It was mid winter when the sideshow arrived. "Valencia," a sign read above the wrought iron gates. The sign was messily tied onto the fence with red ribbon, which accentuated how old and rotten the wood was. The lettering, however, was like a god had attempted calligraphy. The tents had been set up in an old abandoned graveyard, in which each tombstone was buried in uncountable layers of dust, dirt, and memories come to pass and be forgotten. It seemed almost like an illusion. The tents softly shivered in the winter wind, making the area shimmer faintly in the greyish light.
A man's footsteps shifted through the area at midnight sharp. His neatly pinstriped pants and black leather shoes seemed invincible against the dirt, as if they scuffed up the Earth, making it less valuable. His piercing eyes roamed to each tent, gazing daggers at the wavering fabric. He twirled his grey, wiry mustache idly, not unlike a cat flicking its tail before his pounce. And at that moment, a steady silence hung over Valencia, the quiet a blanket floating down. The wind stopped. The grand clock in the town stopped its chiming. And the man stopped. He turned around and vanished, his coat tails slowly fading behind him.
YOU ARE READING
Valencia
RomanceThe Valencia Carnival arrived in mid winter. It's a melting pot of illusions and mystery, and in the center of it all is a demonic source that no one truly understands. The only one who can truly see the hearts of the workers is a 17 year old boy wh...
