The juggler sat poised in the back room his head the wall his eyes close and soft sighs of breath slowly escaping from his chest. He did not think, the juggler was actually incapable of thinking, at the moment, his friends, however, said that he was a well versed man. He felt his entire body with every breath. His stomach lurched from two days of starvation the peanut butter jar he'd finished earlier in the day could hardly be considered a meal, he had no money, no sympathy, he didn't want sympathy but he wouldn't turn down a hot meal. His bones ached and cracked his knees popped and cranked when did stood snapping like twigs underfoot. His feet the same condition, small inch-long bones that ran along the tops of his feet made loud audible snaps. His skin was drained and a colorless gray, his eyes sunken, his ears were on display because he hardly listened to anyone just watched lips as they moved in front of them. But he was needed, he filled his place, to juggle and juggle until the crowd was pleased and erupted into a wild applause, and they always did, the juggler was the best at his skill and juggling was his skill.
He slowly raised onto his feet moving slow, his spine aching and tired but his muscles were strong, energetic, fresh, he could feel their strained power from beneath his skin. He went over to the mirror and began applying the white oil-based makeup to his face it slid on so smooth, making clear prints across his face. The crowd thundered from the main arena stamping their feet crying aloud as the ringmaster spoke into the microphone in long drawls presenting each act with such spectacular excitement as the last. Sweat beads and cheers dripped down into the dusty arena, a dirty, grimy stage of professionalism that only few could truly master. The thundering clap from the speakers, the video screens played bits of film over and over again in a well-thought-out sequence of excitement and the mob cheering and jeering and the thunder of feet against the metallic steps. The juggler calmly applied the finishing touches his face weak and sensitive.
The ringmaster appeared from behind a tent flap mopping his forehead with a handkerchief. He ranted and raved about the crowd.
"Same crowd every night," replied the juggler. The ringmaster put the handkerchief in his pocket and eyeballed the juggler.
"You alright to go on tonight? You look a like eh," replied the ringmaster he scratched his neck slowly.
"My back is sore from last night sleep," replied the juggler as he fit his bell jingling cufflinks around his wrists.
"My head is dizzy from screaming into a microphone all night, the crowd is wild my friend, you must get excited it is going to be a great show tonight. Look at the lion tamer he is drinking the crowd! All the energy is pouring into his soul and he is just feeding it back to them. You do the same thing Jewel don't worry about that." The juggler smiled meekly at the ringmaster with hope, ferocity in his eyes; the juggler muttered under his breath. The ringmaster burped a loud sickening belch.
"Tell you what, juggler, if you put on the best show of your life I will give you my dinner tonight, consider it a wager." The ringmaster eye-balled the juggler's thinning wrist. The juggler felt the weight of his clothes that sagged against the soreness of his neck. His eyes burned with animal instinct and saliva dribbled out against his lips, thirst burned from his very soul....the juggler shrunk back in defense and suspicion. The ringmaster's eyes taunted him.
"What would make this the best show ever, a lot of my shows have been great," replied the juggler fitting his bouncy tentacled hat onto his head.
"I can tell, if I can feel the crowd's thunder deep in my bones and the stomp of their feet vibrating up my toes I will know this was the best show you ever put on."
"Alright," replied the juggler and stepped away from the mirror cooly walking down the tented hallway.
"A meal," called the ringmaster from his deep and bellowing throat. The juggler's mouth watered in anticipation.
The juggler juggled the best show he ever had throwing flaming pins high in the air with such rhythm and audacity that the audience was stunned silent. They marveled at his skill and ability the absolute danger that he put himself through but the juggler kept the momentum juggling up to ten pins at one time. The crowd remained silent in awe. The juggler finished the set throwing chainsaws with great effort of his arms, sweat poured down his face and stung his eyes and made dark splotches on his uniform. The juggler finished the show exhaustingly bowing to the crowd, the crowd roared in excitement, 'another show,' thought the juggler. And exited the stage smiling and waving back into the tarp hallway.
He arrived back in the hallway tired, exhausted. He set his eyes on the ringmaster who sat proudly chewing a large piece of steak. The ringmaster bit off another piece of steak and reached for the salt shaker. The juggler stood glaring into at the steak, emotionless, piercing, aching and itching.
"I have kids," replied the ringmaster, pouring heaps of salt onto his steak. The juggler shuddered at the mere sound of the ringmaster's voice. "Payday is Friday I need two more shows."
The juggler collapsed into a chair in back of the arena wasted, exhausted, the smell of dried sweat clung to his nostrils; his belly rumbled and complained from being completely ignored. The lion tamer appeared at the back door and handed the juggler a half smoked cigar, "two more shows."
