When Bill arrived to the circus, he found that it had fared no better than the rest of the town. The tents all hung in tatters, barely more than faded scraps of cloth. The seats were rickety and rusty, and even the sawdust bore the telltale scent of rot. Despite the dilapidation, though, it seemed that the final performance had drawn an enormous crowd, and Bill had to shove his way through the audience to reach his seat at the front row.
He held his breath, waiting for the show to start.
The music moaned to life and the lights flickered up, and in a halfhearted display of merriment, everything began. First came the lion-tamers with their whips and chairs... and yeah, they were intriguing, but Bill was otherwise occupied. Next came the feats of strength with strongmen (and one excessively suspicious old woman) smashing bricks and bending bars... and yeah, it was impressive, but Bill stayed focused on his own thoughts. The sword swallowers followed, and the trapeze artists, and the tightrope walkers... and yeah, someone might have died at any moment, but it all seemed so irrelevant.
Eventually, Bill began to worry that he wouldn't get to see the clowns. After all, he knew very well that clowns have a remarkably low life expectancy as compared to other professions. (That's probably not accurate, but it sure sounds true, doesn't it?)
Suddenly, all of the lights went out.
A single spotlight shown down to one corner of the arena.
A tiny car came puttering into view, while discordant, almost forlorn circus music played.
Deet deet deedle-deedle deet deet dee deeeeee...
The car's doors creaked open, and out shambled the most pathetic collection of clowns that Bill had ever seen. There were fat clowns, thin clowns, tall clowns, and short clowns, all of them bent under the weight of age and depression. Clowns with ancient wigs and crumbling rubber noses. Clowns in stretched-out suspenders and orthopedic shoes. There were clowns wearing every faded shade one could imagine, and clowns that moved like they were inches from the grave.
Then, just as it seemed like that tiny car couldn't produce a single soul more... the outpouring stopped.
Bill's heart jumped in his chest. Where was the clown who had wronged him as a child? Where was the monster that had haunted his dreams? Where was the target for his Ultimate Comeback?!
A shaking, rattling cough called Bill's attention to the other side of the arena, and he watched as an old man limped into view. Streaks of grey marred what had once been a shock of bright red hair, and those deep, blackened eyes seemed to have sunk even further into the white face that contained them. Yellow teeth spoke of fetid breath behind those broad, cracked lips, and tremors shook each lanky limb... but it was very clearly the clown from Bill's past.
The clown raised a tarnished microphone to his mouth and spoke.
"I need a volunteer."
[Continued]()...