THE CLOWN

Hi readers, The Clown, a simple story of perfection. Or is it?

Happy reading David Stevens

                                                                                 THE CLOWN

                                                                               By David Stevens

     The Clown stood at the base of a huge Ferris wheel, looking up into its dew covered metal framework. He had just left the ring with his performance complete. His responsibilities to the circus fulfilled. Tonight had been like any other night, or at least it had seemed to the clown to have been as he had put on his distinctive face paint. Little did he know as he applied the final puff of powder to his face, that tonight was to be the night he had sought, worked and prayed for, throughout the whole of his working life.

   He had entered the ring performing a perfect ‘prat fall,’ to the screams of delight from the audience. He had thrust his bucket of pretend ‘water,’ out into the audience to a perfect shudder from them. The roars seared his ears as the audience showed its delight. He walked the ring-edge pretending to slip, and had received the riotous laughter that his performance created, and he had felt as he left the ring for the last time, that tonight had been different! Whilst he was performing nothing had seemed strange, infact everything had gone just perfectly. Each little step on the way through his routine had been perfect. Each burst of laughter had been a shining light to his perfection.

   He exited at the rear of the big top deep in thought, walking between stalls and around rides nodding distractedly at any fair ground worker that saw him, until he was standing in the fading light at the base of the closed Ferris wheel. Normally, any other evening, the mighty wheel would have been turning, loaded up with screaming guests, as a ride like this one is always popular, but not tonight! A motor had burnt out leaving the wheel closed, unlit and unoccupied. He reached out and stepped up onto the metal frame’s first bar, hand grip after hand grip he climbed; reaching for the stars, reaching out for the perfection in which he saw the day.

   Yes, perfection, he finally had decided. His performance had been perfect! The goal of his life was now achieved, he had been faultless. Something that had never happened, but had always been sought. His ambition achieved, he pulled himself across from the sturdy steel frame into the topmost swinging car, feeling the wobble as he stepped over. Even his entry into the car was perfect, his balance faultless. He looked down, now was the time. He was at the peak of his ability; the only way forward for him now was down. He jumped, falling to the ground silently, and landed doubled over a railing barrier designed to keep the public safe. Tumbling forwards he rolled perfectly to the ground, lying face up, looking through fast fading eyes, seeing for the last time into the perfect night sky.

   J. Hardy sat in one of the rearmost seats, looking out into the ring half watching the Clown’s performance, next to him his wife and five year old daughter were enthralled at the show. He had a problem, it was quite simple really and he understood it fully, he didn’t like clowns, he didn’t find them funny or entertaining. He didn’t know it, but he was the only person in the big top that did not appreciate the humour of the performance by Mr. Perfection The Tumbling Clown.

                                                             The Daily Tribute

                                                          Obituary by J. Hardy.

 Mr. Perfection – The Tumbling Clown.

   Sadly this paper has to mourn the tragic death of Mr. Perfection, the king of clowns. He died in what is believed to have been a tragic accident late last night, after performing a near perfect routine. He will be sadly missed by all his fans. — God Bless the Clown and all his funny idiosyncrasies or mistakes…

                                             The End.

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