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You never fit in with the circus much, sure they gave you a home–but you never felt like you belonged. You’d constantly assist Ticket Taker with organizing paperwork and bills, making sure the Fools would do their jobs, and assisting in preparations before the circus opened. You played your small part and yet, you felt like an outsider. You felt like the outsider in a friend group; a part of the group, but not essential to the group. No one would really notice if you went missing, it felt that way. Would they notice if you simply just stop talking? You didn’t know. However, you felt so sure—so sure that they wouldn’t care. You didn’t have any skills like the rest of them—you couldn’t tell stories as well as Jester or Harlequin, you couldn’t throw daggers as perfectly as Pierrot, you couldn’t understand biology and medicine as much as the Doctor, and you weren’t organized and good as an illusionist as Ticket Taker. Sure you were you, but what else? What else was there to you? Was there nothing else to you?
You started the day as any other—however, you spent a longer time staring at yourself in the mirror, staring at your face. Every scar, every mole, every wrinkle–it showed your life, all the things you had done and gone through. All the experiences you had felt, it showed how much time had gone by and how far you had come. Most of all—when you looked in the mirror—you knew that despite everything, it was still y o u. Just you.
Today was lucky for you, it wasn’t as work heavy as you’d thought it would be. Usually Jester or Ticket Taker would send you on tasks that couldn’t be trusted to the fools whenever everyone was busy. So after you finished up your tasks you simply sat by the entrance where Ticket Taker usually was, you sat back and watched as people walked around the circus, oblivious to what all the members truly were—oblivious to what you knew, and what horrors hid right in front of their faces. You watched and you watched until you got bored, you kept glancing around until you spotted a notebook that someone probably dropped—likely a careless visitor. You glanced around, no one seemed to notice its presence, or maybe didn’t care—but you did. You got up from the stool you were sitting on and walked towards the notebook, it was nothing special. A simple blank black notebook with a mechanical pencil in its pen loop, it looked well taken care of as well—almost brand new. After debating with yourself you picked up the notebook and walked back to sit down by the entrance. You decided to ask each guest as they left if the notebook was theirs. If no one claimed it then you’d keep it, more so out of curiosity on what was inside. You didn’t want to look inside of it now because what if the owner saw you and called you out for being a snoop? That would be the worst conversation to have with a person.
As the hours passed and the circus’ visitors started to dwindle you came to the conclusion that no one would claim the notebook as theirs. So, you simply got up and stretched—with the notebook still in your hand—you started to leave, going towards the black tent where the kitchen was. It looked like none of the members were there yet so you sat down at the table and finally opened the notebook. Inside of the notebook there was absolutely nothing. What an absolute waste of time and also such a disappointment. You flipped through and scanned every single page, giving up after you were a bit more than halfway—you were so excited to see what was inside. A diary entry, notes, stories, poetry—litterally anything interesting you could read, but instead it was simply blank. You groaned, annoyed. However a thought occurred to you, a stupid thought. “I should draw,” you whispered to yourself, voicing your thoughts. You stared blankly at the pages who stared back at you just as blankly if not more. You hadn’t drawn since you were a teenager. You gave up on it.
As a child you’d get constant praise for your works and artistic skills, but in the end you couldn’t even beat someone who was younger than you. After you saw that person’s art you drew nonstop every second, rarely taking breaks. Always studying, studying, studying. Even after nonstop drawing for three years straight your works couldn’t even compare to theirs. You didn’t understand how…–how could you make absolutely no improvement even after giving up so many things to improve. You stopped everything just for drawing. What kind of dumbass were you? So it was no surprise when you just gave up. What was the point in it anyways? It wasn’t like it would get you anywhere, you weren’t even good at it. That’s what you told yourself at least.
Now, you hesitated, debating on if you should draw or not. It had been a long time since then. However, eventually, you relented and grabbed the mechanical pencil that was in the notebook’s pen loop and started to draw. You decided to draw someone simple—Ticket Taker, his outfit was the least complex to sketch, in your opinion. ‘Just a simple sketch,’ you told yourself. It would be just a simple sketch and you would be done and simply forget about it. You didn’t need old memories from your adolescence coming back, that was a long time ago and you were over it. You didn’t live, breathe, and eat drawing. It was simply a stupid obsession you had when you were a child and you were over it. Over it. Over it. Over it. Over it. Over it. Over it. Over it. Over it. Over it. Over it. Over it. Over it. Over it. Over it. Over it. Over it. Over it. Over it. Over it. Over it. Over it. Over it. Over it. Over it. Over it. Over it. Over it. Over it. Over it. Over it. Over it. Over it. Over it. Over it. Over it. Over it. Over it. Over it. Over it. Over it. Over it. Over it. Over it. Over it. Over it. Over it. Over it. Over it. Over it. Over it. Over it. Over it. Over it. Over it. Over it. Over it. Over it. Over it. Over it. Over it. Over it. Over it. Over it. Over it. Over it. Over it. Over it. Over it. Over it. Over it. Over it. Over it.
That’s what you kept repeating to yourself as you ended up to relentlessly draw, making sure every single detail was perfect and in place—when suddenly,
“What do we have here, hum~?”
A sudden voice spoke aloud, causing you to jump in your seat and come back from your thoughts. It was Harlequin, he still had that usual grin on his face, his eyes glanced down at your drawing of Ticket Taker and his eyebrows raised curiously. “I didn’t know you could draw,” he said simply. You immediately closed the notebook, “I can’t!” You said quickly, putting the mechanical pencil back into the notebook’s pen loop. Harlequin tilted his head, his grin still on his face, “Right, of course. That’s why I definitely didn’t see you draw with so much concentration and so much gusto,” he said flatly. You didn’t respond and simply kept your gaze down and onto the notebook. You weren’t that into drawing anymore, you weren’t. You weren’t good at it and dropped it, you didn’t like to draw. “I-...I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you spoke, your own voice unsure. Before Harlequin could say any more the others came into the kitchen, you felt a sliver of hope that maybe they would be an excuse to escape this conversation with Harlequin.
However, you should’ve known better with Harlequin. Even with the others there he continuously pestered you with questions—that you refused to answer—about your drawing and drawing skills. Even as Pierrot cooked dinner for everyone, he refused to drop the topic with you. Luckily he didn’t speak too loudly so the others didn’t really care all that much. After you finished your food you quickly excused yourself and left, going back to your room…—well, your bed. That night, for some reason, you couldn’t part with the notebook and ended up turning on a lamp. You stared at the drawing of Ticket Taker you had done earlier.
…
‘I could do better,’ you thought to yourself. Next thing you knew, you started to draw once more—drawing the doctor. Once you finished drawing the Doctor, you drew Jester, and once you were done drawing Jester you drew the costume design of the fools, and then Harlequin, then Pierrot, and next thing you knew over 30 pages of the notebook was filled with drawings and the sun was rising. You haven't slept whatsoever. You yawned tiredly, getting up from bed. Today was absolutely going to be the longest day ever…
After you finished all the tasks for today you were practically dead on your feet, yet the notebook stuck with you throughout the entire day. Ticket Taker seemed to notice this and stared at you curiously when you sat by the entrance with the notebook in your lap. You slowly started to doze off before you felt a hand on your shoulder, you looked up to be met with Ticket Taker. “I have been wondering, dear, where exactly did you get that notebook? You rarely leave the circus as is, so where did you acquire such a thing? Also, what exactly are you using it for? I’m aware that you don’t enjoy taking notes, so…” he tailed off. You hummed, to be honest you didn’t want to answer whatsoever, but from how tired you were at this point you didn’t care all that much. Sleep seemed to do that to you, making you focus on how tired you are and only how tired you were. It was so odd, you’d do anything just for a few moments of rest… “If I show you will you carry me back to my bed,” you suddenly asked. Ticket Taker seemed slightly surprised at the request, however he saw the clear bags under your eyes so he ended up giving a slight nod—much to your own surprise.
You both waited until it was later at night, when the amount of visitors at the circus started to dwindle. After they did, Ticket Taker reached out to you, suddenly hooking one arm under your legs while the other supported your back, carrying you bridal style. It felt nice to be honest. He was warm, it felt nice with the recent cold weather. You both didn’t say a single word while he was carrying you to your bed, but the silence wasn’t uncomfortable. That’s one thing you liked about him, with him there wasn’t a need for small talk. After a minute of walking and ignoring the stares of the curious visitors who were leaving, you both made it to your bed—which he promptly sat you down on, it felt so nice to be in bed. Your back hurting from sitting on that stook hunched over (curse your posture…) “Now then, dear, care to show me what exactly is in the notebook? I carried you back as you requested,” he inquired calmly. You groaned, to be honest now that you were in bed you didn’t want to show him, you didn’t even think he’d agree to carry you here. Although, a deal was a deal… (plus, if you went back on your word, only god knows what kind of debt Ticket Taker will put you in for the unfair trade). After a moment of simply laying there—before Ticket Taker could press further—you grabbed the notebook and reluctantly held it out to him. He looked satisfied enough, he grabbed the notebook from your hands and opened it, starting to go through each and every drawing you did…
Neither of you spoke as he continuously flipped through the pages, excruciatingly slow… In all honesty, you had hoped he would just see one or two drawings and toss it aside. Instead, he spent several—what felt like minutes—seconds staring at the pages. Eventually, he had gone through all of the pages and spoke, “You are extremely…supreb at drawing. Your attention to detail on all of these is extraordinary, considering you rarely pay any attention to your surroundings half of the time.” You couldn’t tell if that last part was a compliment or a back-handed comment either way you shook your head, “I’m not good at drawing, I don’t even enjoy it all that much.” You said, glancing away from him. Ticket Taker’s head tilted slightly before he asked the question you absolutely didn’t want to hear, “Why don’t you enjoy it then [name]?” You scoffed at the question, was that even a valid question to ask. It felt like it wasn’t, the real question was; what was there to enjoy? In the end a few simple blunt sentences formed into a full rant. You hadn’t meant to go on a rant, expressing every single unspoken word you’d felt since adolescence, every single thought about that person.
As you continued on and on, you didn’t stop, honestly you had just assumed Ticket Taker would leave eventually. He never seemed like the type to deal with such childish emotions like yours, and yet.., he sat there with the notebook open listening to you go on and on about your frustrations with drawing, how it was an absolute waste of time in the end. Cause it was a waste of time, three whole years wasted–spent on drawing away your life. Drawing as if your life depended on it, it was so..-so stupid. You hated yourself for even trying to compare to that person. No matter what you did you would never, never be good enough. Never as good as them, you hated them for being so good. You hated everyone around you who was there at that time comparing you two, judging your works, critiquing them when you never asked for it. And most of all you hated yourself for having so much hatred for someone who was simply more talented than you.
As you finally just stopped talking, you took in a deep shaky breath. You felt lightheaded from talking nonstop, you were so focused on your thoughts and emotions that you flinched when Ticket Taker suddenly placed a hand on your shoulder. You had assumed he had simply left while you were ranting endlessly, “T-...Ticket Taker…? W-...-why- why are you still…–?” you trailed off, still out of breath and lightheaded from so much speaking. “I can’t say I understand why exactly you dislike your drawings…However, if I might add. If you truly hate drawing, if you truly believe it is such a waste of time and effort then why? Why did you fill up almost half of this notebook with your works? Why did you put what looks like a great amount of time and effort into drawing each of us, even the fool’s costumes?” He asked, his voice calm and soft. You didn’t respond, why did you do all of that? He had a point, why put so much effort into a thing you claimed to despise, why stay up so late to perform the one thing you claimed to be over and despise? There was absolutely no reason to and yet, you still did. You still placed so much time and effort into each drawing, to ensure that no details would go missing. “I…- I don’t…-” you trailed off, completely unsure of yourself. What made you draw all that you did in the notebook? It was an answer you were so unsure of, you didn’t know how to respond to any of Ticket Taker’s questions either. After a moment he, himself, realized this and sighed speaking once more asking another question–a more simple one,
“Why do you draw?”
Such a simple question and yet you had no answer to it.
Was it to be better than everyone? No..
Was it to have a talent to show off? No..
Was it so you could just say you were good at something? No..
You couldn’t figure out what it was—why did you draw, [name]?
Have you forgotten it? The simplest—and yet purest—reason ever on why you drew. It had been lost to time, the reason why you drew. Lost underneath the stress, anxiety, jealousy, and bitterness you hold.
“Why do you draw?”
Ticket Taker’s question played in your head again, and yet, you still had no answer to it.
The reason why you drew was because you were simply…you. And you were…