/ phantom /
a figment of the imagination
"She was like a dark wave crashing upon the bright shores of his horizon."
Anne Wheeler. An outcast. A loner. A street orphan. A disregarded, disgraced child born out of wedlock. A broken girl waiting for a s...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
It had been three weeks since Barnum had left.
And things hadn't been the same since.
An unexperienced Phillip was thrust forcefully into the spotlight and had to undertake the heavy tasks of inspecting the routines and rehearsals, organising the costumes and back-stage productions and conducting the shows. He had some on-the-side help from Bec who had to direct the audiences to their seats in the arena and take over the advertising with posters and speeches and tickets. Lettie, Charles, Anne, W.D, Deng Yan and their fellow performers did all in their power to assist the two as much as they could but things, in general, were beginning to slide downhill.
A group, who was fiercely against the show and its array of 'oddities', assembled out the front of the museum every night, waving torches and racist signs and screaming and yelling profanities. The first time Anne heard the racket, she glanced out of her bedroom window and her breath caught in her throat. A wave of fear washed over her. Where they really that disgusting and freaky to the people gathered out there? Where they truly a shameful and hideous bunch that society wanted to hide away and have nothing to do with?
Soon after this, Phillip made the rounds, encouraging everyone and building up their strength. Over time, Anne realised that the only reason they could all pull themselves out of bed every morning and take to the arena every day was the fact that they were heavily reliant on each other.
They were like one, big family.
And, for that, she was extremely grateful.
Every evening, after the closure of their last performance, the usual cheers and screams of pleasure were accompanied with the shouts and taunts of the mockers and jeerers.
Every day, Anne had to deal with Phillip's flirtatious remarks, Bec's brooding silence and the humiliating rub-down of her name in the arena.
Every morning, she would wake up in tears, remembering her father, her mother, her Oma.
How had things come to this?
During breakfast one particularly overcast day, a frowning Anne came plodding down the stairs and seated herself at the table in the main room. As W.D passed her the water jug, Phillip, who was seated right across from her, spoke up softly, "Hey, you okay?"
Anne looked up to meet his sparkling blue orbs - ones that were laced with worried concern. Quickly, she tore her gaze away from his and nodded.
"Are you sure?" he breathed.
Anne nibbled nervously on her lower lip and nodded again. "Yes. Please. Can we do this later?"
Reluctantly, Phillip sat back in his seat, knowing that, in a room full of watchful people, it wasn't the best of times to engage in a serious conversation with the girl he adored and admired.
