering within he saw his wife. He saw Jacklyn. James sat next to his wife and wept openly.
Clay stumbled over an ashtray that was now tipped over in the middle of his floor and plopped an obscenity right next to it. He sat in his chair and moved the mouse on his computer to remove the screensaver and itched his foot. He turned on his music program and played Neck Cutter by ICP. He looked up at the figurines of them sitting on his computer desk and stared. His foot still itched. He reached down and itched it again. When he went to type his web location into the computer he noticed a problem. He was missing a finger. He looked down and saw the big kitchen knife sticking out of his foot. Next to it was his finger. ??uhm? fuck??? Was all he could think to say. He picked up his finger and stood up. ?You okay hon?? The voice had come from the bedroom. Michelle walked out with one of his shirts on. Clay began to scream but couldn?t finish as he passed out, swallowing his tongue.
Dav sat on the porch of his house, staring at the traffic going by. His sister was playing and squealing inside and making quite a ruckus. He reached into his pocket to pull out something. He removed a deck of Hello Kitty cards. His mom laughed and called for him. He went in and answered the phone. He told Aaron that he wasn?t feeling well and needed to stay home. After hanging up he sat on the porch again. He reached in his pocket. He pulled out a Squirtle Pokemon figurine. He sat it down and reached in again. He removed a Handspring. He sat it down and reached in again. He removed a collapsible keyboard for the Handspring. A yo-yo. A five ball from a pool table. A Pikachu virtual-pet key chain. He walked into the house patting his pockets. His little sister jumped at him and hugged him. ?Watcha looking for Dav?? Dav looked bothered. ?My tickets.? She giggled. ?Tickets to what?? Dav continued removing things from his pockets and shook his head. ?I can?t remember.?
Skippy knew his room door was cracked open. Ani was talking to his roommates. He thought he could hear her but wasn?t sure. He had to finish. It had begun as a argument and then even punches were thrown. He was sure he wasn?t a violent man. He was a down-right pacifist. But he had thrown a couple and made it clear that he was not to be disturbed. He didn?t even understand why they were so angry. It was going to be a great midway. Every detail right down to the smallest canopy on the tiniest stand would be perfect. Ani opened the door slightly saying his name. He continued working. He had just come up with a great idea for the second trailer at the entrance. He would make it out of Tarot cards! Yes! He stood up and reached into his closet and pulled out an ornate deck. Shredding them, he began making small rips in them so that he could stick them together. Ani was amazed at the workmanship he was showing. It was brilliant? but obviously disturbed. She looked over the model. There were the pieces his roommates told her that he ?borrowed?. He had, in fact, decimated a model of an At-At, a snow speeder, Voltron and other figurines in his need for supplies. He had destroyed his computer and used parts from it as well. And sitting in the middle of this circus he was building was a giant dragon figurine he had painted neon green. It was attached to several roller coasters added to the circus.
Songflower awoke to her daughter crying and groaned as she got up to feed her. Smoky, her cat, was laying at her feet at the bed. She slid her legs over the side of her bed and walked to the crib. As she picked up her daughter, her husband rolled over and mumbled. ???myoukay??? He drooled as she cooed to their child. She smiled and told him to go back to bed. He grunted and turned again. After the feeding, a bit of rocking and singing she put her down and slid back in to bed. She leaned over and went to kiss her husband. Seeing the face of Doctor Celestine, she screamed.
The world cracked, the carnival wailed, and reality said one word.
?No.?
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As the world righted itself, G.A. hit the ground clutching his chest, barely breathing. Celestine leaned down and began to take his clothes off of him and put them back on himself. He removed his gloves and put them back on. Uncerimoniously, he kicked his metaphysical twin over to get his jacket back off of him. He knealt down at the man laying naked in the dirt. ?It?s not as easy as it looks, is it??
G.A. responded with a gurgle and some blood in his tears.
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Marci, Dave, Songflower, Dav and James as well as all the carnies woke up from odd dreams and went back to sleep.
Skippy snorted awake on Celestine?s steps too see his friend laying naked in the moonlight with Celestine standing over him. He dropped the piece of At-At in his hand and ran to G.A.
?What happened??
Celestine adjusted his collar. ?He tried to change everything. He tried to be me.? He looked up at him with no remorse in his eyes. ?He failed.?
Skippy looked at G.A. vomiting some blood on to his chest. ?He?s dying!?
Doc was polishing his dragonhead cane. ?Yes. He is.?
?Save him!?
?I will not.? It was said with a matter-of-factness that caught Skippy by surprise.
??but.. what..?? Skippy was in a panic.
Celestine leaned down to Skippy kneeling by the body. ?If you want to see your friend alive again? you?d better do something about it.?
Celestine sat down on his steps and watched the pair as the calliope music handed another cruel edge to the song.
This was entertainment.
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