“Money Talks”

I just finished a 90-day stretch. My eight at the Branherst Institute for the criminally Insane. It wasn’t my longest, nor was it my shortest, but it was my easiest.
After the first one, a person just learns how to make the best out of his time in there. I like to look at it as a mini vacation. I check in, relax, and enjoy the thorazine. Yeah, my stays just keep getting easier. At some point I might not check out.
Today I did, though, and it felt good. The break was nice, but I’ll be glad to get back to work. First, a quick job for the Boss, then I get to close out the Big Show tonight… That’s my true passion, juggling.
My partner is a clown called Blaze. He handles my pyrotechnics. He’s also the one I’m teamed up with when the Boss has one of his ‘special jobs’, one we don’t talk about. We that from time to time… Rob a bank, kick a Dogboy, pick up some milk… I don’t ask questions, I just do what the Boss says. He signs the paychecks. He gives me the spotlight.
We parked in front of a run down trailer, about a quarter of a mile from the carnival. I could hear that stupid calliope music playing and screams of delighted patrons. I really hated the carnival.
“This is it?” I asked
Blaze nodded, stubbing out his cigar, “This is the address the Boss gave me.”
“And your guy is in there?”
“Yeah, he’s in there?”
I sighed, “Let’s do this then.”
The sooner we got this job over with, the sooner I could get back to the circus. Blaze went up the steps and banged on the screen. I stayed off to the side, eyeing the trailer warily.
The door swung open to reveal a scruffy looking carny in a dark blue jumpsuit. He smelled like gasoline and goats. I was thankful that Blaze wasn’t smoking.
“You Henry?” Blaze asked.
The man scowled, then looked around wildly. He looked liked he should’ve been in Branherst. Finally, his eyes came back to rest on Blaze and he jerked his head in a gesture that said, “Yes” and “Come on in” all at once. We complied.
Inside was cramped and smelled even worse. Machine parts and grease seemed to cover every square inch of the trailer floor. A workbench was holding up one wall. It was here the man walked to and began tossing tools and blueprints around till finding what he was looking for.
“Here,” he muttered, handing a bundle of rolled up papers to Blaze. “Mount Everest, everything you need to know about the roller coaster is in there.”
Blaze handed them to me without taking his eyes off the carny and said, “Check it.”
I looked,
“We good?”
I nodded, “Yeah, we’re good.”
Blaze reached into his pocket and pulled out a roll of bills, then tossed the roll to the carny.
“Can’t believe you sold ‘em out, Henry,” Blaze was saying, as we made our way out.
Henry just shrugged, counting the stack, “Money talks, Clown”

“Legendary”

Tonight was the night. After all his planning, Caliberini was finally going to perform his greatest stunt. It would either make his career, or break him… literally. But it was worth the risk.
He wanted the center ring slot with every other fiber of his being, if it required his life in exchange. Not that he wanted to die, but to be a truly great daredevil you had to risk everything. Tonight he was putting all his chips in the pot and going for the big score.
Once more, he checked to be sure everything was ready shark tank. Check. Motorcycle gassed up. Check. Hoops with flame projectors. Check. Super-Flammable Jumpsuit. Double-check. Everything looked to be in order. All that was left was to actually do it.
Up till now he had just been a part of the show. Tonight, he would jump the shark and become The Show. After this performance, Caliberini would be legendary.

“Karma”

I’d like to think people get what they deserve. That the universe will right itself whenever things go wrong. It doesn’t always work out that way, but I’d like to think so. Sometimes I even give it a little help, when I think the universe needs it. It’s just my way of keeping the balance.
Who am I? A nobody at the carnival. One of those faceless, nameless guys that hawks food from a booth on the midway. You may have seen me somewhere else, but you just can’t put your finger on it, and you don’t really care
Me? I’m a little better at keeping tabs. Maybe I saw you help that old lady across the street. Maybe you’ll get an extra scoop of ice cream when you come to my stand.
And maybe I saw you kick a dog, or worse…
You’ll never know. But someday you just might get a yellow snow-cone that’s not quite all lemon, or chocolate covered peanut that’s been double- dipped. That soda you’re drinking may be Sprite, lacking a dash of r and e.
Get what I’m saying?
So, watch what you do. I will be, and remember… it’s just karma

“Job Security”

Look over there, on the other side of the midway. See those three young punks hassling the customers. Yeah, the ones that look like they belong in a juvenile detention center. I know what you’re thinking. Somebody should toss them out of here, but nobody will. You know why? ‘Cause they work here.
Does that comes as a surprise? It shouldn’t. Those boys are the professor’s nephews. Nepotism at its finest. He won’t fire them either. Says they bring a little spirit to the Carnival. Yeah, spirit, and crime sprees...
But that’s job security in our business. Us carnival folk are all related to somebody in the business. The booth’s and rides get passed down through the generations. The circus folk are like that too, so we got that in common.
Judge us however you want. Call us freaks and gypsies and vagabonds. We won’t deny it. We’re all those things, but more than that, we’re family.

“In The Spotlight”

Some things just stick with us, haunting our every moment. Dominating our every thought. That’s how it is for me. One thing I will never be able to forget.
The first time I stepped into the ring was like taking in oxygen after nearly drowning. There was a feeling of giddiness I can only compare to a free fall from a thousand feet. My heart felt like it was going to explode.
I had practiced before friends and family and on my own, but at that moment I was before a real live audience. This time my judgement was in the hand of stranger who would not see the person, but the performance. A hush fell over the crowd, and the lights went down…
When the throbbing pulse of the music began to play, the audience seemed to vanish. It was no longer a performance, it was just me and the stunts. The Amazing Caliberini versus destiny. The music and lights swirled around like howling winds and falling stars. In the distance, the rolling thunder of guns blazed, and I became lost in a storm of bullets.
Nothing had ever prepared me for that moment in the spotlight, and nothing could ever equal the feeling it still gives me. And that’s why I do it night after night. Even if someday it kills me.

“Headcases”

Int.- Clown Car. Blaze is driving. Deadeye sits in the passenger seat trying to balance a pencil on his fingertip.

Blaze (smoking a cigar): So, how was Branherst?
Deadeye: No freakin’ balls!
Blaze(Cut his eyes toward Deadeye): Say what?
Deadeye: No balls, clubs, scarves, devil sticks, nothing! I was really starting to lost it in there. Know what I mean? Juggling helps me keep my head, but did they get that? Nope! I’ve spent the last three months using fruit to help keep me from going bananas. (Shakes his head.) Apple sauce day was real fun.
Blaze: Bet the drugs were good, though/
Deadeye: Average… At best… You know what was really a blast? The people.
Blaze: Who? The staff or the other loonies?
Deadeye: My people… There was one guy who swore he was Jimmy Hoffa. Kept trying to organize a union.
Blaze (laughing): What were his demands?
Deadeye: Extra pudding cups at dinner and a wider selection of fat crayons.
Blaze: So what happened?
Deadeye: Well, finally the orderlies got so tired of all the fuss he was causin’ and took him for shock treatment. He was gone for about a week. Two of the para-schitz…
Blaze: Pair of what?
Deadeye: Paranoid Schizophrenics… Anyway, tow of them got to arguing over what happened to old Jimmy. One claimed it was an alien abduction, the other said there was a government conspiracy that had him killed. They went back and forth until finally old Jimmy was wheeled back into the ward. That sparked a whole new argument between the two. But, they did agree on one thing. Jimmy wasn’t Jimmy any more and they had to keep a close eye on him.
Blaze: Was his brain fried or something?
Deadeye: Most definitely. For the first few days he just sat around muttering to himself. Then one day he woke up and went right back to trying to organize the common people against what he called ‘the injustices of corporate administrators.’
Blaze: Wow, that sounds like some wild stuff. How was the food?
Deadeye: Pretty much like what we eat out here… They got hamburgers, spaghetti, cereal… They just give you different brands. Know what they call Fruit Loops?
Blaze: What?
Deadeye: Loopy Fruits…
Blaze: No way! Do they taste any different?
Deadeye: Nope, taste exactly the same… They even got a toucan on the box… Birdie Bill… He’s got a slogan that goes, “Let your beak be your guide.”
Blaze: Crazy, man. So if it’s the same thing, why do they call it something else?
Deadeye: Licensing, Brother. In this day and age it’s all about licensing.

Deadeye: This it?
Blaze: Yeah, this is the address the Boss gave me
Deadeye: And you’re sure your guy is in there.
Blaze : Yeah, he’s there.
Deadeye: Let’s do this then….

-CUT TO BLACK-

"Greasepaint"

Every clown has a face, and every good face tells a story. It's more than just a big, red nose and greasepaint. It's about creating a unique character. Like any other act, it's all in the presentation. That's what separates the professions jokers for the birthday party bozos.

The clothes, the comedic style, even the act itself all hinges on the face. It's a product to be sold. If the suit makes the man, then the paint makes the clown.

But the clown has to believe in it too. He or she must embrace the face and become one with the character. I am Deadeye the Daring with or without my paint. The makeup only allows the Juggling Jester to surface and give the people a show.

Without my paint, I am nothing more than a deformed madman. Crippled before I was born by the stroke I suffered while still in the womb. My left side is weakened, the muscles of my face drooping obscenely. I am blind on that side as well, and my left eye rolls wildly beneath the lid that never fully closes. Psychiatrists have diagnosed me as insane. The state has institutionalized me eight times.

Without my pain, I am social pariah. With it, I am a star.