The Clown

A Story by Tea4Two

Short story

The lights burned furiously under the canopy that night. The laughter and cheering was always a rush for Jack, but not tonight, not lately. He wore a permanent smile, painted glaringly from ear to ear. His pains and miseries were always hidden by the same awkward grin. The kids cheered him on and laughed and pointed. He did this for them. He did this for them because he knew that happy times were few and far between.

As the lights slowly flickered off and people began trickling out the gates, Jack walked somberly back to his trailer. It was well passed midnight and all was dark and quiet except for the occasional drunken catcall or one of the w****s, gaudily f*****g their last trick for the night. Jack wore his smile still, but inside he was dying.
     He pushed open the door to his trailer and stepped inside, forcing it shut behind him. He sat down heavily on the bed as if encumbered, stretched down into the side table cupboard and pulled out an half empty bottle of whiskey. He gulped it furiously, drinking most of what was left. He replaced the bottle and trudged over to his dressing table, the place where frowns were turned upside down. He dipped an old discoloured rag into a jar of murky water. His face began to drip and distort as he slowly wiped the paint away.
     It was strange he thought, to see the families arriving, mothers and children. No fathers. They were across the sea fighting in a war against the forces of a madman. Wives and widows brought their children here to help them forget, but Jack could never forget the faces of these women. Some of them had lost, some were afraid to lose, but none of them ever laughed or cheered.  It was the children that made the old tent come alive.

Jack stared at his reflection in the mirror, his focus shifting back and forth as the booze worked its magic. At the corner of the mirror was an old sepia photograph, visibly worn with age and dog-eared from constant handling. He reached for it and plucked it from its corner of the mirror. On the photo were a young woman and a small boy. He looked at it for a second before placing it gently back in its place. He stood up and stumbled over to the bed again. Taking another drink form the bottle, he removed a revolver from under his pillow. Tucking it in the back of his rainbow-striped clown pants, he tramped towards the door.
     He walked through the darkness, catching small glimpses of figures stirring, none of them noticed him. He walked up the hill and sat down on an old log, this had been his own private place for the past month. He removed the revolver from his pants and fingered the cylinder, spinning and clicking it as he thought. The small marching lights that highlighted the word “Carousel” caught his gaze and made him remember.
     “He loved those damn things,” he whispered to himself.
     But no matter how hard he tried to remember them, all he could see were the flames and all he could hear were the screams. The smell of seared flesh seemed as fresh to him now as it did two years ago.

The streets were bustling with life as everyone rushed to get home after a long days work. Jack pulled on his jacket and whistled for a taxi. It was his son David’s birthday and he had to stop on the way home to pick up the model airplane he had reserved at Fred’s Toys. David had been eyeing it for months and it was the perfect gift. They pulled up to the store where Jack hopped out and gave the cabby instructions to wait. He arrived back, package in hand and got in the cab. He gave directions to his home. The traffic was a bit more backed up than usual but Jack thought nothing of it. He opened the packet and stared at the box inside. He couldn’t wait to see David’s face when he opened it. Just then three police vehicles sped past, sirens blaring, followed by two large fire trucks. Jack watched through his window as they sped up they road and rounded the corner down Fryland Avenue.
     “Some jerk must’ve rear-ended somebody or something.” said the cabby, shaking his head. “You’re lucky your house is just around the corner, this could’ve been a very expensive ride.”

     After fifteen minutes of stop-starting, Jack was finally almost home. It was already dark. Jack knew he was late and smiled at the thought of prolonging David’s anticipation a little longer. As the cab turned into Jack’s street, a large crowd of people were gathered in the street, some running, some just standing there. Jack quickly paid for his ride and climbed out of the car. He looked up, his apartment building was on fire, flames licking the sky and smoke dying it blacker than night. He ran, panicked, towards the swirling blue lights of a police car.
     “I need to go inside,” he shouted at the first officer he saw. “My family is in there!”
     “Sorry sir, you aren’t allowed to pass, the building is very unstable.” Replied the officer forcibly. “We have a team of fighters in there right now clearing the people out.”
     Jack ran towards the entrance of the building where he saw a blackened fire-fighter emerge carrying a limp body. Jack ran towards the man and saw that the body he was carrying was his wife Angela. He yelled at the man to put her down. He took his coat off and wrapped it around her body, she was still breathing but barely. Her skin was red and blistered and her clothes were melted to her body.
     “He… is… still… inside.” She whispered to him, forcing every word through her pain.
     He jerked his head towards the building and then quickly back to his wife before running towards the source of the flames.
     “Look after her!” he yelled to one of the firemen.

     He ran forward and disappeared into the burning building, ignoring cries to stop from the officers outside. He darted straight for their apartment which was on the second floor. Fallen planks, smoke and intense heat made movement very difficult but he continued on through the obvious dangers. He came to his door which had been chopped in by the fighter’s axe. He kicked away some of the debris and jumped inside, shielding his face from the wild flames.
     “David!” he shouted, coughing uncontrollably as he inhaled the smoke.
     He staggered blindly through the house. Finding his way to the bathroom, he saw David, surrounded by flames and lying motionless on the floor. Without thought he jumped through the flames and picked up his son. He could hear David was not breathing but could only hurry to get him outside. As he made his way down the stairs, a burning beam cracked loose and plummeted down, landing on him and knocking him unconscious.

The lights of the carousel winked out and snapped Jack out of his waking nightmare. It had started raining and Jack hadn’t even realized. He was drenched, the tears on his face indistinguishable from the rain. He looked down at the gun in his hand, like he did every night. He had come here to this place, among strangers, to get away, to forget. He knew nothing when he first arrived but he had learned. He touched his face with a wet hand and gently patted the mottled scars that made up his right side. He stood up slowly, placing the gun back in his pants. The paint hid his nightmare form everyone, on the outside he was always sheltered from them. Always hidden behind a permanent smile.

© 2010 Tea4Two

Author's Note

Very rough first draft, needs revision and a possible rewrite but looking for some feedback before I put in the effort.

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Tea4Two

wow, thanks for the comments. This story was a little rushed and could easily have gone to twice the length, will do a rewrite soon and re-post. Thanks again :)