Of all circuses, this particular one fell flat on its face. The animalistic performers could not be encaged. They called themselves family because they were chained and linked by the same shackle. A banner that hung across the tent drew in many showgoers; Vivian happened to be one of them. She claimed to be the most versatile of them all; this labeled her a token for the performers in the backyard. Behind the curtains, she just wanted to steal the show so upon her debut, the Ringmaster promised her marquees and a green room. Her name was plastered on the door, not to be removed, and involvement was permanent. For as long as she remained obedient to her “family,” she had access to her desires. Vivian and the Ringmaster always talked beside the joints under the quarter poles, in hopes for no one to overhear their conversation. To the “family,” the Ringmaster was not enslaving them, but picking them up off of the streets. No one knew his name, they just knew that he was a “Godfather” they could look up to, despite his shadiness.
Vivian's career reached new heights like being supported by stilts. Today, she was the Main Event. The Ringmaster posted everyone’s order they would perform in. “You’re taking the stage, Vivian. Why don’t you go on and get powdered up, darling?” said The Ringmaster. Vivian nodded in dumbfoundment, but when she looked at the fine print cloaking beneath her name, the task was not the one just she signed up for. Vivian pulled the ringmaster aside. “I have business to attend to that does not involve me being here.” She took a frantic gulp, expecting him to verbally assault her. Instead, he responded in a high pitched tone, arousing a conundrum of doubt. “I don’t think that’ll be necessary. Any activities outside of this tent aren’t as important as your job,” said the ringmaster. “We’re all family here. These people you perform alongside have carried you every bit of the way, I’d be careful where you let your feet tread. See that guy over there?” said The Ringmaster, pointing to the far end bank. “That’s our sword master. He gots double edged blades that won’t hesitate to cut your 15-minutes-of-fame short”. Vivian was tempted to rebel, but she knew her place.
Vivian, sitting in her green room, rubbernecked the mirror. The luminous light bulbs that bordered around it were brighter than her future. She began to get ready. First, she picked up the brushes, applying: primer, foundation, concealer, mascara, highlighter, and eyeliner. Afterwards, she added the finishing touches, powdering her face to appeal to that full house awaiting her. Now, she is the eye-candy the pitchman can’t sell at carnivals. Vivian tried to spare a smile, but wounded up letting her emotions get the best of her. Tears streamed down her face and the make up smeared. As she dilly-dallied into the Big Top, with the other performers drawn to her catastrophic image, the Ringmaster introduced the boss hostler, pickled punks, bally broads, iron jaw act, and Calliope to the audience.
Saving the best for last, he brought Vivian in. Now with new intentions, she climbed the ladder of success and atop to where the tightrope started. Below her, was a hundred-foot drop, begging for another carcass to be set in stone. Unlike the other acts, faith was the only trick up her sleeve. She didn’t have to make a partner disappear in plain sight; she didn’t have to pull a rabbit out of a hat; she didn’t have to dive through a ring of fire. No strings were attached to her. As she slowly walked across the tightrope, she murmured to herself, “if they were really my family, they would support the dreams in which I work for, not by holding me up to a pedestal I thought belonged to me”. The audience was speechless: not because she made it to the other side (no she did that of course), but because she took a bow for the finale. The show must go on and, that, it did. Like all entertainers, they look to go out with a bang and, that, she did. Vivian gave her all as she elongated her arms like a cross, throwing herself backwards, and falling to an envious death. The ringmaster had hired a showstopper.
Vivian's career reached new heights like being supported by stilts. Today, she was the Main Event. The Ringmaster posted everyone’s order they would perform in. “You’re taking the stage, Vivian. Why don’t you go on and get powdered up, darling?” said The Ringmaster. Vivian nodded in dumbfoundment, but when she looked at the fine print cloaking beneath her name, the task was not the one just she signed up for. Vivian pulled the ringmaster aside. “I have business to attend to that does not involve me being here.” She took a frantic gulp, expecting him to verbally assault her. Instead, he responded in a high pitched tone, arousing a conundrum of doubt. “I don’t think that’ll be necessary. Any activities outside of this tent aren’t as important as your job,” said the ringmaster. “We’re all family here. These people you perform alongside have carried you every bit of the way, I’d be careful where you let your feet tread. See that guy over there?” said The Ringmaster, pointing to the far end bank. “That’s our sword master. He gots double edged blades that won’t hesitate to cut your 15-minutes-of-fame short”. Vivian was tempted to rebel, but she knew her place.
Vivian, sitting in her green room, rubbernecked the mirror. The luminous light bulbs that bordered around it were brighter than her future. She began to get ready. First, she picked up the brushes, applying: primer, foundation, concealer, mascara, highlighter, and eyeliner. Afterwards, she added the finishing touches, powdering her face to appeal to that full house awaiting her. Now, she is the eye-candy the pitchman can’t sell at carnivals. Vivian tried to spare a smile, but wounded up letting her emotions get the best of her. Tears streamed down her face and the make up smeared. As she dilly-dallied into the Big Top, with the other performers drawn to her catastrophic image, the Ringmaster introduced the boss hostler, pickled punks, bally broads, iron jaw act, and Calliope to the audience.
Saving the best for last, he brought Vivian in. Now with new intentions, she climbed the ladder of success and atop to where the tightrope started. Below her, was a hundred-foot drop, begging for another carcass to be set in stone. Unlike the other acts, faith was the only trick up her sleeve. She didn’t have to make a partner disappear in plain sight; she didn’t have to pull a rabbit out of a hat; she didn’t have to dive through a ring of fire. No strings were attached to her. As she slowly walked across the tightrope, she murmured to herself, “if they were really my family, they would support the dreams in which I work for, not by holding me up to a pedestal I thought belonged to me”. The audience was speechless: not because she made it to the other side (no she did that of course), but because she took a bow for the finale. The show must go on and, that, it did. Like all entertainers, they look to go out with a bang and, that, she did. Vivian gave her all as she elongated her arms like a cross, throwing herself backwards, and falling to an envious death. The ringmaster had hired a showstopper.
( Behan the Scene )
www.ChordsAZ.com