The Circus

"Reality can destroy the dream; why shouldn't the dream destroy reality?" -George A. Moore

First, when he arrived. The boisterous laughter and bumbling clowns toppling over one another, the largest man in the world juggling chainsaws, the Peruvian Pygmy, the silk dancers elegantly swinging and twirling, the Arab swallowing a sword. It captivated him.

Second, the final act. Just when he thought nothing could surprise and entrance him more, an angel entered view, introduced as Lillia by the Ringmaster. He was not able to listen to the introduction, as he became lost in captivating thought by the woman's light, graceful steps and glowing eyes.

Her golden hair framing her round, glowing face, the light pinks of her dress complimenting her complexion, her long limbs swinging about, presenting her thin, beautiful body.

She went on with her presentation, swinging about, jumping, spinning, all in the air. Not once did she touch the floor until the end. Tightropes, swings, trapeze, all without partner.

Third, the end of the show. She lowered to the ground in all gracefulness, taking her bows and blowing her kisses. Oh, the euphoria when she blew one to him! His face had been blush, dreaming of her all the while she, in ignorance of her livid lover, performed for the crowd.

She exited the ring, and the crowd was dismissed, leaving him, alone, cold, without affection. Walking out among the crowd, he had a sensation. A wonderful plan, a deviation. His mind drew him to the posters, hung on a nearby wall, and he found where The Circus had been, and where they would go. Here, then to Europe, to the Swedes, the Poles, the Swiss, then to the French, the Deutsche, the Brits, the Scots, and the Irish. Onward they'd go, to a tour in Asia, visiting the Turks first, followed by the Chinese, the Mongols, the Russians, the Indians, the Japanese, Sundanese, Balinese, Malay, Moluccan, Papuan, and Javanese, after which concluding back here their tour. He knew not of most of these places, but there he decided to go. He could see her act again and again, he had a chance of meeting her. He knew he would not be able to get enough, so why stop now? Nothing else made sense, he could not go back to normal life.

So away he went, to Poland, to Germany, to Turkey, to Indonesia, to China. He learned along the way, but only cared about her. Her smile, her dances, her laughter, her dress, everything changed but his love for her. Until, on the final show, back in his hometown, he received a tap on the shoulder during her act. His trance was broken as he was asked why he was still there. Puzzled, he replied that the show was still going. The man then said it had been over for a half-hour.

Impossible! he proclaimed, standing in his seat. But as he looked toward his love, the one he had followed around the world, the one he had seen more times to count, she was not there. He knew the show well, she should still be going, still, be entrancing him with her lofty performance, but she was gone. Was this a trick? I couldn't be. A delusion? It couldn't be.

Sinking feelings come easily, and seem to never go away. This case, of sinking stomachs, never went away, as he realized his love, the beautiful woman, the angel of the heights, had been a delusion. He had followed a ghost around the world. He had no money, no home, no food. A ghost had led him to his ruin.

What fabrications of the mind had captivated him! What delusions of grandeur, what hallucinations had taken hold of him! How could a ghost have been so vivid? A vision so real? A dream so large that it became unreachable?