I just want to die.
The small child stumbled his way through the circus grounds, night had fallen quickly as well as the closing act for the guests. His steps were uneven, one step forward, the next was a forceful drag against the dirt path. Even with the cool night air hitting against his heated skin, it gave no relief. Sweat rolled down his face, as well as his salty tears. He continuously brushed his tongue over his chapped lips, his left arm cradling his right.
“Oh love. What have they done to you now?”
The voice was smooth as silk, draping over his shivering body with a caring touch. It was familiar, the only one that would even consider calling him ‘love’ and honestly mean the word. For a moment the child’s limping gait paused. His arm continued to cradle the other and his face still wet with his tears. Beside him, glistening in the soft moonlight, was a cage. Its iron bars rusted with years time creaked and groaned as the creature inside moved closer to the edge. Their feathered arm reached out between the iron bars, hand outstretched in kindness. Without hesitation, he found himself leaving a limp arm to dangle and using his good arm to reach out for the hand, grasping tightly to it with his own pawed hand. “What they always do,” he stated the obvious. His voice was stretched, cracked, and slightly choked. Between a few words he found himself quickly breathing in, in result of his tears.
“I’m sorry to hear that my love. Come here,” she crooned to the boy, helping him up to the small platform that let others view into her cage. Despite the bars separating them, she held out her arms to hug the hurting child, whispering softly to him and stroking his hair as he crumbled against the metal grate, fresh tears spilling over. “Shh my little lamb, it will be alright. Stop your tears,” she told him in a motherly tone.
Constantine tried his best to control his breathing as it came in quick, uneven gasps, coughs, and cries. He allowed the woman to hold onto him a bit longer before her soothing whispers and gentle touch calmed him. The boy sat on the metal platform, wiping the tears with one hand, his good eye focused now on the shadowed figure.
“Do you feel better now?” Her voice was still soft, still motherly. She waited until she saw the nod of the boy’s head in the shadowed moonlight. “Do you want to talk about it?” There was an immediate shake of the head. The woman expected no less of an answer. Half of her hoped for a shake of the head in response. She had ideas of what they put this boy through, but never were any of them confirmed.
Silence fell amongst the two. The woman looking over the boy’s limp arm as well as the other cuts and bruises along his face. nothing hurt her more than to see the boy’s face cringed in pain and sorrow.
Footsteps suddenly echoed with a heavy crunch. The woman’s eyes flickered to the surrounding area and she reached forward, hurrying the boy to his feet and speaking to him in a quick and harsh whisper. “Time to go now my love. Hurry now, don’t get caught wandering this late. I don’t want you to get in trouble,” she told him lovingly, stroking his hair lightly with a tender kiss to his paw. “Run along now.”
Without questioning her hurried motions, the child slipped off the metal platform, landing on the cracked ground with a dry thud. He winced from the pain in his bad leg, as well as the pain in his arm. Once more the boy cradled his right arm in his left, dragging one leg behind him and continuing on as if he had never stopped.
“Constantine!”
This voice was not as kind. It was gruff, harsh, cutting through him with a fearful slice. There was no debate in stopping. His movements resulted in a sudden halt just with a single word slipping from the other’s mouth.
“What are you doing out here so late? I am sure Sebastian let you free much earlier, giving you plenty time to return back to your tent,” he purred in a mocking voice, each word dripping with taunt and pressing into his skin, waiting to pierce the flesh left on his bones. Silence was the child’s response, but silence was never meant to be an answer.
Constantine found himself tossed back, the side of his face stinging from the crack of a hand meeting flesh. The gimp arm rested motionlessly by his side, leaving him to catch himself with a single paw. His face hovered dangerously close to the ground. He could smell the dirt, his sweat and tears disappearing quickly into the thirsty ground. His chest fell forward, a desperate gasp of air finding its way out of his lungs as he heard the voice again, this time more impatient. “What are you doing here so late at night?”
“I was still walking.. I hurt my leg.. And I can’t move my arm. I can’t move quickly, it hurts,” the child quietly complained, his words drawn out as he tried to breath and hold back his tears, both proving to be difficult at the moment. He was finally allowed on his feet and he was grabbed by the shoulder. Fingers dug into his skin and it felt as though they would cut through. “I’m sorry,” he quickly added, feeling the grip only loosen slightly.
“Well then. Sebastian will not be too happy to hear you let yourself get hurt again. Will he?” The man’s voice echoed in his mind, leaving a permanent scar. Constantine shook his head quickly, eyes focused on the ground while he involuntarily shivered from fear. “I suppose in the morning Taren will look at you. For now. Go back to your tent.”
There was a pause, silence between both parties as Constantine gathered all the strength he could from his limited supply. “Yes Demarion, sir,” he spoke in a low, submissive tone.
With that being said, the child was forced along his way. Wounds to be tended to in the morning, where he would need to suffer the night with them. He had not bothered to wait for what Demarian might have wanted to say next. He turned his back to the creature and continued to walk in a limping pattern. The tent was not much farther, he was terribly close.
With all other performers sleeping, Constantine found his cot through the darkness and laid down. His right arm now useless until the morning where Taren could possibly see him. His leg would be fine by morning and the cuts would have healed over, bruises lightened up, so he would be ready to repeat the same routine. So he would be ready to make others laugh at the masks performers wore as well as their stumbling acts. So they could live through their lives unknowing the dark secrets kept within any circus.
Get me out of here, please.
