V (boyxboy short stories)

Vaughn the Mime.

I would have uploaded this earlier but I had to finish Vaughn's character (I did the digital art to the right side of the page because I couldn't find any mime to represent him better) 

     Vaughn stood in the big, empty room he called an apartment. His only belongings were a dusty mattress, a blanket, makeup, floor mirror and few clothes. He only needed that place so he wouldn't sleep on the streets, so he didn't ask for more.

     He looked in the mirror, painting his face in the usual pattern. If there was something he spent money on more than anything, it was his makeup products, considering they were essential for his job. His face was covered in a layer of white, on top of which he was applying black lipstick, forming a Chelsea smile. It was about the single form of smile there will ever be on his lips. His dark brown eyes were contoured by a big amount of black eyeliner, from which a drawn tear supposedly fell.

     He was wearing what used to be his father's clothes. A long sleeve black and white striped shirt, the sleeves pulled up to his elbows. On his hands were soft white gloves, their material smooth and thin and fitting perfectly on his long, slender fingers. He was wearing black tight pants supported by suspenders, his long, slender legs similar to those of the spider currently making its way across the ceiling. His feet stood in a pair of black leather dress shoes, of which heels tapped loudly against the floor.

     He could still remember his teenager self rummaging through the attic in search of things related to the father he forgot the face of, and finding the suit. He took it as a sign from whatever holiness he used to believe in and just ran away with it, leaving his mother behind without a goodbye. He shook his head at his stupidity.

     His father had died on a filthy street after performing a mime number. A group of drunken men mocked, assaulted and beat him to death, and by the time his mother and his toddler self got at the scene, the men were gone, and so was his father's soul. And so he found himself today in his dad's shoes, figuratively and literally, awaiting that same fate with open arms since there was nothing else this world had to offer him.

     He completed the look with his top hat, which at the bottom had a zipper in the material. He would place things like roses, napkins and pack cards in there. If he struggled enough, he would sometimes even catch a small enough bird, they did make good impression.

     Vaughn was the kind of mime that would stand as stiff as a statue until someone would put money in his hat, point at which he would perform an act or agree to join for photos. His muscles were so used to his profession that he would more than often involuntarily freeze out of habit, the very same way he was doing now as he stared at his mirror.

     He let out a silent sigh and got his body to move, bracing himself for yet another day.

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     People offered curious, awed looks as he stood stiffly in a position chosen at random. His arm and hip were propped against an imaginary wall as he held his hat invitingly. His head stood tilted to the left and his eyes were distant as he was lost in his own world.

     He loved that about his job. The way he could escape reality for hours on end and just abandon his body, letting it stand there stiff while his mind travelled between thoughts related to nothing and everything. His fantasy broke when a little girl had been sent by her mother to place a dollar in the hat he held gracefully.

     He felt his muscles twitch to life and leaned at the girl's eye level, patting the air above her head. A small crowd had gathered to see his act, but he only focused on the little girl -she was the one to have paid, wasn't she?-