Naturally Freaky
Zeke and Abram
"Zeke," my brother called me. "Would you sharpen my knives for me? They aren't hardly as impressive now as I like them to be."
Without dispute, I took the heavy box of weapons from Abram's hands and brought them with me into the other room. As I set to work sharpening them, I motivated myself by imagining that while Abram performed, a knife would fall straight into one of his vital organs. But Abram never dropped a knife. That was my business.
Since he was eight years old, Abram had mastered the art of knife juggling. Being four years older than him myself, I had been juggling knives for far longer. I used to be rather gifted. In those days, Abram was my assistant instead of the other way around. I could juggle so many knives at once that it was often hard to gather enough of them to really challenge me. That was when I began to practice my act while on a unicycle. One day, Abram didn't show up for our performance. I was told that he was very ill and was sending someone else, but no one showed up in his place. So, at the last minute, I set my own stage and began to work alone. I picked up four knives, boarded my unicycle, and began throwing them. Hardly ten seconds passed before the audience began to yell for more knives. As I struggled to free one hand to reach down into the box, I noticed that someone had thrown in a fifth knife. Then a sixth. I regained my posture and focused on handling the knives. A seventh was tossed in. Eight knives. Nine. Who was throwing them? Had Abram come after all? Trying to see out of the corner of my eye, I failed to take account for an extra five, six knives and counting, being added to my array. I stopped counting. Who was throwing these knives?! I had to find out, at any cost. A deadly idea formed in my mind.
Suddenly, I began to pedal the unicycle backwards. I heard a few frightened gasps from the audience and chuckled. Whoever was tossing me knives had stopped. Now that I was farther back and had a clear view of the whole stage, I glanced over to see my new assistant. That was the worst mistake I ever made.
The menacing creature stood more than six feet tall from huge, brightly-colored shoes to huge, brightly-colored hair, watching me with sinister eyes surrounded by vibrant makeup. It leaned back, hands on its hips, opened its huge, red-painted, grinning mouth, and laughed heartily at my demise.
Like a deer caught in headlights, I froze, and the knives began to rain down over me. Some of them landed on the stage, but I didn't get so lucky with all of them. A few made deep gashes in my arms and upper body. Some cut my legs open. One knife, though, fell in perfect alignment with my left cheek, and managed to create a pinstraight scar there.
I no longer juggle.
Without dispute, I took the heavy box of weapons from Abram's hands and brought them with me into the other room. As I set to work sharpening them, I motivated myself by imagining that while Abram performed, a knife would fall straight into one of his vital organs. But Abram never dropped a knife. That was my business.
Since he was eight years old, Abram had mastered the art of knife juggling. Being four years older than him myself, I had been juggling knives for far longer. I used to be rather gifted. In those days, Abram was my assistant instead of the other way around. I could juggle so many knives at once that it was often hard to gather enough of them to really challenge me. That was when I began to practice my act while on a unicycle. One day, Abram didn't show up for our performance. I was told that he was very ill and was sending someone else, but no one showed up in his place. So, at the last minute, I set my own stage and began to work alone. I picked up four knives, boarded my unicycle, and began throwing them. Hardly ten seconds passed before the audience began to yell for more knives. As I struggled to free one hand to reach down into the box, I noticed that someone had thrown in a fifth knife. Then a sixth. I regained my posture and focused on handling the knives. A seventh was tossed in. Eight knives. Nine. Who was throwing them? Had Abram come after all? Trying to see out of the corner of my eye, I failed to take account for an extra five, six knives and counting, being added to my array. I stopped counting. Who was throwing these knives?! I had to find out, at any cost. A deadly idea formed in my mind.
Suddenly, I began to pedal the unicycle backwards. I heard a few frightened gasps from the audience and chuckled. Whoever was tossing me knives had stopped. Now that I was farther back and had a clear view of the whole stage, I glanced over to see my new assistant. That was the worst mistake I ever made.
The menacing creature stood more than six feet tall from huge, brightly-colored shoes to huge, brightly-colored hair, watching me with sinister eyes surrounded by vibrant makeup. It leaned back, hands on its hips, opened its huge, red-painted, grinning mouth, and laughed heartily at my demise.
Like a deer caught in headlights, I froze, and the knives began to rain down over me. Some of them landed on the stage, but I didn't get so lucky with all of them. A few made deep gashes in my arms and upper body. Some cut my legs open. One knife, though, fell in perfect alignment with my left cheek, and managed to create a pinstraight scar there.
I no longer juggle.