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I'm not exactly sure why the formatting got messed up with this. I wrote it in open office and it didn't paste well at all. This is a first draft of a short story I've just written. I hope it's decent and enjoyable
“I'dbetter not hear from your teacher that you've been skipping schoolagain Michael,” his mother said. “Just go straight there and besure to be home before dinner tonight. Ms. Borden says she'll be overto help with the cooking and I don't want her to think that we livelike paupers.” Michael nodded in agreement, stole a kiss from hismother's cheek and then darted out the door, his arms flailing at hissides as he imagined he were a bird. Birds weren't poor and theydidn't have to worry about school or what the neighbors thought orwhat time they would be home for dinner.
Ashe raced down the icy roads toward the bustling center of town, arich couple swathed neck deep in velvet blankets paused theircarriage to watch. Michael pirouetted and danced, his feet hardlymaking contact with the frost-bound slipperiness of cold cobbles. Fora moment he believed himself to be flying, but as he reached the endof his descent and the height of his speed, he lost his balance andhis feet came up. Cushioned by a thin layer of powder, Michaelcouldn't help but look up and laugh. There was nothing so singularlybeautiful as the white tufts of crystalline magic which gentlyplummeted into his outstretched hand.
Therich couple squinted through their sterling rimmed glasses andreadied their horses to leave. Michael flapped his arms and legs andangels floated down to join him on the ground. The ragged jacket hewore shielded him from the cold; but in its age it had become more acollection of patches and the odd pocket than a jacket at all. Itsuited him- the jacket- though it was ugly and torn. It had tradedits looks for character and Michael could appreciate that. The richcouple could not. As they passed him by they turned up their nosesand muttered something about keeping the rats in the sewers. Michaeldidn't understand and vacantly stared at the name carved into theback of the carriage. It was written in flaking gold leaf whichhovered like frightened orbs paralyzed by the daylight. “Ah to be aCartwright!” He thought. “What a life!”
Michaelquickly got to his feet. Without bothering to brush himself off headjusted the neck of his jacket and looked down at the town in thedistance. Somber jets of smoke twisted upwards from chimneys onrooftops, as workers busied themselves within warm houses and cozilyheated inns. Coal was an amenity Michael had long since gone without,though he found that he preferred the cold. He could hardly bare towatch as a black maw of soot sank its teeth high up into his ivoryblankets. The snow may have been frigid and people may not havecared; but it was beautiful to him and its image was what kept himwarm at night.
Thoughthe weather slowed his pace and the nervous winter air tip-toed intohis aching lungs, Michael found himself ahead of time. Above therusted metal gates which marked the entrance to the town ofProvidence, in a decaying gothic script which had all but faded read:Vivere Est Laborare.To live is to suffer.Ashe grew nearer and then passed underneath he looked up, but wasunable to read what was written. Latin wasn't taught to children inschools like his.
MainStreet was crowded. Suited businessmen walked briskly with theirgolden pocket-watches held like compasses, as they rushed off to signcontracts and suck the life out of ashen cigars. Michael felt sosmall among them and was more than once kicked and stepped on, thoughhe somehow miraculously remained unacknowledged. Darting between thethunderous clap of shoes polished so that they stained the streetswith their dark dripping tar, he found refuge under the awning of astore of sorts and waited. The newly installed mechanized clock towerwhich loomed over the city tore the sky as it screeched and moaned,its pistons ripping the air as it smashed gears against iron bellsnine times over.
Thebuilding upon which Michael leaned found its tenants evicted, asMedusa's in lingerie escaped empty-pocketed men grown disillusionedby the clarity of daylight. Annabel's Garden was a dive worthy ofProvidence and at night under rose filtered lights the businessmencould go and throw their coins upon the stage, as they forgot whatlittle they had left of themselves to remember.
Michaellooked back at Main Street but saw that it had grown no safer. Thepace had only been doubled by the clocktower's roar of metal onmetal. With no other option than to hazard seedy back alleys and sidestreets on his way to school, he dipped into the shadows and made aleft onto Angeles Court.
Electricityhad just recently found its way to Providence and large poles oftimber had begun to sprout up here and there, flanking thecobblestone walks as they glared down at pedestrians. Although theywere bare of any wires or circuits yet to appear, they had alreadybecome a home to infestations of termites, their bodies rotting fromthe cores outwards. Michael could see one such pole dying at thecorner of Angeles and Dodd's Place, a nail staked into its heart tosupport a linen sign which draped across its chest. As he approachedbold block letters written with a silvery ink came into view.
MR.TALBOT'S CARNIVAL OF WONDER. Underneathsat the picture of a man in scarlet coattails and a top-hat, his caneheld high in one hand to the applause of an adoring crowd. On hisright a lion stood up to a family of sad clowns and a pale boy withblue painted tears dropped his teddy bear and ran away. Michael lovedcarnivals. They always proved to be an illimitable source of intrigueand mystique, but as he read further down he realized that today wasto be the last show. The next morning the carnival was scheduled toleave for Belfast. They would pack up their secrets and crystalballs onto a tidy caravan of elephants and then cart the wonder awayinto the horizon. Although Michael was tempted to rush off and seethe death-defying trapezists, the fabled strongmen and the daringcannon riders, the flame eaters and the deformities, he rememberedhis mothers words and dared not stray. He put his head down andstruggled onwards along the empty sidewalks of Dodd's Place as hefought against the wind.
Theschool was ten blocks away and Michael passed through Andover,Hedgegate and finally Devonshire Grove before it appeared in thedistance. Its splintered windows grinned like brown rotten teeth andthe creak of its rickety floorboards echoed down the corridors as itsmouth unfurled, a missing door replaced by a tattered bedsheet whichflapped in the freezing air. Michael shuddered as he took a stepforward. 1300 Devonshire Grove was a sewer and an abattoir for dreamsand happiness, governed by the spiteful Ms. Garrot. She inexorablywhipped children with her wire switch- a desperate attempt to regainsome happiness that had long since left her. Michael had felt thesting of metal wire on his back and had the scars to prove it. Theugliness that led Ms. Garrot to live alone was surpassed only by whatgrew inside of her, year after year as flowers blossomed and thenshriveled up to die.
WhenMichael had gone halfway to the end of the Grove he paused at anintersection to look at a street sign and stuck his hand inside theback of his jacket. He felt the bumps and indications of whipping hehad earned through silent reveries cast between half-opened teeth.Ms. Garrot preferred the windows closed.
EmeraldStation was the long road which housed the railway, splittingDevonshire in two as they crossed; but at the end Michael could seethe faint outline of a giant red tent, pinned up by a white marblemonolith. He knew that he should ignore it, that he should continueon his way as though he had never seen anything, but his thoughtsfloated to the old man on the sign. “Come and be dazzled by themagic of the carnival!” It spoke to him. “There is little timeleft and we may not pass here again for a thousand years!” Michaelfound his mothers instructions quickly dismissed at the sight of theswaying folds of crimson, the thought of his crimson back, and thesadness of his unforgotten tears.
Headjusted the buttons on his jacket, one of them coming apart in hishand as he looked up at the sun to check the time. Soon the clocktower would let out ten shrill cries, a warning for the businessmento rewind their watches and slick back their hair. As Michaeltrundled along, he happily picked up stones and threw them as farinto the distance as his small arms would allow, each one tossedfarther than the one that came before it. With no particular sense ofurgency he pointed his hands skywards and spun about, turning circlesin the snow as he dizzied himself.
Froma bench several yards away a voice called out, “What is a young boylike you doing waltzing in the middle of the road? Shouldn't you beoff on an adventure somewhere warmer?” It was an elderly mandressed in a large grey overcoat, his face shrouded by the hood of anebony shawl. Michael ran up to greet him, but found that he hadalready started to walk away.
Overhis shoulder the man called out, “I almost didn't recognize youwith all that snow stuck to your jacket. You looked like one of thosedancing bears the Tsar used to keep in his palace.” Then as hethought over what he had just said, “Their fur wasn't like the snowthough, it had this way of sparkling in the moonlight like diamonds.But they danced just as you did- great circles with paws that grippedthe sky.” With that he pointed toward the carnival, waved withoutturning back and vanished. Michael confusedlylooked at his arms and legs and saw that they were covered withwhite. He shook the flakes from them, but left a thin halo of snow onthe top of his head. The strange man was right, he was on anadventure and he ought to look the part.
Inwhat seemed like an instant and with no memory of having traversedthe distance between himself and the carnival, Michael found himselfthere. The ground was dirty, far dirtier than the rest of Providenceand the snow had become replaced by abandoned leaflets and crumpledraffle tickets. On his left Michael could see a crowd congregatedabout a gypsy and her tarot cards, as men and women screamed at thetops of their lungs to find out when they were to die and who theywere to marry. One man went so far as to grab the gypsy's arm,carelessly dump a satchel of gold onto the ground before her anddemand with hatred in all of his words to know, “If there was a Godat all?”
Onhis right Michael could see a line of people anxious to enter themain tent where the show would be performed. With longing his eyestraced it over a distant hill, then over another and into the risingsun. Some had grown so tired waiting that they sat down or simplyembraced the muck and grime of the ground wholeheartedly as theyslept, their faces becoming coated with it. The families nearest theentrance- more animated than those in the rear- jumped and bentdouble as they tried to get a glimpse of the show, though they wereunwilling to risk much movement for fear of losing their place. Thechildren threw tantrums and mashed fistfuls of buttered popcorn intothe Earth.
“Iwant to see the bears now Daddy!” A little girl howled. “It's notfair that we have to wait.” Michael watched as her father rolledhis eyes and a young boy in the family ahead of them turned around.
“Youhave to wait because you're a Dewhurst,” he said. “We Chilcott'sand Coldman's go first.” Then pointing his grubby little finger inher face he told her not to forget it and spun forward.
Aman with a straw brimmed hat, devilishly sharp eyes and a basketstrapped to his waist with suspenders walked around outside the tent.“Get your tickets here!” He shouted. “Only 15peach, buy them while there's still room left.”
Michaellooked down at the garbage that surrounded him and kicked animaginary rock with his foot. His mother had worked night and daysince his father had gone, but she hardly made 15p in a week. He knewhe would never be able to afford the carnival, so he walked past thecrowd toward the tent. He could hear the unchecked laughter of younggirls and boys that found his appearance to be sublimely humorous.
Onelittle girl named Angela who wore a white dress which miraculouslywent unstained tried to run to Michael, but was held back. The armsof her parents were wrapped around her wings and the puffs of herfeathered coat. They had raced to the carnival from a ballet recitaland weren't keen on letting Angela get dirt on her clothes. Michaelwas well aware that he looked like a stain.
Ashe made his way into the shadow of the tent and left the crowdbehind, she shouted to him. With her cute French accent she said,“not to forget her”. It was one of those weird things childrensay when they can't quite express themselves and don't know what theymean. Michael couldn't hear her anyway. The elderly man who hadescaped him on Emerald Station stepped out of line and drowned hervoice.
“Soyou made it here after all.” He said. Then looking Michael up anddown, “I don't suppose you can get in can you. Those gates won'topen for just anyone.” Michael stood and stared, not knowing whatto say. The old man pulled at his beard and then retrieved a walkingstick from the inside of his knee-length overcoat.
“I'lltell you what,” he said pointing at him. “I'll show you how youcan see what everyones been waiting for... for free. You won't evenhave to share with them.” Michael stood in silence. He didn'tunderstand why anyone would want him to see the show for free.
Thepeople on line had already begun to push up into the space that hadbeen left in the old man's absence. As they tore their limbs from themud and slithered forward, he leaned on his cane and shook his head.“I've already seen the show a thousand times, so don't worry aboutme. Anyway I'm old and you're young- it's more important for you tosee it.”
Theman led Michael to a smaller tent a few hundred feet from thebig-top, his feet struggling through the snow as he made holes inpairs of three. “This,” he said. “Is where they keep thefinale- what everyone has waited their entire lives to see- Frederick the Ice Bear. He's the eighth wonder of the world and theonly talking bear to ever roam the Earth.”
Michael'seyes widened, each a sapphire ember of freshly stoked curiosity. Hehad dreamt of things like talking animals and ice bears which dancedbeneath blinding spotlights and folds of velvet, but his mother saidthey were only fantasy and nothing more.
Witha flourish the old man took a bow and raised the tent on the end ofhis cane, a small arch forming just large enough for Michael to walkunder. As he shuffled his feet with excitement, the curtain droppedbehind him and everything grew dark. The old man removed the shawlthat covered his face and threw it on the ground with the rest of thegarbage. He pulled a folded red and white top hat out from under hisleft lapel and placed it on top of his head. In his right hand therewas now a strange device which looked to be made out of brass. Itsfangs and levers shined in the afternoon sun as the man, who nowlooked considerably less aged without his shawl, walked around theperimeter of the tent and held it to his face. He spoke to himself ashe walked in circles.
Michaelstepped into what he had believed to be complete darkness, but as hispupils tightened and he began to scrutinize the world around him, hesaw that he had been wrong. Forty feet in front of him, lying insideof a cage which seemed to rise up through the ceiling and into thesky above, was Frederick. He was the most massive creature Michaelhad ever seen. His every breath seemed to flex and bend the airaround him, as the room pulsed with the power of his lungs. Michaeldrew nearer without fear and ran his hand along the steel bars andrivets of the prison. Looking up he saw that it did seem to stretchupwards into infinity, though the bounds which grounded it werestrangely cramped. Frederick hardly noticed that Michael was there atall and he let out a sigh as he buried his head in a pile of straw.His paws instinctively covered his eyes from years of ridicule.
Itwas a difficult sight for Michael to see- the great ice bear coweringin a tiny cage. As he began to speak tears welled up in his eyes andFrederick rolled over to listen, his leg banging into a bale of haythat reverberated with a twang and an unexpected hollowness.
“It'sunfair!” Michael cried. “How can they do this to you? How canthey lock you behind bars to be looked at and spit on and marchedaround like some freak? Don't they understand what they're doing?Don't they understand that they ruin you?” Michael collapsed to hisknees, his arms slid down the rusted metal pipes as tears splatteredthe rotting floor beneath him. His head bent down with the weight ofthe world and he wept until his eyes could no longer match thesadness in his heart. Somewhere within the mysterious bale of hay aswitch clicked and a sprocket turned and a gadget went alight and theold man outside stopped his circling, and then Frederick decided tospeak.
“Theyknow not what they do,” he boomed with a voice fit for a stadium ofthousands. “They wait in line their entire lives to see the majestyof the ice bear. They steal and lie and cheat and claw each other.They sprawl about in their own refuse as the the filth crawls uptheir satin suit jackets and silk petticoats. When they find theirseats the tent goes silent. They watch as a smoky cavalcade of Arabsride elephants into the central ring, whips unfurled as they arecorralled and positioned. There is a man behind me who wields an ironrod which he dips into the fiery hate of a furnace. As the audiencedraws their breath I feel it lash my spine and I dart into thespotlights. My eyes roll back in my head from the pain, but I canstill hear the sudden transition from silence to applause. With theirdistance they can't see the burns and scars that have disfigured me.They can't see my matted fur or the blood that drips from myinfections. They applaud my pain and all the sin that brought it uponme; and I go howling into the night, but it only makes them growlouder.”
ThoughFrederick spoke of great horror, he lazed about and flopped onto hisback, playing with his feet as he rolled around. Michael; however,was sent into a trancelike rage and he sprinted the periphery of thecell as he looked for an escape.
“Innature you would have been beautiful!” He wailed. His screamsresonated with the steel girders so that the whole tent writhed andshook. He found the door to open the cage. The key dangled from abent nail in a sign which read, “The Amazing Ice Bear- Please DoNot Feed”.
“You'regoing to love the snow!” He shouted as he grabbed the door andpulled it open. “Did they ever let you see the snow?”
Frederickdidn't answer. He merely stood up, walked out of the cage and outunder the tent. Michael thought he had nodded in his direction, buthe couldn't be sure that Frederick had even seen him. Looking back,Michael saw something glittering in the hay. He stepped inside thecage and began to tear through the bedding, bits of foul meat andwaste falling down in a shower behind him. What he uncovered was asmall metallic box with long slits running along each side likevents. It crackled at the touch and seemed to amplify any noise thatpassed through it. Michael's rapid breathing began to echo andrebound against the inside of the tent. As the clock tower screechedout ten dying notes, he looked back at the exit. The cage door hadswung shut and a hole which had formed in the velvet siding of thetent closed its mouth.
Theold man who was really not so old danced away, kicking pieces ofstrewn garbage in exultation as he went. His cane no longer neededwhirled in his left hand, although the strangely fanged device stillhung in his right. He pressed a button and clicked his gold tippedheels and sang as he went.
Michaelbegan to sob uncontrollably- the key lay on the floor fat out ofreach- but he stopped as the box flickered into life. He could hearsinging.
Iam the Carnival
I'mrolling with the wind
Boyit seems you have no luck
I'vetricked man once again
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