(no subject)
You may have read the beginning of this before.
But here it is again with it finished. It isn't all that great.
Please do not hate.
Or hate, I don't care. It doesn't matter.
Yvonne screamed. A horrible wailing cry that echoed through the circus tent. The crowd of children and parents joined her screaming when it dawned upon them what had happened. Blood poured out of the wound where the throwing knife stuck into her chest. Still tied to the large target, still turning upside down then back upright again, the sudden impact was disorienting. She looked down at the knife stuck into her and her white gown quickly turning red. In the brief moment she was suspended upside down, Yvonne felt her blood, warm against her skin, as it flowed across her chest to her neck and face. It spread out across her shoulders, a whorl of blood across her graceful body.
It was the first time Phil had missed the target. He was usually a good shot, the knives between her legs and under each arm was proof of that. But tonight his fourth knife missed its mark.
“Honey!” Yvonne had cried backstage, running into Phil’s arms only moments before their act. “Honey, we need to celebrate.”
“Celebrate? What’s all this about?” he asked, accepting the glass of champagne she had poured for him.
“Honey, we’re going to have a baby! I’m pregnant!” She couldn’t contain her joy any longer, they had been trying for so long and now it was finally happening. Phil grabbed Yvonne’s drink from her before she could finish and drank it himself.
“You shouldn’t be drinking,” he told her.
The crowd of people buzzed around Phil, sitting on the orange upholstery couch. They mingled with each other and gave him a few sympathetic looks, but for the most part they gave him his space. He didn’t move. He sat on the couch, staring at the crackling fireplace.
It had been three days since Yvonne died in that hospital bed and Phil could do nothing but replay the tragic event in his head.
“I was so shocked,” one of the people said.
“Phil, old pal,” a greasy hand clamped down onto Phil’s shoulder from behind the couch. The short man the hand belonged to walked around and hopped up onto the couch. “Try not to take it so hard. In this line of business, mistakes are bound to be made.” Was this the misshapen ringleader’s way of sympathizing? He clapped his hand onto Phil’s shoulder once more and for once Phil started to move. He turned to look Sharkoth in his squirrelly little eyes.
“Yes, I know.” Mistakes! His wife was dead and the little troll had the audacity to tell him it was all a mistake and not to worry about it. In his head, Phil was screaming at the man. His wife and child, dead by his own hand. There was no way he could relax and forget about it. “Mistakes.”
“Listen, kid. Take it from me ok? I’ve been around the block a few times and I know how life goes sometimes.” Please god, Phil thought, somebody make him stop talking. “There are plenty of other fish in the sea. I’m sure there are plenty of girls that would let you throw knives at ‘em.”
“Yeah,” was all Phil could manage to say. Inside he was screaming and ready to strangle Sharkoth but his body lacked the will to move.
Daniel, the great Indian war chief, came to stand in front of Sharkoth. He towered over the imp. “Why don’t you fix yourself a drink?” he pointed Sharkoth towards the liquor and to which the little man scuttled without another word. Daniel sat down next to Phil, his weight pushing the cushion into a depression and making Phil bob up for a moment.
“Try not to pay any attention to the little dick,” Daniel told him. “I know it’s hard. She was a good woman. I remember when I first came to work at the circus most everybody was frightened of me. My first few days, I don’t think anybody talked to me at all, not like a person at least. I was just another act in the freak show, but Yvonne wasn’t frightened of me. She talked with me when nobody else would. She was a wonderful woman. A great friend.”
Phil nodded. She was a wonderful woman, of course he knew that. He didn’t need an Indian chief to remind him of that.
He was glad now that they hadn’t had a chance to tell anybody else about the baby. It would be too much, Phil now thought. He could barely deal with everybody around him talking about his deceased wife; talking about the death of his unborn child would have killed him.
The night began to wind down and the guests were slowly thinning out. Daniel was the last of the guests to leave, and after grabbing his coat he came back to the couch where Phil was still sitting, motionless.
“Hey Phil, I know this is tough, but if you need anything, I’m here for you. We all are. We don’t have any more shows the rest of the week, so any of us can be here in a moments notice if you need. Just let us know, okay?” Daniel put his arm across Phil’s shoulders and pulled him closer. Phil nodded and rose for the first time all night to show Daniel out.
“Thank you,” was all he said as Daniel walked out the door.
The bottle of booze was empty, and having no more use for it, Phil let it slip from his hand and shatter on the bathroom floor. In the muffled state of drunkenness he barely heard chime of glass shards on the floor, barely felt the glass under his bare feet. He stared into the mirror at his reflection, the bags under his eyes, but couldn’t even meet his own gaze for more than a moment.
The picture of Yvonne in his hands slid to the floor and when he bent down to pick it up he noticed the blood around his feet but paid it no attention.
But here it is again with it finished. It isn't all that great.
Please do not hate.
Or hate, I don't care. It doesn't matter.
Yvonne screamed. A horrible wailing cry that echoed through the circus tent. The crowd of children and parents joined her screaming when it dawned upon them what had happened. Blood poured out of the wound where the throwing knife stuck into her chest. Still tied to the large target, still turning upside down then back upright again, the sudden impact was disorienting. She looked down at the knife stuck into her and her white gown quickly turning red. In the brief moment she was suspended upside down, Yvonne felt her blood, warm against her skin, as it flowed across her chest to her neck and face. It spread out across her shoulders, a whorl of blood across her graceful body.
It was the first time Phil had missed the target. He was usually a good shot, the knives between her legs and under each arm was proof of that. But tonight his fourth knife missed its mark.
“Honey!” Yvonne had cried backstage, running into Phil’s arms only moments before their act. “Honey, we need to celebrate.”
“Celebrate? What’s all this about?” he asked, accepting the glass of champagne she had poured for him.
“Honey, we’re going to have a baby! I’m pregnant!” She couldn’t contain her joy any longer, they had been trying for so long and now it was finally happening. Phil grabbed Yvonne’s drink from her before she could finish and drank it himself.
“You shouldn’t be drinking,” he told her.
The crowd of people buzzed around Phil, sitting on the orange upholstery couch. They mingled with each other and gave him a few sympathetic looks, but for the most part they gave him his space. He didn’t move. He sat on the couch, staring at the crackling fireplace.
It had been three days since Yvonne died in that hospital bed and Phil could do nothing but replay the tragic event in his head.
“I was so shocked,” one of the people said.
“Phil, old pal,” a greasy hand clamped down onto Phil’s shoulder from behind the couch. The short man the hand belonged to walked around and hopped up onto the couch. “Try not to take it so hard. In this line of business, mistakes are bound to be made.” Was this the misshapen ringleader’s way of sympathizing? He clapped his hand onto Phil’s shoulder once more and for once Phil started to move. He turned to look Sharkoth in his squirrelly little eyes.
“Yes, I know.” Mistakes! His wife was dead and the little troll had the audacity to tell him it was all a mistake and not to worry about it. In his head, Phil was screaming at the man. His wife and child, dead by his own hand. There was no way he could relax and forget about it. “Mistakes.”
“Listen, kid. Take it from me ok? I’ve been around the block a few times and I know how life goes sometimes.” Please god, Phil thought, somebody make him stop talking. “There are plenty of other fish in the sea. I’m sure there are plenty of girls that would let you throw knives at ‘em.”
“Yeah,” was all Phil could manage to say. Inside he was screaming and ready to strangle Sharkoth but his body lacked the will to move.
Daniel, the great Indian war chief, came to stand in front of Sharkoth. He towered over the imp. “Why don’t you fix yourself a drink?” he pointed Sharkoth towards the liquor and to which the little man scuttled without another word. Daniel sat down next to Phil, his weight pushing the cushion into a depression and making Phil bob up for a moment.
“Try not to pay any attention to the little dick,” Daniel told him. “I know it’s hard. She was a good woman. I remember when I first came to work at the circus most everybody was frightened of me. My first few days, I don’t think anybody talked to me at all, not like a person at least. I was just another act in the freak show, but Yvonne wasn’t frightened of me. She talked with me when nobody else would. She was a wonderful woman. A great friend.”
Phil nodded. She was a wonderful woman, of course he knew that. He didn’t need an Indian chief to remind him of that.
He was glad now that they hadn’t had a chance to tell anybody else about the baby. It would be too much, Phil now thought. He could barely deal with everybody around him talking about his deceased wife; talking about the death of his unborn child would have killed him.
The night began to wind down and the guests were slowly thinning out. Daniel was the last of the guests to leave, and after grabbing his coat he came back to the couch where Phil was still sitting, motionless.
“Hey Phil, I know this is tough, but if you need anything, I’m here for you. We all are. We don’t have any more shows the rest of the week, so any of us can be here in a moments notice if you need. Just let us know, okay?” Daniel put his arm across Phil’s shoulders and pulled him closer. Phil nodded and rose for the first time all night to show Daniel out.
“Thank you,” was all he said as Daniel walked out the door.
The bottle of booze was empty, and having no more use for it, Phil let it slip from his hand and shatter on the bathroom floor. In the muffled state of drunkenness he barely heard chime of glass shards on the floor, barely felt the glass under his bare feet. He stared into the mirror at his reflection, the bags under his eyes, but couldn’t even meet his own gaze for more than a moment.
The picture of Yvonne in his hands slid to the floor and when he bent down to pick it up he noticed the blood around his feet but paid it no attention.