The greatest tragedy of the stars is often people do
not notice that it is only a memory, a shadow of a long lost times of glory,
desolate and distant.
Such was he; his name once was fondly remembered, even
loved. This was ages before he started wearing the mask, before he created a
new identity for a lost one. Now while he played the dwarf of Witsville he
became a dwarf; he truly could not reach for the doorknob, to play the witch of Noseless people, he became a witch and could cast spells of noses on people,
his identity was shifting like the waves in the seas; never in a place; never
here, never there.
Faraway lands knew his tales, a handful very few had
not laughed at his jokes, and sometimes they didn’t laugh as they were deaf.
He was a clown of great crowds, his dance a charade of his heart, his
heart so full of joy and light. He charged his people nothing, but only a
stomach full. He had a big appetite was his excuse to not charge those who had
nothing.
Children traveled miles to see him dance, for the
love he spread;
He loved children. He would slip and fall and break
his bones just to see them laugh, and among them was the little princess of the
hearts. She came running to him every time he fell to see if he is okay; never
laughing. It was not her kind of entertainment but when he told her he fell
because the earth spun a little faster that day she would burst in to laughter,
she knew beneath his facade he was intelligent, full of wisdom and so she
learnt the world and reason from him, and he from her to cherish little joys
and life around him. He was not just her clown, he was her friend, her
confidante and as always she was his own little universe.
The clown away from all his pretexts of extroversion
for the world around him was alone; a great ocean with its own life was he, he
seldom felt anything: joy and sorrow to him was one and the same, now except
for the princess. He had let her in or rather he didn’t need to, she was there,
she had always been there. He had to imagine how people felt anything so he
could play it for the princess and as he noticed the world around him and
practiced imitation more than creation he started to feel, he could make
himself sad for a fallen leaf, and feel joy for the cherry blossom in the
springs; not a charade but his own emotion, he loved to observe the world than
to be an exhibit, he took pleasure in what he did yes, but this was
transcending; he felt like a God.,
Something happened; he knew nothing was permanent
for he was a clown of reason, not a wise philosopher who dreams his life away.
But even for him it was unreasonable. The princess had died a tragic death;
ironically she had slipped and fell, hit her head and bled her life. He was
silent for months, not a word, he could not hear his own heartbeat, often he doubted
if he was dead too.
Now he is a man with an empty soul, life has taken a
bit of him every time he saw hope; not that he is weak but often it is only the
largest banyan that will fall in the storm and the grass conveniently survives.
He suffocated in his shell for months, never coming out. The grief was strong
but he was too, too strong to forsake his life but for his loneliness now is
not the same as it was, he has seen now what it is like to have someone who
seeks and sees the world as he did. His humor has taken in to a sinister form turning a
shade darker each day. His smile now a grin, he couldn’t stop the twisted evil
taking form inside of him if he wanted to, he didn’t want to. The princess
spoke to him every single day so he couldn’t stop. She’d stop talking to him if
he stopped.
__________________________________________To be Continued
