Chapter Text
Screaming.
The voices of children screaming rang all throughout the carnival, echoing beyond its fenced walls.
Some were filled with joy and bliss as they played their favorite games, went on their favorite rides, ate their favorite candies—all of the joy a child had.
And others, others had been tears, regret. Why were they even brought here? Their throats strung with sobs and screams, wanting out of the carnival.
They would be hushed and dragged away soon enough, even ridiculed for some. A sad sight to see some days.
But hey, who could blame any of them?
The sun blared down, a lemony hue glazed slid across the tent as Clowny made his dissent, peering at the groups all scattered around.
The air was thick with the smell of cotton candy and a lick of cigarettes; did the carnies even care about a paycheck? He noted the three sitting there outside of their stations, and surely longer than the small breaks any of them got. Perking a brow tentatively as he watched parents trying to either engage or move their kids away from the fog of smoke.
He parted his lips with a heavy sigh. The heat started to get intolerable as the summer passed by.
”Mister Clown, Mister Clown!!” A small child with a wide grin, bigger than her face could handle, came running towards him.
His vision snapped over to the child, matching her grin, immediately dropping to a squat, “Helloo little lady!”
Her blonde, almost white, fur curled in many directions, almost like a painting, with a light pink bow propped the top bit of fur. She had been here since this morning; he recalled watching her at the cotton candy stand when it first started running for the day. He stayed by the tent, watching the visitors come and go before the show started. She would wave at him with a grin, not as wide but still as hopeful.
”I brought you a gift!” She beamed, holding out a flower. Small and shriveling into itself, yellow petals closed within the pollen-filled bud, a deeper yet matching tone of yellow.
”For me?” His face shifted to surprise as she forced it into his gloves. He smiled, “What a lovely gift! Did you pick this yourself?”
”I did! Mommy said not to.” She giggled, the little rascal.
A tall, unhappy woman walked over, giving him an apologetic and snarky look. “Come on, dear, we don’t want to bother this,” she dragged her eyes along his appearance. “Let’s get going.”
The little one looked at him with the frown before leaping forward and squeezing him tightly. “Bye bye, mister clown!”
He smiled and waved as she was dragged away, getting a wave back before he stood up and wandered back into the tent. He entered the back, slipping one of his gloves off and placing it onto the wooden table in the back. The break room was makeshift in between shows; a table sat in the far corner and held a few of the crew’s items on occasion.
A simple job, really. Clowny thought. Mr. P. hadn’t lied about that.
He enjoyed working with children, seeing their grins while they laughed or ate mounds of cotton candy. He enjoyed sitting or standing around, conversing with the crew about various things around them.
“It’s hot out there.” One plopped down on the second wooden chair as he threw down his sweat-stained hat, swinging his arm over the back and dipping his head the same.
Clowny exhaled, “It’s getting warmer.” He slipped the second glove off and placed it next to the other one. Wet fur sticking onto it for a second.
The other tipped his head forward and perked a brow across the table, ”Any new gigs pull up?”
He pulled the second chair back, checking its surface before sitting down. “There is supposed to be a drop of tools tonight, Mr. P. said so.”
He groaned in response; it was always “Mr. P. said so” for him; never Mr. P. came out and told the entire crew. What made this clown so special? Entitled fuck, he would utter.
“That’s worth stayin’, then.” He shifted in his seat with an additional groan, sweaty and exhausted.
The shows continued throughout the day; after Clowny’s break, he slipped the gloves back on and went about his business. Giving children the best, or worst, time of their lives.
Clowns weren’t everyone’s favorite thing, of course. When his father took him on outings, sometimes they would pass someone dressed up, colorful, and free. His father would cringe, baring teeth, before grabbing his hand and moving on with where they were going. But he couldn’t help but stare. They could dress up, they could dance, sing, clap, and watch people light up all around them just because they were there. Or that’s how he felt, holding the same grin as all the other children.
The gloves went on, the colors gleamed and dazzled, and most of all, he was free.
Or so he thought.
The night fell over the carnival, the moon’s surface beaming down and coating them with a soft blanket of light.
”You said it would be here?” The man tipped his hat, a freshly lit cigar pressed between his lips.
The main crew of 7, paid carnies going home this late of hours, gathered around, as per usual. Word went around that there were more tools and such. They could fix up the carnival and have new materials for their tricks. Mr. P never came to these so-called events. Leaving the crew to each of their own.
A truck hauled itself by the entrance, bustling around as it hit a brake. A few hushed voices waited as the driver opened the back and leaned against the side of the truck that was facing away from the others.
Meanwhile, a few of the bigger-built folk stepped forward to haul out the heavier items.
Clowny stepped forward, eyeing the others as he inched towards the side. The bed was laid out, and things started to make their way out of it. There was an odd shift in movement for a second, and the few standing froze, one alert.
A minute went by and there was no movement; maybe a rat was stuck in there?
One of the others walked over and dragged what seemed to be a crate of unblown balloons, placing it with another box. Wait, why were there so many boxes this round? Bringing them out, big and small.
The last of the first row had been plucked out and is now being thoroughly examined by a few of the others.
“Ya gonna help?” One croaked.
Clowny snapped out of his own head and went forth, stepping onto the bed and into the truck. He picked up one of the smaller boxes filled to the brim with trinkets. Why and where was Mr. P buying these things from?
He looked ahead for a second, his gaze dropping to the floor with a wide expression. The echo of the box landing back into the tuck rang in all of their ears.