Five Minute Fiction Monday is an ongoing experiment. The goal: To write as much as I can in five minutes. Don’t think. Let the fingers do the work. Once done, walk away then come back later to clean it up.
Enjoy?
Freaks
“You know what I miss most about the circus?” Jill says, taking a sip from a can of warm Coke.
“What’s that?” Mark asks, rolling down the window.
“The freak shows. They don’t have ‘em anymore.”
“Tell that to Coney Island.”
“No, really,” Jill smirks, “Your Circus Vargas, your Barnum & Bailey, they have lions and bears and those damn high-wire acts with the Italian family all wearing matching tights, but when was the last time you saw an actual freak?”
“Are you serious?”
“Absolutely,” Jill says with a smile, suddenly becoming animated. “My parents took me to the circus once, this must have been thirty years ago, but I remember seeing the Fat Lady, the Wolf Man, the two-headed baby in a jar. I remember the small tents and sawdust on the floor, the smell of sweat and cotton candy, and the barkers with bad teeth. Today it’s all elephants and poodles and women in oversized headdresses. There’s no more tension. Nothing bordering on the forbidden. It’s all fluff and popcorn nowadays.”
Mark makes a lane change then turns down the stereo. “You want to know why you don’t see freaks anymore, apart from the obvious?”
“Please?” Jill replies, placing her Coke can in the cup holder.
“They’re people, hon, and the days of freaks is long past, replaced with the Internet and cable television and pop music. People no longer need to drive to a circus to see the ‘freaks’ when it’s much easier to open a browser and watch ‘normal’ people do freaky things online.”
“But what about the circus freaks? What happened to Fat Lady?”
“Lap band surgery. She’s now a divorce lawyer in Los Angeles.”
“The Wolf Man?”
“Laser treatment. Owns a chain of fitness centers.”
“And the three-legged woman?” Jill asks. “What happened to her?”
“Porn.”
Jill laughs incredulously, shaking her head, “You’re fucking kidding me!”
“No, seriously,” Mark says, changing lanes again. “She’s pushing fifty, but she still produces her own line of smut, and does things that could make a eunuch blush. She’s astounding, actually.”
“So, no more freaks?” Jill asks solemnly.
“No more than you or I,” Mark replies. “Instead of ‘freaks’, let’s call them ‘uniquely talented’ individuals.”
“Just trying to make a living?”
“Just trying to make a living.”
“Well, shoot,” Jill says, rolling the now empty can of Coke between her hands and staring out the window. “Good for them, I guess, but I still miss the old circus.”
