Tale of a Clown ,..

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