The Gypsy Circus

 

            Tristan exited the convenience store one morning, drink in hand, looking down the paved hill that had once been the booming main street of this now nearly abandoned part of town. All of Wyatsons business and liveliness had now moved to the area surrounding the commons, which offered shopping as well as art galleries, with suburbs on all sides. The area had completely drained Main Street of it’s former thriving nature and brought it down to nothing more than a convenience store and some small offices that were able to exist on a non-location-based level.

            However, Tristan had, since a fairly young age frequented this old and broken sector of town, wandering throughout the buildings, observing and occasionally interacting with their bizarre contents. His whole life he had loved to feed the homeless who lived there, or toy and experiment with the antique machinery, wondering what purpose they had formerly fulfilled. This old, concrete paradise often harbored runaways who were passing through Jersey on their way to New York from everywhere. It were these same Adams and Eves that had told Tristan of the spectacle that he sought today.

            Checking his watch, he walked down the street, heading in the direction of the large theatre at the base of the hill and the end of main street. This felt-clad labyrinth had sitting before it a large bottle of expensive, Russian vodka, with a black shirt sleeve shoved down the neck. The Molotov was not lit, confirming both that Tristan need not recalibrate his watch and also that he wasn’t late to the coming play.

            So he walked into the abandoned theatre, eyeing the two kids who sat next to the entrance. They both wore heavy amounts of eye makeup that was done colorfully, dancing across their faces, off-setting their dark clothing and the tricycle that one of them sat on. Their playful variety of accessories were probably all stolen and Tristan knew full well that they were considering gaining his wallet by similar means. However the shark knife that he pulled from his pocket spoke otherwise. These gypsy runaways knew full well the damage that the razor blade could inflict.

            “You can put that away,” the one sitting on the tricycle said in a deep monotone. “We mean you no harm. You’re just here like us, for the circus.”

            Tristan smiled kindly in response. He then shifted his eyes over to the girl who sat next to the boy, looking forward silently. He then recognized her as a girl he had met at the last circus, exactly three months before. However, she had changed her hair drastically from when they had last met, cropping it short around the ears though it hung long in her face and down her back. Yet the fact remained that she was unable to alter her distinctive and unmistakably high cheekbones. “Kris.”

            “Eh, Tristan. Still scavenging around Jersey?”

            “Indeed. Not much else to do, is there? So what have you been up to?”

            “Nothing much. Traveling around. Almost got taken home after I was caught lighting up a trash can in central park.”

            “S**t. How’d you get out of that one?”

            “A friend had initially escaped, but he came back and smashed out a window of the cruiser before we drove off. When the pig got out to chase him, I opened the door from the outside and ran for it.”

            “Interesting.”

            “All good fun.”Tristan nodded towards a smashed over door that had a towel tacked up haphazardly, creating a new barrier. “What’s in that room? It wasn’t used last time.”

            “Selling flesh to the hobo’s we rounded up. They want some incentive to join the audience besides the normal prizes.”

            “Are they part of the cast?”

            “Those ankle-biting w****s? Of course not. We just keep them around to help with the audience.”

            “Ah. So when is it going to start?”

            “In just a few minutes. Let’s go in.”

            So the two of them walked into the theatre, followed by Kris’ tricycle riding friend who kept his face perfectly indifferent as he rolled across the carpet, looking strange on the tiny plastic vehicle. Tristan led Kris to a seat one row behind a homeless old black man that Tristan knew well. “Eh, Mitch,” Tristan said as the kid leapt from his trike into the seat adjacent to Kris. “This is your first time?”

            “Yessir,” he replied. “But I figured it was well worth a shot. I was hoping I could pull some money out of this if I win.”

            It was at this point that Tristan heard coming from the stage the honking noise meant to resemble music emitted from an accordion that signified the start of the circus. This also meant that the Molotov outside had been lit.

            The playing went on for a moment until the shirtless old man who held the accordion threw it down, both revealing the muscles that outfitted his now visible torso and snapping the attention of anyone who hadn’t already giving it forward. “Welcome,” he began in a loud, booming voice, “to my circus.”

            Suddenly, throbbing, industrial techno began to play loudly as two beautiful women walked out from behind the curtain, stark naked save top hats and the zombie makeup that covered their flawless bodies. Their hands were covered in a mixture of red and purple paint, which they rubbed on the faces of audience members as they walked by.

            “We travel from New York to Boston, visiting every site in between once every three months and ask that you sheath all weapons, for I have here, more arms than you could hope for,” the ringmaster continued, showing two Uzis which could easily send a spray of bullets upon the crowd. “Now, let us begin!”

            The curtain then raised as the music grew louder, showing an army of strange people, standing at the ready. They were all dressed strangely, some wearing the heads of mascots, or party hats, with vulgarly painted faces and bodies. There were also a variety of piercings and other bodily modifications, ranging from gauged lips to corset piercings that ran down one mans arms. They all seemed ready to attack, held back only by the ringmasters raised arms. This sentiment was proven by the charge that ensued when he dropped them.

            Tristan stood up and jumped over the chair, just in time to punch over one of the faster members, knocking off the mask he wore of a fat, red-faced man. He grabbed at Tristan’s leg, but the teen knew better, pulling off an arm rest and acting with Spartan-like efficiency, spearing him in the face and breaking the mans nose. He then spun on his heels, hurling the arm rest into the quickly approaching brawl.

            His friend Mitch was at Tristan’s side as he leapt forwards and knocked over four attackers, with the force and efficiency, of pure, limitless will. Kris also jumped in, screaming as she took down a large man who had covered his body with paper Mache. Mitch pulled her up quickly, only to be knocked over himself, though he was able to hold his own with fierce kicking, protecting the belongings which the brawlers hungered to take.

            However, most of the other homeless were less fortunate, having been stripped of the little they held to their names, unable to defend themselves. Once they had been defeated, the brutal display ended as quickly as it had began.

            “Excellent, all,” the ringmaster began. “It is now time for the prizes!” The naked women appeared once again, with large paper bags in hand. “To all those who were left unscathed, these drinks are yours. Our finest gin. And to you, fierce one,” he said, clearly addressing Tristan, we have a special gift.”

            One of the women then removed from her bag, a cage with two small, black finches with blood red beaks in it. “Thank you,” was all he could say in response to this bizarre gift.

            “And now,” the ringmaster said, as the Molotov was brought in, still burning and handed to Tristan. “Let our party start!”

            Tristan threw down the cocktail, lighting the concrete and carpet before him, an act which he knew meant the start of the night.

            He then walked over to Kris, and said, “Here, these are for you. For last time.”

            She simply smirked and said, “No, I already have your virginity.”

            Tristan was unable to do anything more than smile back and ponder this strange yet happy romance.

Reviews

[J.E. Stroud]

"Indeed."- Smiling kindly would suffice, I think.

However the shark knife that he pulled from his pocket spoke otherwise. These gypsy runaways knew full well the damage that the razor blade could inflict.- These sentences bother me quite a bit. Mostly the fact that the knife "spoke", and the phrase "razor blade" as opposed to "razor-sharp blade".

Yet the fact remained that she was unable to alter her high and unmistakably high cheekbones.- Just pointing out a typo. :)

Yerp yerp.- I'm not sure if you're trying to make the character whimsical here, but I'd prefer a different saying

"A friend had initially escaped, but he came back and smashed out a window of the cruiser before we drove off."- Initially really doesn't fit here. You have the tendency to work the way that you think into a character's speech patterns, which is unfortunate, for while you're very smart, it usually doesn't fit into the character's speaking patterns at all

looking strange on the tiny plastic vehicle.- I'm nitpicking here, but I think a plastic trike would collapse if a teenager were sitting on it...

He then walked over to Kris, and said, "Here, these are for you. For last time."
She simply smirked and said, "No, I already have your virginity."
Tristan was unable to do anything more than smile back and ponder this strange yet happy romance.- Er, I don't really get the end, at all. Sorry. What happened "last time"? And "I already have your virginity" just seems weirdly blunt in this setting.

Blahblahblah I really like your story please don't think that this is too harsh, the same standard speech that I give at the beginning/end of all your reviews. :D
Note; I wouldn't give such detailed reviews if I didn't really like your story, and think that it was worth taking my time to help you with it. :3