Original post edited slightly, a couple more quips added. Now, what the heck, here's the reveal.
I was also praying for a miracle, but I figured itd take a pretty big one to save my skin.
Heres a tip, boys and girls. Sometimes, prayer works.
And angels come in unlikely forms.
* * *
All of a sudden, my tormentors stopped.
Hands released me. My battered body hit the ground, and the impact somehow shocking me more than all the other injuries. I heard them screeching, yelling, but not at me. I felt almost insulted, really. What could be more important than killing me?
I raised my head, but my eyes refused to focus. The sight didnt make sense, anyway. Above me were the crouched forms of Bobcats minions, the guys who had been ventilating my spleen. Badly-dressed dudes with claws on their hands? Check. Dark alley wherein I was bleeding to death? Check. But beyond that, the world didnt make sense.
There were colours, too many colours, like a riot in a curtain store. Those colours were on people, on costumes. People dressed like that had no right melting from the shadows, but apparently this lot hadnt got the memo. It was surreal. Not just their appearance, but also how they came. The brightly-clad figures capered in with backflips and cartwheels, feats of casual acrobatics. One balanced on a unicycle, while another walked down the street on its hands. I couldnt help but laugh. A real laugh, not one faked for the benefit of an enemy audience.
There was more than a little hysteria in my little giggling fit, but I think a man can be excused for light-headedness when hes just been saved by clowns.
Female clowns, too. One pulled balls of bright pink from her hair, juggling them with deft fingers before throwing them at the Praetorian troops standing over me. The flash of light obscured my vision. When my awareness returned, she was right beside me. Beyond her, I could see her sisters battling with Bobcats men, matching claws with hoops and tambourines. It looked like the circus was winning. Maybe they had lion tamers, too.
The woman reached a hand towards me, her skin white with make-up. Her face was white, too, except that was a porcelain mask. Absently, I noted the fact her dress had a long Victorian skirt, a singularly impractical garmentexcept her feet never touched the ground.
I could feel myself starting to fade from sheer blood loss. But I refused to pass out. There was something I had to figure out, something profoundly wrong with this picture.
Carnies. They were Carnies.
My brain finally supplied the answer, the label Id been grasping for.
Apparently, Heaven has a sense of humor.
* * *
-- Acyl
I was also praying for a miracle, but I figured itd take a pretty big one to save my skin.
Heres a tip, boys and girls. Sometimes, prayer works.
And angels come in unlikely forms.
* * *
All of a sudden, my tormentors stopped.
Hands released me. My battered body hit the ground, and the impact somehow shocking me more than all the other injuries. I heard them screeching, yelling, but not at me. I felt almost insulted, really. What could be more important than killing me?
I raised my head, but my eyes refused to focus. The sight didnt make sense, anyway. Above me were the crouched forms of Bobcats minions, the guys who had been ventilating my spleen. Badly-dressed dudes with claws on their hands? Check. Dark alley wherein I was bleeding to death? Check. But beyond that, the world didnt make sense.
There were colours, too many colours, like a riot in a curtain store. Those colours were on people, on costumes. People dressed like that had no right melting from the shadows, but apparently this lot hadnt got the memo. It was surreal. Not just their appearance, but also how they came. The brightly-clad figures capered in with backflips and cartwheels, feats of casual acrobatics. One balanced on a unicycle, while another walked down the street on its hands. I couldnt help but laugh. A real laugh, not one faked for the benefit of an enemy audience.
There was more than a little hysteria in my little giggling fit, but I think a man can be excused for light-headedness when hes just been saved by clowns.
Female clowns, too. One pulled balls of bright pink from her hair, juggling them with deft fingers before throwing them at the Praetorian troops standing over me. The flash of light obscured my vision. When my awareness returned, she was right beside me. Beyond her, I could see her sisters battling with Bobcats men, matching claws with hoops and tambourines. It looked like the circus was winning. Maybe they had lion tamers, too.
The woman reached a hand towards me, her skin white with make-up. Her face was white, too, except that was a porcelain mask. Absently, I noted the fact her dress had a long Victorian skirt, a singularly impractical garmentexcept her feet never touched the ground.
I could feel myself starting to fade from sheer blood loss. But I refused to pass out. There was something I had to figure out, something profoundly wrong with this picture.
Carnies. They were Carnies.
My brain finally supplied the answer, the label Id been grasping for.
Apparently, Heaven has a sense of humor.
* * *
-- Acyl