Cirque des Anges
Circus Lights
Car horns blared, headlights whizzed by, street lamps found small circles of the sidewalk to illuminate, the thundering sounds of a city come to life at night. Rain pounded the sidewalk and the shoulders of a girl with a fury unmatched by anything. Lightning split the sky in half with blinding flashes, thunder shook the cement with deafening claps. And still she walked forward, hands shoved deep into pockets, hood pulled up over her head, sunglasses high on the bridge of her nose as she tried to go unnoticed along the sidewalk.
Without one glance backward, she’d left the comfort and warmth of her parent’s house to make the mile and a half journey to the circus where she could submerse herself in the hustle and bustle of a thousand flashing neon lights and the rowdy screams of the undesirable crowds that swarmed the circus Friday nights; anything to get away from the pain, from the heartache, from the cruel life of a fifteen year old misfit.
With one forlorn glance at the heavens, during which rain splattered the lenses of her sunglasses and her forehead and cheeks, she entered the gates of the circus and slipped past the ticket master’s booth without attracting any suspicious looks from anxious parents and excited children. All around her, the darkness deepened until to see five feet in front of you was impossible and the only light was that of the aforementioned light-up signs and neon lights.
Straight ahead a Ferris wheel turning around and around in the gloom. To the left was a wall of vendors looking to practically steal money from ever passerby. To the right was petting zoo and behind that the maze of tents and vans that housed the circus workers as they moved from city to city. She wandered to the fence of the petting zoo, where a goat stepped forward and bleated pitifully and nudged her hand, obviously asking for food. When nothing was presented, it bit the girl’s fingers and walked off, stiff-legged as if it had spent too many nights on the cold, wet ground.
She shoved her fingers back into her pocket and stared past the fences and stalls into the darkness behind the pens. A triangle of light close to the ground revealed the location of a single tent off to the side of the grounds; isolated at best. The light flickered and died for a few seconds before the fiery glow of a candle once again illuminated the open tent flap. Beneath the noise of the people whooping and laughing around her, she picked up the vocals of three children. Their accents were a little old fashioned, definitely not something you’d hear on the streets of New Jersey today, and their tones were magical, even in their hushed state.
She took a swift glance behind her over her right shoulder and moved to the edge of the petting zoo and disappeared between the front gate of the circus and the first stall. She picked around large rocks and scattered debris until she was in the farthest corner of the circus grounds and crouched low behind the tent that the voices were issuing from.
“…when will ‘e come back, Mercy?” once voice asked; a young male’s voice, magical in its innocence.
“…who knows…could be awhile yet…could be tomorrow,” came the reply of a female, older than the boy, but still a child herself.
“I don’t want him to come back,” another voice quivered, her frightened tone seeming to hang in the air. She was by far the youngest of the three, still a young child, barely old enough to be out this late.
“Sh! Someone’s out there!” the older female whispered urgently, after hearing a sharp crack coming from behind the tent. “Show yourself!” she called out to the girl in a much larger voice than before, fear still lingering on the edges of her tense command.
Cautiously, the figure stood up and approached the front of the tent, ducking down to peer inside. She was greeted with, “Who are you? What do you want? We have no food, we have no blankets, we have nothing you can possibly want.”
“I don’t want anything from you, but could I come inside to see you properly?” the girl outside asked. She saw a curt nod from the older female and hunched over to enter the tent. Once inside, she saw by the candlelight three children, one boy and two girls. All of them possessed the same facial features, impeccably placed on their pale faces; noses and mouth shaped just right and positioned just so, skin so smooth it could’ve been water, and eyes so unusually shaded with deep purples and reds.
She folded her legs up underneath her and pulled her knees to her chest, eyeing the children with unmasked interest. The light from the coruscating candle danced on their faces and the skin and eyes seemed to come to life before her, as they had looked impenetrable and unmovable before.
“Isabella,” she offered, arms still wrapped around her legs, though her sunglasses and hood had been pushed off her face.
“Mercy,” the oldest girl replied. And then waving a hand at the boy, “Criss,” and at the little girl, “Charlotte”. Mercy’s hair fell in dark brown waves to the middle of her back and her eyes were a molten purple color. Criss’s hair was cropped to ear level and shockingly black, and his eyes a dark red. Charlotte’s eyes were the color of molten gold, and her hair matched perfectly, falling to her waist in golden, rippling ringlets.
“Who are you?” Isabella asked, suspicion growing in her gray eyes. “What are you?”
Without one glance backward, she’d left the comfort and warmth of her parent’s house to make the mile and a half journey to the circus where she could submerse herself in the hustle and bustle of a thousand flashing neon lights and the rowdy screams of the undesirable crowds that swarmed the circus Friday nights; anything to get away from the pain, from the heartache, from the cruel life of a fifteen year old misfit.
With one forlorn glance at the heavens, during which rain splattered the lenses of her sunglasses and her forehead and cheeks, she entered the gates of the circus and slipped past the ticket master’s booth without attracting any suspicious looks from anxious parents and excited children. All around her, the darkness deepened until to see five feet in front of you was impossible and the only light was that of the aforementioned light-up signs and neon lights.
Straight ahead a Ferris wheel turning around and around in the gloom. To the left was a wall of vendors looking to practically steal money from ever passerby. To the right was petting zoo and behind that the maze of tents and vans that housed the circus workers as they moved from city to city. She wandered to the fence of the petting zoo, where a goat stepped forward and bleated pitifully and nudged her hand, obviously asking for food. When nothing was presented, it bit the girl’s fingers and walked off, stiff-legged as if it had spent too many nights on the cold, wet ground.
She shoved her fingers back into her pocket and stared past the fences and stalls into the darkness behind the pens. A triangle of light close to the ground revealed the location of a single tent off to the side of the grounds; isolated at best. The light flickered and died for a few seconds before the fiery glow of a candle once again illuminated the open tent flap. Beneath the noise of the people whooping and laughing around her, she picked up the vocals of three children. Their accents were a little old fashioned, definitely not something you’d hear on the streets of New Jersey today, and their tones were magical, even in their hushed state.
She took a swift glance behind her over her right shoulder and moved to the edge of the petting zoo and disappeared between the front gate of the circus and the first stall. She picked around large rocks and scattered debris until she was in the farthest corner of the circus grounds and crouched low behind the tent that the voices were issuing from.
“…when will ‘e come back, Mercy?” once voice asked; a young male’s voice, magical in its innocence.
“…who knows…could be awhile yet…could be tomorrow,” came the reply of a female, older than the boy, but still a child herself.
“I don’t want him to come back,” another voice quivered, her frightened tone seeming to hang in the air. She was by far the youngest of the three, still a young child, barely old enough to be out this late.
“Sh! Someone’s out there!” the older female whispered urgently, after hearing a sharp crack coming from behind the tent. “Show yourself!” she called out to the girl in a much larger voice than before, fear still lingering on the edges of her tense command.
Cautiously, the figure stood up and approached the front of the tent, ducking down to peer inside. She was greeted with, “Who are you? What do you want? We have no food, we have no blankets, we have nothing you can possibly want.”
“I don’t want anything from you, but could I come inside to see you properly?” the girl outside asked. She saw a curt nod from the older female and hunched over to enter the tent. Once inside, she saw by the candlelight three children, one boy and two girls. All of them possessed the same facial features, impeccably placed on their pale faces; noses and mouth shaped just right and positioned just so, skin so smooth it could’ve been water, and eyes so unusually shaded with deep purples and reds.
She folded her legs up underneath her and pulled her knees to her chest, eyeing the children with unmasked interest. The light from the coruscating candle danced on their faces and the skin and eyes seemed to come to life before her, as they had looked impenetrable and unmovable before.
“Isabella,” she offered, arms still wrapped around her legs, though her sunglasses and hood had been pushed off her face.
“Mercy,” the oldest girl replied. And then waving a hand at the boy, “Criss,” and at the little girl, “Charlotte”. Mercy’s hair fell in dark brown waves to the middle of her back and her eyes were a molten purple color. Criss’s hair was cropped to ear level and shockingly black, and his eyes a dark red. Charlotte’s eyes were the color of molten gold, and her hair matched perfectly, falling to her waist in golden, rippling ringlets.
“Who are you?” Isabella asked, suspicion growing in her gray eyes. “What are you?”