An Account of the Circus
There is no fence around the circus. The tents spread out within the trees, looking like it has been there for centuries. Many think it has. They believe that they just never noticed the lights and noises deep within the forest. They would never believe you if you told them it had only just arrived. The trees enclose it, so tightly packed around the outskirts that only the most adventurous of children would be able to sneak their way through.
To enter the circus one must provide a ticket to the one at the gate. The trick is there is no gate, just a gap between the trees. They had found their ticket on the bookshelf in their home. It sat atop their favorite book, with a small note in delicate cursive that had described this location. The pull of the mystery had been too strong and led them to this time at the gate. They handed the small slip of paper to the one at the gate and he nodded, eye sparkling in the setting sun. There were others at the gate, each one handing the one at the gate something. Some handed him small slips of paper, some larger sheets, and even one seemed to hand him a large red leaf. He took each one and nodded them through. There were small tents and large tents. Some looked as if they could only hold few at a time, while others were grander than some homes. The tents were arranged in circles around the center, where the largest tent sat, towering as tall as the tops of the trees.
The tent is one of the smallest. Unlike most of the others, who are decorated with reds, whites, and blacks, blue crystals hang from the rim of this one. From under the tent a green smoke seems to seep out the cracks and snake its way towards them. The door is a simple black flap of fabric, but is surprisingly heavy when they try to lift it. The tent is full of stuff. Crystals hang from the ceiling, and the floor is covered in scraps of colored paper. Around the rim of the tent are benches, already with several others seated on them. They make their way to the nearest one, through the thick smoke in the air. They cannot see the center of the tent, for the smoke is so thick. They can see her now as the smoke fades, they sit in a chair, draped across the armrests. The smoke begins to swirl, spinning faster and faster around the room. At first it smelled like incense, thick and strong, but now it is the smell of burnt wood, strong and sharp. Then it is the smell of flowers, the smell of salt on the ocean, the smell of dark and damp woods, the smell of a market. The smell of their mother, of the tree they spent their childhood playing in, and then, the smell of incense yet again. One of the other patrons stood up and left the tent, clearly shaken. They stayed though, caught in the illusion. Trees grew from the ground and burst through the tent, before falling away into shadows, and by the end their vest had changed from grey to a vivid red.
Each tent had a sign at the entrance, giving some clue as to what awaited inside. The sign professed
To Escape is to be Free Once and for All. Within the tent hung a cage. Within that cage another was suspended, being held up by an invisible force, and within those bars sat a figure. They were tied up with rope and chain, bound up so tightly it should be impossible to escape. They watched as another figure, dressed head to toe in black, locked both cages suspended in the air. As they began to writhe the chains clinked against the metal bars. They moved and tuned and spun until their arms were reached into the air, free from their body. They then contorted themself in a way that didn’t look possible and freed both their legs and torso. Through the bars of the inner cage they squeezed until they popped out a gap not more than six inches. Then snaking through the other bars they went, until they hung from the bars. Dropping to the floor the tent erupted into applause as the escapist bowed to the room.
Not all of the acts were within the tents. Between tents performers set up smaller shows, drawing crowds from around the circus. There were two performers joking between tents. One would start the joke, the other would finish. Even when not joking one would lean on the tent side and start to talk and the other would finish the word of sentence, making the words jagged and strange.
The circus was filling up. More and more people were handing tickets to the one at the gate and entering. There seemed to be endless tents, and no one could go to all in one visit. But despite this everyone had a singular destination tugging at their mind. The tent at the center of the circus was larger than any other, the tip reaching higher than the tallest tree. They followed the others into the tent and were confronted with a labyrinth. It twisted and turned within the tent, going up several levels towards a central point. It was full of dead ends and false doors, wanting more than anything to confuse and entrap. One wall would be solid ivory, white as the moon, where another would be covered in colorful tapestry. There were mirrors and holes, pits and ladders. As they found their way to the center they passed many who had given up and were heading on their way back out. They would find the center though, they were sure of this. Soon they would no longer think of anything other than finding their destination, even if they could no longer remember what that was. They could no longer remember their family. Could no longer remember the tree they had smelled in the illusionist’s tent earlier, could no longer remember their name, their past, or themself. All that was left was the circus.
