Daggers

She had always wanted to run away with the circus. She dreamed of rubbing shoulders with elephants and tigers, getting to know the person behind the clown, befriending the bearded lady. She was afraid of heights and admired the trapezists safely from the ground.

She started out as the knife thrower’s assistant, learning not to flinch when the blade penetrated the wood oh so close to her skin. The knife thrower had a temper and very few friends. He was the brooding type who only lit up when people showed interest in his craft. He polished his knives obsessively, talked to them in endearing tones. They loved him back and never failed him.

Her crewmates held many secrets – she was privy to them all. Her innocence opened many doors that remained open since she kept her mouth shut. Discretion was prized among those outcasts – they had all found their way there for a reason–some tormentor, betrayer, or one of the many ghosts that plagued them. They were always on the lookout for The Reason to catch up with them.

In turn, the others were curious about her reasons for fleeing her home, which by all accounts, looked cozy. They knew better than to presume it was, and waited for her shadow self to manifest. They saw it the day a knife grazed her. Her secret was out: she fainted. The wound was oozing green blood.

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