Post by RAINBOLT on Feb 20, 2013 21:24:37 GMT -5
During the great depression, the aspect of a complete escape from the pressures of a declining society was a near impossible concept. A breath into fantasy for just a brief moment was such a farfetched idea, and yet it was the most coveted. There were inventions and pastimes conjured up by dreamers and prayers. As the economy plummeted there was a rise of a universal hope for a sliver of happiness… And we wanted to bring it. Our entire family did. We labored, practiced, and planned until the ultimate getaway could be achieved. We so desperately wanted to bring a smile to the faces of the most grief stricken places in the most unconventional way that we forgot one major aspect… Little did our ancestors know that this flaw would haunt us forever.
On our maiden performance, we had set up in a quiet little Wyoming town by the name of Mute Springs. The owner of this poverty stricken village knew what our troupe was all about. Despite the citizen’s normal conservative mindset they could not care less of who we were. They wanted us so desperately, almost investing their entire annual budget into catering to us. We did not let them down- our performance was nearly perfect. Acrobats, tightrope walkers, trapeze artists and massive elephants… We were accepted as who we are. They did not care… That was, up until the final act.
As we all prepared to take the stage one last time in a spectacular finale, my grandfather, the ringmaster, was plagued with anxiety. The man had driven himself into bouts of insanity in order to make our performance perfect- It was his obsession. Unbeknownst to everyone, the creeping paranoia had taken its toll on him, coupled by his curse. During his final announcement he had tensed. The tent grew thick with silence and confusion as our audience and performers tried to piece together what was going on. Then in a sporadic turn of events our brave leader had cracked. His madness led through his default placid exterior as his true self had revealed itself in the form of the monster that consumed his mind and the one that possessed his true self. Discord erupted. The animals were spooked, causing a panicked stampede to overtake the arena. As our performers tried to calm the audience and animals, the hysteria only had increased. Our own, as well as our cherished audience, were trampled to death and overtaken with absolute terror. Without our leader to guide us and his assistants after him, we only watched helplessly as the world we built burnt to ashes. Those surviving the accident had fled the town entirely, as most of the already weak buildings had been wrecked by the stampede. The last of the villagers had approached me as I wept over the horrendous tragedy. We looked at each other in absolute silence amidst the destruction. He slowly had backed away with a forlorn look in his eyes, sinking into the unknown.
It had taken weeks of clean up to erase the destruction… But the scar of our doings had never erased from our minds. We of course went on a seemingly permanent hiatus from our performance as we tried to figure out what we were going to do. Our once heroic Ringmaster was too consumed by guilt to even try to muster a response. We stayed in the town because, well, what else were we supposed to do? We could not disband… We were brought together for a reason. We freaks, or oddities as we prefer to call ourselves, could not live in a regular society. We are deformed, mutated, gifted with bizarre abilities, and not what one would consider normal at any definition of the word. We could not go home. We had none! The only one who had money was the Ringmaster. He was our only hope. He was also a father to us. Our little paradise had been in his family for generations. We couldn’t leave each other… So we did not. We transformed the once ruined town into a safe haven for all of us. We invented a place where we could live without discrimination and fear. Something was missing from our home, however, and it was what brought us together in the beginning- our circus. Our anxiety was collective for this idea. It was our downfall, and yet it was our upbringing. It was who we were and still are. The Ringmaster had his obligation to lead us and we were to follow him. That is our identity. Besides, we all had to contribute to our town, correct?
We reestablished ourselves after the voted decision. We collected ourselves under our still present big top to decide our legacy’s fate, which won in our rightful favor. Even though the voting tie was barely broken, those hesitant to return to our failure slowly warmed up to the idea. Once we started performing, our once grand reputation returned to us. With our new influx of income, our town flourished. With each location around the United States we ‘rescued’ a new member, thus expanding our family even more. Yes… That is what we are. A family. With our newfound determination, extra precautions, and steadily increasing wealth, we took hold of our identity and rank as the one and only Circo Phantasia.
The diary gently closed with a fluid swipe of a gloved hand. It had been seventy eight or so years since those words had been scribbled first hand by one of the residents of the ever-strong Circus. Those principles, that thesis… It was the foundation of who they were. It was miraculous that the circus had lasted this long without human interference. Maybe it was magic, who knows? The circus was here for a reason. It was a sanctum for those who were different than the rest. Mutants, hybrids, gifteds, paranormals… It does not matter. Circo Phantasia was molded out of imperfections and abominations. Society may progress through the clutches of time, but one aspect was always certain- there will always forever be a diamond in the rough… A truly imperfect perfection would always find its way home.
On our maiden performance, we had set up in a quiet little Wyoming town by the name of Mute Springs. The owner of this poverty stricken village knew what our troupe was all about. Despite the citizen’s normal conservative mindset they could not care less of who we were. They wanted us so desperately, almost investing their entire annual budget into catering to us. We did not let them down- our performance was nearly perfect. Acrobats, tightrope walkers, trapeze artists and massive elephants… We were accepted as who we are. They did not care… That was, up until the final act.
As we all prepared to take the stage one last time in a spectacular finale, my grandfather, the ringmaster, was plagued with anxiety. The man had driven himself into bouts of insanity in order to make our performance perfect- It was his obsession. Unbeknownst to everyone, the creeping paranoia had taken its toll on him, coupled by his curse. During his final announcement he had tensed. The tent grew thick with silence and confusion as our audience and performers tried to piece together what was going on. Then in a sporadic turn of events our brave leader had cracked. His madness led through his default placid exterior as his true self had revealed itself in the form of the monster that consumed his mind and the one that possessed his true self. Discord erupted. The animals were spooked, causing a panicked stampede to overtake the arena. As our performers tried to calm the audience and animals, the hysteria only had increased. Our own, as well as our cherished audience, were trampled to death and overtaken with absolute terror. Without our leader to guide us and his assistants after him, we only watched helplessly as the world we built burnt to ashes. Those surviving the accident had fled the town entirely, as most of the already weak buildings had been wrecked by the stampede. The last of the villagers had approached me as I wept over the horrendous tragedy. We looked at each other in absolute silence amidst the destruction. He slowly had backed away with a forlorn look in his eyes, sinking into the unknown.
It had taken weeks of clean up to erase the destruction… But the scar of our doings had never erased from our minds. We of course went on a seemingly permanent hiatus from our performance as we tried to figure out what we were going to do. Our once heroic Ringmaster was too consumed by guilt to even try to muster a response. We stayed in the town because, well, what else were we supposed to do? We could not disband… We were brought together for a reason. We freaks, or oddities as we prefer to call ourselves, could not live in a regular society. We are deformed, mutated, gifted with bizarre abilities, and not what one would consider normal at any definition of the word. We could not go home. We had none! The only one who had money was the Ringmaster. He was our only hope. He was also a father to us. Our little paradise had been in his family for generations. We couldn’t leave each other… So we did not. We transformed the once ruined town into a safe haven for all of us. We invented a place where we could live without discrimination and fear. Something was missing from our home, however, and it was what brought us together in the beginning- our circus. Our anxiety was collective for this idea. It was our downfall, and yet it was our upbringing. It was who we were and still are. The Ringmaster had his obligation to lead us and we were to follow him. That is our identity. Besides, we all had to contribute to our town, correct?
We reestablished ourselves after the voted decision. We collected ourselves under our still present big top to decide our legacy’s fate, which won in our rightful favor. Even though the voting tie was barely broken, those hesitant to return to our failure slowly warmed up to the idea. Once we started performing, our once grand reputation returned to us. With our new influx of income, our town flourished. With each location around the United States we ‘rescued’ a new member, thus expanding our family even more. Yes… That is what we are. A family. With our newfound determination, extra precautions, and steadily increasing wealth, we took hold of our identity and rank as the one and only Circo Phantasia.
The diary gently closed with a fluid swipe of a gloved hand. It had been seventy eight or so years since those words had been scribbled first hand by one of the residents of the ever-strong Circus. Those principles, that thesis… It was the foundation of who they were. It was miraculous that the circus had lasted this long without human interference. Maybe it was magic, who knows? The circus was here for a reason. It was a sanctum for those who were different than the rest. Mutants, hybrids, gifteds, paranormals… It does not matter. Circo Phantasia was molded out of imperfections and abominations. Society may progress through the clutches of time, but one aspect was always certain- there will always forever be a diamond in the rough… A truly imperfect perfection would always find its way home.