<I wrote this a while ago for a girl with a circus fetish.>
Blue watched the trapeze artists and decided to run away with the circus. When she offered her services to the pale, monocled ringmaster, he spoke in a languorous eastern European voice, "Can you do anything?" Blue looked away. She couldn't think of anything she could do. She went home in the rain.
When she went back to the circus a month later, a castrati chorus was practicing Bulgarian folks songs in the parting lot. The trapeze artists had learned to breathe fire and spat orange balls of flame as they flew across the top of the big tent. Before Blue could speak, the ringmaster spotted her. "Can you do anything?" he asked her. Blue took off her coat to reveal her wings. They'd hurt a lot at first, and still felt weird under her clothes. But the old lady at the tiny Chinatown herb shop where'd she'd purchased the magic herbs assured her that she'd get used to them. The ringmaster nodded toward the trapeze artists. "Idexa has wings she wears during the finale."
"They're not like mine," said Blue. She closed her eyes and held her breath, not sure if the her stomach was in knots because of the tension or the magic. When she opened her eyes, she was six inches tall, just small enough for the wings to lift her from the ground. She flew up to the ringmaster's monocle and rapped her knuckles on it. "Hello! Anyone home?" she called. The ringmaster cocked an eyebrow. "We'll give you a try," he said.
The whole troupe left the next day for parts unknown. Blue never saw the ringmaster smile, even once. But sometimes after a particularly good show, she'd find rose-shaped candies or dark pastries wrapped in silver paper in her dressing room.
Blue watched the trapeze artists and decided to run away with the circus. When she offered her services to the pale, monocled ringmaster, he spoke in a languorous eastern European voice, "Can you do anything?" Blue looked away. She couldn't think of anything she could do. She went home in the rain.
When she went back to the circus a month later, a castrati chorus was practicing Bulgarian folks songs in the parting lot. The trapeze artists had learned to breathe fire and spat orange balls of flame as they flew across the top of the big tent. Before Blue could speak, the ringmaster spotted her. "Can you do anything?" he asked her. Blue took off her coat to reveal her wings. They'd hurt a lot at first, and still felt weird under her clothes. But the old lady at the tiny Chinatown herb shop where'd she'd purchased the magic herbs assured her that she'd get used to them. The ringmaster nodded toward the trapeze artists. "Idexa has wings she wears during the finale."
"They're not like mine," said Blue. She closed her eyes and held her breath, not sure if the her stomach was in knots because of the tension or the magic. When she opened her eyes, she was six inches tall, just small enough for the wings to lift her from the ground. She flew up to the ringmaster's monocle and rapped her knuckles on it. "Hello! Anyone home?" she called. The ringmaster cocked an eyebrow. "We'll give you a try," he said.
The whole troupe left the next day for parts unknown. Blue never saw the ringmaster smile, even once. But sometimes after a particularly good show, she'd find rose-shaped candies or dark pastries wrapped in silver paper in her dressing room.