The Funambulist

{fu·nam·bu·list: a tightrope walker/rope-dancer}

Scott Hoying had been sitting in row 4, seat number 23, when he had been sure that his heart stopped beating.

With his fingernails burrowed into his dark jeans and his lip between his teeth, he could do nothing but stare upwards - 50 feet above him- as the figure pranced along the high wire. The performer's body swayed to the melody around him, a stunning smile lighting up his entire face as he moved; his arms were thrown out to the sides, toes pointed, as he jumped along the tightrope.

The massive tent expelled a blinding white light in the performer's direction, casting an ethereal glow upon his black-clad figure. On cue, the performer then quickly leaped forward, smile still intact, executing three of the most perfect front flips Scott had ever seen in his life.

He thought the boy looked miraculous up there, and that was definitely an understatement. Though he was around same age as Scott himself, his way of performing showed experience and talent far beyond his years; the performer quite literally personified the music. It's sure that Scott was definitely the last person to be able to judge circus performers, as it wasn't exactly his area of expertise, but he knew passion when he saw it. Scott was certain that if he even attempted something of that calibre, he would probably start crying, if he didn't break his nose first.