Letter Of Acceptance

Dear Mr. Gary Cornwall,

I am reaching out to you in regards to your recent application to Clown College. As you know we run a pretty tight ship here and are extremely choosy about who we allow to wear the C.C. colors (mostly red). As the child of two Clown College graduates you have been given preferential scrutiny. Your father, Mr. Bubbles and mother, Gretta The Juggling Norwegian-Bubbles are model alumni and have supported our College quarterly since graduation.

That being said, I would like to extend an invitation for you to join our family. Not because of your parents' affiliation so much as my admiration for your work. As you may or may not know, Clown College has been moving in a rather different direction as of late and I believe you may be a perfect fit. Also attendance is quite low and we are in need of tuition-paying students. But our hardship is really the least of reasons we have chosen you. Your art is an inspiration to us all and we are excited to see what can come from an Ivy League clown-based education. In short, I want to take your genius and parlay it into super-genius level.

Let me level with you Gary (or Slashy The Suicidal Clown), The days of Ronald McDonald, JP Patches, stilt walking, unicycling clowns are over, dead, buried and forgotten by a public that wants, nay, requires an edginess from its entertainers.

Today's clown wields a machete, imprisons the young in rusty vans or school buses deep in the woods. Today's clown stares eerily up from street drains and promises delights to children only to capture their souls. He is not buffoonish or clumsy. He is not forgetful and trustworthy. Quite the opposite, today's clown is a methodical, plotting, prepared and unfeeling machine that lacks even the slightest sense of morality. Today's clown begs the question, "Why did she trust that clown? Get the hell out of there, Linda!"

Today's clown will not be reasoned with. He will throw you into a tiger-pit still holding your severed finger in his grimy red-gloved hand. Today's clown will wait three days and toss your rotting finger down, laughing that horrible laugh and wait out your resignation until you, with ravaging hunger, consume it like a McDonald's french fry. Then he will tilt his oddly unsymmetrical head covered with some makeup that is likely made of human parts. He will stare seriously down into the eight foot hole that separates you from the life that, after eating your own finger, seems long ago and wholly un-returnable and ask you a question. It will seem simple at first, perhaps "What do you want the very most?" You will spit your last venom at him thinking, so innocently, that you have no further to fall. "Kill me! Just do it you f*****g freak! That's right! Your a freak, a F*****G FREAK!"

That's when he will finally smile. And it will be of no comfort. None at all. His smile will be the false eyes on the wings of a butterfly! Deceptive. It will remind you of a dream that plagued you as a child. It will BE that nightmare that chased you out of sleep and constantly followed you throughout your life until you found yourself out of gas at a mid-west truck stop, desperately asking for a few dollars to continue your flight from a life of abuse. You were THAT close to freedom! One tank of gas away! But you didn't see the trap. You walked gladly into it, didn't you? And now what do you have?

You have eaten your own putrefying finger and the mad-toothed grin of the clown turns up one side of its lips. Its eyes brighten as if it has returned to its once kind, compassionate, bullied till suicidal and broken into splinters self. You see a tear spill lonely down one painted cheek. This is where you will find a hope you thought had been lost. A hope you should have abandoned by now but has reappeared like Noah's dove holding the olive branch of survival.

You will speak, your voice cracking at first from swallowing fear for so long that it has had an actual effect on your throat. But you will take a breath, focus your thoughts as if you are negotiating with a lost child in need of comfort. And you will. You will comfort him. You will tell him anything you can think of to spare your life. He doesn't have to do this. You understand what drove him to this but he doesn't have to let it control him. He is the one in control, not the sadness. You will repeat this thinking it is in your best interest.

You will build confidence that you are convincing this clown, this thing, this broken child-grown-old and his smile will resemble something more human. Really human and you will smile back with pity and a sense of accomplishment. Maybe in another situation you could have been the difference in his life.

He will laugh softly and wipe away the single tear and use his human, non-clown voice. It will sound like something you remember but can not pinpoint. An uncle? One of dad's friend from the trailer days? He will say something like, "You know? You're right, Linda. I want to thank you for clearing my mind. I really am in charge." His demeanor will harden a bit. "I'm the one in F*****G CHARGE!" and just like that he will swing the bamboo lattice onto the tiger trap an shoot it closed with a pneumatic nail-gun. A F*****g nail gun! Dude went to Home Depot in advance of this situation. You will laugh and a sound you've never made before escapes your lips. Whatever is coming next is clearly the beginning of the end!

The clown shuffles away and is silent for a moment. Then the footsteps grow louder and a green hose is hung above the lattice, just out of arm's reach above the bamboo. The clown disappears again, his footsteps stop and a small but familiar squeak is emitted. The turning of the spigot! Perhaps three seconds later, perhaps three hours later, the water begins to spill onto your upturned face. This is the true beginning of the end.

Do you think you can be this clown, Slashy? Your references are impeccable. Your prison time only helps your back-story. The unexplained disappearance of Mr. and Mrs. Bubbles may, or may not not have been blundered by the police and I am not one to point fingers, but the narrative is perfect! Slashy The Suicidal Clown is the new face of Clown College, should you choose to attend!

Meal vouchers available to those who qualify.

Best Regards, Oh, you've just walked into my office...kaghkgiughgzfh;a;jfdhjk

prev chapter