Clown School

A Story by Chaoscaine

So, now I'm writing in English when I'm supposed to be paying attention to poetry and this randomly pops into my head. I think it is very suitable considering the economy....

Ever since I was a little kid I wanted to be a Clown. While other kids cried at their giant white faces, I smiled and grabbed their noses. I only did that with people I liked. So when I heard that they had opened the Clown School I was the first to sign up. To be in Clown School you had to have what it took. The judges looked for the most flexible, funny, and toughest skinned people. I planned to be the best at every one. As the violet haired clown examiner led me down the long corridor of the school, my eyes caught a picture on the wall. It’s silver frame set it apart from the orange and yellow striped wallpaper. The violet haired man continued without stopping, but the moment I looked at it, it was branded in my memory. His make-up was black, as was everything else except for his white lips and trail of tear shaped dots on his cheeks. ‘The Master Clown’ is what the label called him. The violet haired clown continued walking however, and I had to run a little to catch up. He stopped in front of a curtain and handed me a card.

“You will go in there and stop waiting my time.” He said with a fluff of his hair and walked away. I was extremely excited when I walked into the room. My first instructor wore a nearly skin tight green jumpsuit, and sat on the floor with her legs crossed. In that position she looked like a yoga goddess, even though any kindergarten child could do it.

“You will do two positions to prove your flexibility. The crane stance and the face of an orangutan.” She said. The crane involved standing on one leg and arm reaching for the sky for an hour. I fell after about five minutes. The face was easy though, you just had to make the stupidest look you could give and hold it. However, the threat of having my face frozen like that terrified me. What would my mother say if she saw my face stuck like this? After scratching my grade on the card, she rushed me into the next room. There was a seemingly depressed man in a grey room.

“Make me laugh.” He sighed. I figured a good joke would do the trick.

“So there was this frostbite- no! Let me start again… So there was this frostbite- wait, didn’t I just say that? Oh, now I remember. What do you get if you mix a vampire and a snow day?”

“Frostbite?”

“Aww…you’re no fun.” The man gave me a look and wrote down my grade. Not to be discouraged I walked to the next room. There stood a figure of authority, the most famous clown to ever grave the circus, the Master Clown. As I stood in awe, with my jaw to the floor he took the paper from me. He touched my hand! He’s yelling at me! Wait- what?

“For you to be a clown is an absolute disgrace!” He went on for hours and I ran away sobbing like a baby.

The years went by since that day, and I became a very successful politician. I have my own office... and I didn’t think about clowns until I got a phone call from my hero, The Master Clown.

“I heard about you on television. I suppose I owe you an apology. You’re a grade A clown!”