ALL CREDIT GOES TO MY BRO. YOU DID A GOOD JOB BRO.
~~~
The circus is open. You may enter.
You hear feet shuffling as the crowd walks towards the entrance like a flock of lost sheep, bewildered by the light at the entrance. No one speaks a word. No one ventures to ask what the show is about, for no one has the answer. Blank faces are everywhere; there are no excited kids jumping around jovially. The air around you is filled with a misty haze, dampening the weak light of the stars above. Even the moon is too afraid to come out. The flowers in the meadow around the circus bend down dismally as the mist looms over them. In the darkness, only the circus lights up; luring, tempting, beguiling. There is something about those lights that make you wonder; they are not the festive and vibrant kind that you see in traditional carnivals. The ghostly green glow hums a low and hollow note, and you liken it to a requiem at a funeral.
Mindlessly, you walk into the circus. A figure is holding a lantern at the center of the stage - a sickly orange fire emanates from it, burning furiously like a beast in a cage. For a fleeting second, it seems like the fire is trying to warn you, as if it were saying "You shouldn't be here, you are going to ..." The light is put out with a soft hiss. The show has started. Vaguely, you can see a crooked silhouette standing at the entrance. He must be the ringmaster, yet, he does not speak nor does he have the shining smile that you envisioned him to have. As he turns around the spotlight reveals him to be wearing a mask. Peculiar. He raises his arm and signals the first act to take the stage.
A tightrope walker appears at the stage and steals the spotlight away from the ringmaster. As he climbs up the ladder you notice that he too, is wearing a mask. As you look up you think to yourself that a rope as thin as a strand of hair cannot possibly support the weight of the walker. He hovers his leg above the rope, almost asphyxiating the audience as he prepares to step on it. There is a mixture of long sighs and heart attacks as he makes his first step. You take out a handkerchief and wipe off the anxiety on your forehead. But it is not over. He starts to wobble. He starts to shake the rope. He falls. A solid thud fills the tent before you have the time to drop your jaw in shock. Just when you thought your jaw couldn't drop lower, the dust settles and what happens defies everything you know. The tightrope walker stands up. His arm is bent at a grotesque angle, and it is obvious that he had suffered major injuries, but there is no blood. His mask has fallen off, revealing the horror that is his face...
Frozen, you are unable to peel your eyes away from his ghastly features. His grey, rotten skin is flaking off his face like rusty metal from the hull of an old ship. The dull colour of his skin is contrasted only by his bloodshot eyes that scream terror. The stench of his revolting face disperses, making your stomach churn. Suddenly, the lights go out. They are around you. You feel the heavy breathing and hungry voices. At this moment, you suddenly regain control of your body and you don't even need your impulse to tell you to run.
Shadows surround you, slithering, avoiding the stage lights. An unspeakable horror infiltrates your mind and bewitching your isolated soul. As you stumble your way around, a sanguine red light flashes, revealing the horror of the scene ... it is an absolute massacre; the monsters - whatever they are - devour the audience, eating them alive as they scream for mercy. A child cries as his mother is torn apart, flesh from bone, by a ravaging beast that bears resemblance to the devil himself.
Suddenly, you see a light in the darkness, a light that promises your freedom and safety, a light emanating from the exit of the circus tent. You reach for it, forgetting about the terrors around. Then the metal gate shuts, shutting your hopes. A deep voice bellows out.
"You cannot leave, the show has only just started."
