The alleyways of the city at night were always more dark and cluttered than when the sun was shining. Still, ribbons of burning magnesium moonlight slipped through the cracks in between the labarinth of streets and maze of buildings. Eerie shadows slipped and shimmered, illuminating dark and horrendous monsters.
It was three in the morning. The witching hour. When the monsters no longer lurked in the shade, and came out to play with the living.
One such monster was crouched down in what seemed to be a cardboard box, although one couldn't be too certain if it was a box or dumpster in the nighttime nooks and crannies. Whatever it was sitting in, the monster in there opened its glowing red eyes.
It slipped out of its hiding hole silently, hardly more than a sillouette in the early morning gloom. A beam of silver moonlight trail of bloody footprints accompanied the dark shape of the demonic figure, trotting after it like a injured, staggering puppy. The shade stalked along the complicated network of narrow cobbled and cemented pathways of the metropolis, stumbling here and there, but never without certainty in where it was headed.
Eventually it reached a ominous purple mansion with boarded up windows, surrounded by rivers of liquid mercury light.
The shadow was finally illuminated. It was a clown. All bloodied and torn up, yes, but none too worse for the wear. The healing had taken its course throughout the hours, and now he was able to walk again.
He knocked on the door four times and waited patiently.
A minute of eternity passed.
Then the large, formerly magnificent, ornate, grape colored doors opened just the tiniest crack. A thin line of warm yellow light danced on the doorstep.
"Password?" a voice whispered, hardly louder than the light breeze that rippled through the evening air.
"Honk," said the clown, "and you needn't be so quiet, its three in the morning. Nobody's here."
"Come in."
The foyer was somberly lit with yellow light. It beamed down affectionately onto the crumbling lilac walls. By the door stood a young, pale, skinny, fish eyed, nervous harlequin.
"Would you like me to take your coat and shoes?" he asked.
"No. Is the boss here?"
"Yes sir."
"There's no need to address me like that," the clown sighed.
The clown left, strolling down the gigantic foyer and turning a right beyond its french doors. As he headed up the stairs, his usual thoughts cluttered his mind.
Ugh. How he hated the formality of his mirthful cult. If only we could go back to the good old days, where there was more laughter, and less pomp to every ceremony, and the young pierrots and old jesters alike were equal in stance. There was none of this whole password thing and taking the shoes and coats of others. If only we could go back to the days where brownnosing wasn't required.
The steady tromp and squeak of climbing up stairs was a comforting sound amongst the garish and chipped lavender decor. Various paintings of clowns and fools lined the walls. The painting at the top of the stairs was a portrait that looked like it hadn't been dusted in a century. It was titled "OuR mOsT mIrThFuL mEsSiAh". The clown looked at it with pure contempt, seething with hatred.
Some messiah he is. All he does is demand us to act as maids and butlers. No more recruitment drives, or parades. No more shows, pranks, mischief or plays. All that's left is just crappy prayer sessions, cleaning and pointless lectures. No wonder hardly anybody's left.
He stared at the peeling violet paint, and shaked his head.
The coffers are probably empty too. Just another offense he's done to all of clownkind, forcing us to live in this ancient relic. Somebody ought to overthrow him. Somebody should. Somebody like me. Somebody like me, on a night like tonight.
By now, the clown was in front of a great mauve door. He shuddered. Time to meet the mIrThFuL mEsSiAh.
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The mansions at the edge of town at night were always more peaceful and still than when the sun was shining. Still, ribbons of burning magnesium moonlight danced across the fields and roads, casting platinum faeries and lead pixies everywhere. The moon slipped and shimmered, smiling and dancing through the night. There was a sort of lonely joyfulness in the sky, the thoughts of being a cog in the great tale of universe inspiring a sort of bittersweet recollection amongst those who were awake at such an hour.
There were only two who were awake. Both were clowns in a purple mansion. Then, there was only one. The other had gone to sleep forever.
