Morality

IX: Scrawl

VIII: Scrawl

 

Found scrawlings from inside my grey and dying mind.

 

NOTHING IS ISOLATED.
EVERYTHING IS CONNECTED.
WHETHER BY A SINGLE MUSICAL NOTE, ECHOED CEASELESSLY AROUND THE SEALED CHAMBER WHICH IS THE VOID ALL THINGS EXIST IN.

 

WHETHER IN HARMONY

OR OUT OF BALANCE

WHETHER SEEMINGLY ALONE

OR WITH KNOWN ALLEGIANCES

ALL THINGS ARE CONNECTED.

 

A NAME. PERHAPS.
A NUMBER, OR A NAME, OR AN IDENTITY, OR A FACE.
DO NOT FORGET ANY SINGLE SHRED OF ANYTHING.
WALK BEHIND THE OLD MAN WITH THE STICK.
AND NOTICE. NOTICE THE FRAYED, DULL PLAID SCARF AROUND HIS NECK.
NOTICE THE TREAD OF HIS SHOES.
MENTALLY TRACE THE SHAPE OF HIS EYEBROWS IF HE TURNS TO LOOK AT YOU.
DON’T DISREGARD ANYTHING.
PARANOIA IS NO CURSE.

WHETHER IN HARMONY

OR OUT OF BALANCE

WHETHER SEEMINGLY ALONE

OR WITH KNOWN ALLEGIANCES

ALL THINGS ARE CONNECTED.

 

ESCAPING INTO A NOVEL IS NO LONGER A SEEMINGLY PEACEFUL BUSINESS.
DO NOT TREAT FICTION AS NEVER-HAPPENED OR NEVER-WILL-HAPPEN.
EVERYTHING IN THIS VOID IS CONNECTED AND NOTHING IS SEPARATE.
SOMEWHERE, STORIES LINK TO LIFE, LINK TO STORIES, LINK TO FURTHER STORIES, LINK TO FURTHER LIFE.
NOTE ANYTHING. RELATIONSHIPS THAT CHANGE. TREAT THEM ALL AS PEOPLE, EVERY CHARACTER, ANIMAL, OBJECT. REMEMBER THEY EXIST.
EVEN IF THEY’RE CHARACTERLESS CHARACTERS.
EVERYTHING LINKS.

WHETHER IN HARMONY

OR OUT OF BALANCE

WHETHER SEEMINGLY ALONE

OR WITH KNOWN ALLEGIANCES

ALL THINGS ARE CONNECTED.

 

WHETHER IT BE A CIRCUS PERFORMER WHO SCREAMS EVERY FIFTH WORD.
OR AN IMPOSSIBLE BEING THAT CONTORTS AND VANISHES.
OR A PERSON SOLELY ALIVE TO AID HIS SISTER BY DESTROYING EVERYTHING.
OR A DOOR THAT LEADS INTO A ROOM YOU WON’T LEAVE ALIVE.
EVERYTHING IS TRUE. ALL THINGS ARE CONNECTED. THERE IS NO SUCH THING AS

FICTION.

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X: Moral Hate Circus (Final)

I: Moral Hate Circus  II: Moral Hate Circus  III: Moral Hate Circus  IV: Moral Hate Circus
V: Moral Hate Circus  VI: Moral Hate Circus  VII: Moral Hate Circus  VIII: Moral Hate Circus
IX: Moral Hate Circus

 

The Screamer is on his feet and he has never felt so strong before and The Screamer takes a step off the stage light he is weightless and The Screamer goes towards you and The Screamer takes your jaw in his hands and The Screamer pulls it right off and The Screamer puts it between his teeth as he grabs your tongue and The Screamer feels the muscle move in his fingers and The Screamer loathes you and The Screamer pulls your tongue and The Screamer digs his nails in and bites onto your jaw as he pulls your tongue and The Screamer pushes your head back and The Screamer feels the ripping of your muscle and The Screamer ignores your screams because you are not The Screamer and The Screamer screams louder than you so you know that The Screamer is The Screamer and you are not The Screamer and no one else is The Screamer because he is The Screamer and there is no other like him only The Screamer and The Screamer still has your tongue and it is hard to pull but The Screamer doesn’t give up and The Screamer carries on pulling and The Screamer succeeds and it rips from your throat, bringing a scattering of blood that lands on the dark ground of the tent, staining the hard soil forever, which is added to by you falling to your knees and choking on blood, unable to close your mouth because you have no jaw and unable to keep the blood in because you have no tongue, and you look up at him, and he can see that your throat is exposed from where the skin of your jaw was ripped off as he pulled off your jaw so he goes for that, discarding your tongue on the ground where it lands in an expanding crimson pool, gripping around your windpipe, continuously screaming and never letting you go no matter how hard you struggle because he wants you quiet because he hates you, and why he hates you is obvious but the reasoning is too far from your comprehension because of the pain he is inflicting upon you with his hand inside your throat, unprotected by your lower jaw which is still between his teeth, your teeth still attached to it, your blood dripping from the dying tissue, and suddenly your eyes are jerked upwards as he yanks on your windpipe, ripping through it like a bear, damaging your vocal chords so that you can only manage hoarse grunts of agony, which you do constantly because you cannot get away, and his hand suddenly plunges deeper, abandoning the half-ripped windpipe and he grips something in the back of your neck, jagged fingers like the claws of a tiger slicing through the meat of you, and he shakes you so hard you lose consciousness for a few seconds as your brain smashes against the inside of your head, and in that time you see sparks, and hear the scolding of his enemies and you wonder why you don’t run away, so when you wake up and your eyes adjust and your brain registers the pain again you try to pull yourself together even though he is slowly destroying your body from the top down, and he is already on your chest which he is scratching at desperately with his claws, eyes crazed and dripping blood from your jaw between his teeth, and you try and push him off like he did to you but he grabs your arm but, instead of slamming it to the floor he raises it to his mouth and bites, letting your jawbone fall onto your sliced chest, and you feel his teeth sharp inside your wrist, slitting through blood vessels and letting warm, soupy blood flow down your arm and his arms are on yours and then, before your eyes, you see him give your arm another bend as he snaps your ulna and radius, and you see just before the pain hits that he is tearing at your arm and trying to rip it off, but as your head shoots back and your destroyed vocal chords force out a harsh loud shriek of pain you feel the shattered and snapped bones of your arm ripping through the flesh and slitting open the skin but you can still feel his teeth there, tearing and ripping at the meat as though eating it, and lapping at the blood as he howls his triumph because he is killing you and you know he is killing you, so you try to get away again but he forces you to the ground and you have only moved an inch but he can see your panic so he slams down your useless arm and returns to your chest, raking down your breasts and underneath them with his nails and eventually getting through the skin to the tissue which he rips out and, with his hands within both breasts, he begins tearing at your skin, across your body, down your abdomen, and over your muscles and through your pubis and over your legs and it feels like a stuttering electric shock as he peels away your flesh in lumps, still biting and snorting at it, and his lips are red, as red as your hair which is still ripped away from your skull, scalp attached and leaking more than blood but now he is at your stomach and pulling at the flesh and scratching through the muscles to get to the tender intestines below and he is drooling and his teeth are white and flash at you and his eyes are wild and his hand slots into your abdomen and pulls and your viscera coats him once again and your head shoots back again as a pain reflex and your legs kick out and he smacks his fist into you, breaking your nose again and blood flows over the only teeth left in your head, sending shocks down you bringing your whole body to a contorting agony that rips through you and tears you apart, rupturing you, and you hear him scream one last time, a gurgling, crimson scream, wet and raw with your innards that splits your head in two, and then finally, finally, whiteness, and a peace, and the screaming is gone, and the vermilion stains are gone, and your jaw is gone, but so is the rest of your body, and you don’t have to feel pain anymore because here you know you are safe, secure, and warm, and a white space welcomes you, and lets you fall into it, and you leave behind the world you thought you were safe in, a world where you walked daily, a world where you used your talent to entertain others, a world where you screamed, and a world you unquestionably, undoubtedly hated, with no reasons, because the world had not hurt you, the world had let you walk it, but you knew there was more, and this is the more you found, to be ripped and torn and ruptured by another world-walker, a world-walker who saw you spinning because before that you weren’t there, hadn’t existed, only appeared because he had made it so, because he had put you there, because he was in charge of you, because he could take your life away just as soon as he gave it to you, because you were under his control, because you were his delusion, because you were his hallucination, because you were him, his inside voice, his unassuming conscience, his hidden lies, which is why he heard you, which is why he saw you, which is why you mattered to him, mattered enough for him to feel for you, and even if that feeling was a deep, burning hatred, he still felt for you, because you mattered to him because you affected him, just by being something imagined come to life, you mattered to him, just by screaming one time, because his gift had been passed down to his hallucination, and he hated you enough to put an end to your life, to stop every artery from pumping, to obliterate every recognisable feature and all because of his hatred of you, which stemmed from his fear of you.

He was scared of you.

His own hallucination.

Scared!
Imagine.

Scared of his own hallucination, delusion, vision.

Why was he scared?

Why should he have been scared?

What was he?

Who was he?

He imagined you, you existed only because of his mind, and yet he was scared of you?

How was he scared of you?

Is he scared of himself?

Maybe.

Maybe.

It’s like he’s afraid of his own shadow.

He makes a shadow.

His mind conjures a delusion.

A girl turning in tight circles with her hair twirling after her like a child.

Or a lover.

And he is scared.

He is frightened.

He made the hallucination go away.

That won’t stop him or his fear.

It will multiply it.

He knows what he thinks he’s capable of now.

Killing.

He thought you were real.

Nothing about you was real.

Not your hair.

Not your eyes.

Not your skin.

Not your arm.

Not your muscles.

Not your teeth.

Not your tongue.

Not your jaw.

He went after you to soothe you because he was frightened because you, a creation of his own mind, was screaming. His own mind was screaming.

He attacked his own mind’s creation. He attacked his own being.

He killed his own mind’s creation.

He is one step closer to killing himself.

Or several steps.

Or more than a several.

Anyway.

He doesn’t matter anymore.

Nothing about him matters.

Nothing about what happened matters.

All that matters is now.

He will kill himself soon.

There is nothing to be done anymore.

You never existed and you cease to now.

You simply have to lie here in this white space and wait.

For what, that is not clear.

Just wait.

Lie here.

And wait.

Relax.

I’m sure whatever’s coming won’t take long to get here.

Lie down.

Here.

No, here.

You cannot lie there.

That’s too close.

You can’t pretend you’re real.

Lie here, so you know you never existed.

In the white.

Lie here.

Lie down.

Yes.

In the white.

Face the white.

It will soon turn to black.

But you will be long gone before then.

You see how the white has turned greyer?

Of course you don’t.

You don’t see anything.

You don’t have eyes to see it with.

Just lie here.

You can’t lie down, can you?

You have no body to lie.

Then just stay.

Float.

Hover.

Or pretend you have a body and lie.

Lie down and lie to yourself that you exist.

You don’t exist.

You never did.

And when he kills himself you will have existed even less than now.

Don’t you see?

You’re not real.

You were never real.

And you will never be real.

And look now.

Here it comes.

Over there.

Just behind you, over there.

Turn around.

You’ll want to see this.

It’ll take you on.

You’ll need to see this.

Turn around.

It’s coming.

The white is less white now, not that you care.

You won’t see this place dark.

You’ll be gone by then.

Look.

Here it comes.

Say goodbye.

What do you remember?

Do you remember your hair colour?

What was it?

Red? Orange?

No.

No it wasn’t.

Because you never had hair.

You never existed.

You never had hair just the same as you never had a child.

Or a lover.

You never existed.

You never had hair.

You never had a hair colour.

So.

Do you remember your hair colour?

What was it?

That’s right.

Nothing.

You’re getting it.

Do you remember your eye colour?

What was it?

That’s right.

You are getting there.

You didn’t have an eye colour because you didn’t have eyes.

What about where you went to?

Where did you go?

Did you like it?

No.

No you didn’t go anywhere.

A circus?

No, of course not.

Maybe you’re not getting there.

You didn’t go anywhere because you had no body to take you there.

You never existed.

So.

Where did you go?

Did you like it?

No?

No.

Good.

You can’t like something you didn’t see.

You just have the white now.

There are colours here.

But you can’t see them because you don’t exist.

You see?

No hair colour.

No eye colour.

No tent colour.

Just a white, an endless white.

That slowly will fade to black but you’ll be long gone.

Don’t worry about that.

The white is good.

Get taken away in the white.

Now, look again.

Over just behind you.

It’s a little closer now.

Just slightly.

But it’s speeding up.

Don’t be afraid when it arrives here.

It doesn’t hurt.

Just stay in the white, however you chose to do it, and let yourself be taken away.

It will be just as easy as falling asleep.

Now.

What was your hair colour?

Correct.

Nothing. You never had hair, therefore you never had a hair colour.

You are so much better now.

You understand now.

What was your eye colour?

Indeed.

No eye colour.

The same reasons.

And where did you go?

Exactly.

Nowhere.

To you, there was never any circus. Never any acts.

For you, you had nothing. No chaos.

No crowds.

No portaloos.

You never went there either.

You didn’t go to the circus did you?

You went nowhere.

You stayed out of the uncertain world.

But where will you go?

No, this time you will go somewhere.

Just behind you, slightly closer now.

Even more slightly closer.

Almost right behind you.

Now it’s right behind you.

It’s stopped.

Are you in the white?

Then look behind you.

Just behind you.

Turn slowly.

If it sees you move suddenly it might run away.

Don’t worry if you feel breathing on your neck.

It’s not unfriendly.

Nor is it friendly.

But it will take you on.

This time, you are going somewhere.

Okay.

Turn slowly.

Over.

Look behind you.

Just behind you.

Turn slowly.

Do you see it?

It sees you.

What do you feel?

No.

What do you feel?

No, don’t you remember?

You don’t feel.

You don’t exist.

You don’t have to.

This is the only real thing.

Do you see it?

Can you touch it?

Are you trying?

Do you remember that you have no hands because you don’t exist?

You don’t exist.

You have nothing.

All you have to do is stay in the white until you feel ready to go.

You seem ready.

You seem very ready.

You seem accepting.

Quiet now, don’t spook it.

Are you ready to go with it?

You’ll go on.

Away from this place.

Away from the colours you can’t see.

Away from the empty whiteness forever.

Are you ready to go?

Then go.

Fall away.

Fall backwards.

If you can.

Once you fall, you won’t remember anything.

Nothing you have experienced will have happened.

But you should be aware that none of that happened already.

We have been through this.

But this place, the white, the memories, all should go.

You will be restored to serene calmness and bliss once again.

Are you ready?

Serene calmness.

Nonexistance.

Bliss.

Are you ready?

Then go.

IX: Moral Hate Circus

I: Moral Hate Circus  II: Moral Hate Circus  III: Moral Hate Circus  IV: Moral Hate Circus
V: Moral Hate Circus  VI: Moral Hate Circus  VII: Moral Hate Circus  VIII: Moral Hate Circus

 

But I can’t always be here.

My enemies crunching towards me show me that.

I won’t always be here.

So I must find a way of stopping you from screaming in the future.

I press down harder on your jaw and your throat makes noises again and your breath is hot and words struggle to come out and are drowned under the gluey blood of your own throat and it is on my fingers again and stop screaming I told you I will be here with you to stop you screaming and you will never scream again.

My enemies are steps away and I must stop you now.

I push harder and my jaw clenches and my hands too and my fingers covered in your saliva curl onto your tongue but I have grip and I push until I feel the hinge again.

The hinge feels like steel and moves slowly but so do my enemies and so do the leaves and the sounds are minimal and so is the breeze.

I have all the time I want.

I move slowly all the same so I don’t hurt you all I want to do is stop you from screaming for future you must not scream again because I cannot be there.

Your jaw is wider and this is what I want even though your screams are louder now.

I push harder until I hear cracking and I can’t tell if that’s my enemies’ feet or your jaw so I push again and it is your jaw I hear the hinge splintering and I see blood again.

And I smile because blood means my work is good.

I push harder.

Your teeth puncture the skin of my hand but I don’t dare stop.

I push harder.

The cracking resonates up my arm.

I push harder.

Your screams turn to rasps and gasps and your eyes flitter closed and finally your jaw gives way and the skin pulls around it and it snaps and tears and I push your jaw into your chest.

It hits your chest and you spasm but go still.

I pull at your jaw. Now loose from your mouth. Skin holds it on but the skin is ripped by bone and force and I can pull at it and your gums are red and raw and bleeding.

Your tongue quivers and lolls.

My enemies are making more noise than you.

I know you can still make noise. But you are silent now.

I let your jaw go.

My hands are wet now. Your jaw made them this way.

Your jaw is held by skin to you and it pulls back and I let it go.

It slips from my hand and from the blood.

And I look at the moon in the blue sky and I know my enemies are here but it is okay because I did what I had to do.

Soothe you. I did soothe you.

You must be glad now I have. You make no noise. You lie there quiet.

I touch you with my red hand and I can’t tell if you are moving.

I turn my eyes to my enemies just as the brown one grabs my arm. The red one grabs my wrist.

I get to my feet and they pull me far from you and I look back and the yellow one is by your side but not touching you and not moving you. They leave you where I left you.

Maybe they are not my enemies.

My eyes are dimming like yours did. They close. My ears stay awake and guide me and tell me where I am.

My feet tell me we are in the main tent and the red and brown enemies throw me down suddenly and I land on wood. My eyes open again and it is wood.

I am on the stage.

I look round at my enemies and they are standing there and I hear them shouting at me, but they sound a long way off and their figures are still.

Arms folded and glaring at me.

I look away and down off the stage and suddenly there is you.

Over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over.

It is you, a thousand times of you sitting there with your red and brown hair and your green eyes and your jaw hanging down on your chest and your teeth are bleeding and they are staining your skin because you are naked and your skin is white like the moon but smooth and I don’t know how you are there but I know I have soothed you because you are quiet all of you each one of you is quiet all of you are quiet none of you is making a sound not one of you is making a sound none of you are moving all of you are still all of you are silent all of you are looking at me and I hear the red and the brown enemies yelling at me but they are drowned out by your silent stares all your stares and I look into all your eyes at once and I want to tell you that you are welcome that you’re welcome that I’m glad I can help you but your eyes are sad.

Did I not help you?

Are you lying in a forest bleeding?

Didn’t I help you?

I made you stop screaming.

I made your hair red again.

I tasted your tears.

Did I not help you?

-Why would there be tears? Your eyes say, all your eyes. –Why would there be tears if we were happy?

Why would there be?

-Why would there be tears if we were helped?

I don’t know.

-Do you truly believe you helped us?

Us? Are there more of you? I helped you. Not us, not we, not all of you. There was one of you. I helped you.

But you look at me, all of your eyes below look at me as I lie there on my knees in front of you and your eyes are sad. –You didn’t help us.

I helped you.

-You didn’t help us.

I stopped you from screaming.

-You didn’t help us.

You’re not screaming anymore.

-We cannot scream anymore. And your jaws pump blood fast and all of you, like a wave, double over and you stay there for a while and all I can do is watch and know that you are sad.

I wait for ages until, one by one, you sit up again, all straight-backed in the chairs below me, all of you lit by the light of the moon, made much lighter than I am on the stage. I can see that you are crying, all your eyes are crying, and all the tears I taste in my mouth until I have to spit.

I gag and there is salt and you carry on crying and I spit again and the tears come out of my mouth and out of my nose and out of my eyes. I spit and I spit your tears.

-We cannot scream anymore! And you say this loudly so I have to look up.

The tears are louder than you and I only just hear you.

Flowing down my throat like a waterfall as I fall on my back.

-We cannot scream anymore!

I thought you were happy.

-We are not happy.

I thought you were happy. You won’t listen to me.

-You won’t listen to us. You are angry now, all of your eyes are covered by your brows. –Would we have to scream more if you had listened to our first scream?

I listened to it and I followed it to find you and I had to make you stop screaming because I had to help you.

-You didn’t listen to our first scream. You listened too much to the echo of our first scream so you didn’t let it go. Why would I scream anyway?

You weren’t happy and that is why you screamed.

-I wasn’t happy?

You screamed.

-You scream.

I am The Screamer. The. I scream. It’s cool.

-You scream. You are The Screamer.

I am The Screamer.

-Why would I scream?

Because you are not happy.

-Why do you scream?

I am The Screamer.

-Do you scream because you are not happy?

I am The Screamer. I scream.

-Maybe I don’t scream because I am unhappy.

You weren’t happy.

-Maybe I wasn’t happy or unhappy. Maybe I just screamed. I only screamed once before you found me.

I look round at you now and instead of seeing a hundred eyes I see only two glaring out at me from up near the opening of the tent looking down on me scolding me more than the enemies ever could and I know that I should listen to you.

-Why would I scream? Maybe I scream like you scream. I scream because I scream because I was made to scream.

Who is made to scream?

-You are The Screamer.

I am made to scream.

-Why shouldn’t I be made to scream too?

I don’t know.

-Maybe I am. Maybe I just screamed because I just screamed.

So you weren’t unhappy?

-No. You didn’t listen to my scream. You listened to the echo and you didn’t let it go and that is why you came for me because you thought my scream was louder and you thought I was unhappy.

I thought you were unhappy.

-No.

Where are the others gone?

-The others?

The others of you who were looking at me. Where did the us go?

-Us is not me and me and me. Us is me and you because we are the same.

No one is the same as me.

-I scream. Do you scream?

Yes.

-Why do you scream?

I am The Screamer.

-But why do you scream?

Because. I. Am. The. Screamer.

-But why do you scream?

You are stuck on a loop, each time I say I am The Screamer you ask the question again so I have to think of another answer and it is hard because I don’t know why I scream. And all of a sudden I hate you. Why do you ask so many questions? I thought I had made you quiet.

-Why do you scream?

I refuse to answer you and looking into your eyes your green eyes that are like mine I can’t do it anymore. I tremble as fury darts through me through my veins and out of my skin in a mist and a sweat.

-Why do you scream?

And I scream for you, just for you, not for the enemies who still stand there, not for the moon who lights up the doorway and not for me either. I scream my loudest and my longest and I repeat and I scream again and I show you just what The Screamer can do and The Screamer rolls onto his front and The Screamer screams at the floor and The Screamer finds your eyes and The Screamer stares into them and The Screamer knows that they are not your eyes but his eyes and The Screamer is screaming for a different reason now because The Screamer is not screaming for you, The Screamer is not screaming for the enemies who still stand there, The Screamer is not screaming for the moon who lights up the doorway and The Screamer is not screaming for him because The Screamer is screaming because he is scared and The Screamer doesn’t remember being scared before and The Screamer doesn’t remember fear before and The Screamer is afraid of fear and afraid of what it might bring but The Screamer has to face the fear he sees and The Screamer sees the fear when he looks towards the moonlight-lit doorway and The Screamer sees you and The Screamer knows that you are fear.

He is scared of you.

Because he hates you.

Because you hate him.

 

X: Moral Hate Circus (Final)

VIII: Moral Hate Circus

I: Moral Hate Circus  II: Moral Hate Circus  III: Moral Hate Circus  IV: Moral Hate Circus
V: Moral Hate Circus  VI: Moral Hate Circus  VII: Moral Hate Circus

 

I grab you and you turn with your red hair following you like a child.

Or a lover.

And I grab you and you turn and you seem surprised of course you do.

I cannot explain I have no breath so I pull you to me and you fall to your knees and I stand and I hold you and I hold you tight and then you have your hands on me and you grip me.

Your hands become claws on my skin and I have to stop you doing that.

You are hurting me.

Please.

I push you away to the floor I must make you stop screaming you have started screaming again.

Please stop screaming.

I am here.

I am here.

Just you and me all alone out here ignore the others searching for me they will be here soon so I must soothe you quickly I must make you stop screaming quickly.

I am on top of you and you are pushing at me with your limbs your hands are on my shoulders and your knees are pushing at me.

So I push at you with my hands shh.

Your neck is warm and my hands are not is that why you are struggling I am trying to get you to stop screaming why must you scream more. It is not okay I must stop you.

Stop screaming.

You push at my face so I push at yours and then there is red on your lip at first I think it’s your hair but it’s your blood your blood is coming out of your nose onto your lips your lips are red with your blood now will you stop screaming.

Stop screaming shh.

My hand hurts.

Do you see what you’ve done to me?

How am I to help you if you remove the things that allow me to help you?

I will fight through the pain for you.

My hand hurts but I ignore it.

I still have one on your neck holding it tight so you will be still soon.

The other hurts.

Why must you be so hard?

So I grab your hair because it is soft and mud is on it making it brown instead and it is not orange anymore I liked it orange why did you change it why did you stroke mud through it? We can make it red again.

So I pull and your screaming gets louder I am trying to help you stop screaming be quiet shut up I am helping I am helping I tug and you push at me but I will not go until I quieten you down I must help you shh shh I am helping I am turning your hair red again I thought you liked it red clearly you didn’t or you wouldn’t have made it brown but I like it red so I will make it red your nose will help I take the blood with my hand and put it on your hair but there is not enough I must recreate you as you were silent and orange and twirling always twirling in my eyes in front of me in my mind you will be must be should be twirling lost and vulnerable but then I know I can help you are you turning now no you are on your back and I am trying to help you but still you push against me leave it stop I am helping you I am helping you stop screaming.

I hear Ema and Ira and Caelan and they are coming around the corner.

They won’t understand what I am trying to do, that I am trying to help I must still help you.

I get off you and I hold your hair with my hands and you try to sit up but I am pulling you away. You must come with me you must stop screaming you are making my ears buzz and if you break them how will I tell if you are screaming so how will I help you stop

screaming?

Your screams change pitch and become harsh and your voice is hurting isn’t it?

You see?

You’re hurting me and you. If you would just stop screaming then we could be okay and you would be fine you must stop.

I move backwards with your muddy hair between my fingers and you try to stand but I drag you and drag you and drag you and I see Caelan and I drag you faster and he begins running.

He is on me in an instant and I will not let go of you you try to get away I will not let you go until I help you stop screaming Caelan is grabbing me and trying to pull my hand away from you but I won’t let you go I must keep you with me I am keeping you and your blood and your hair.

I push Caelan away and I am surprised I managed it but then I am on you again to stop you from running from me and I see I am slowly making your hair red again your scalp is bleeding I am glad your  hair is red again I missed the red I rake my hands through hair and I spread the blood and the blood is too red and I am upset but at least it is red. And it must be redder still so I drag you and I drag you and I pull blood through your hair and I laugh because it is red but still you scream I am making you back into you why do you keep making that noise I pull you away out of the way of Caelan and suddenly we are feet and feet away and he is on the ground and he is holding his head and he looks up at me but he was looking down and he cries out as he looks up at me and he looks up at me and I see his nose pumping blood and I look down at you as he looks up at me and I see that your face is starting to stain red at least it is red and it is going in your mouth and you are coughing and blood comes down your chin and I look up when I see this and Caelan is getting up and you are screaming and struggling against me again and it is far too loud and Caelan is looking at me and his eyes are hell and then I look round behind me and I hear others and I see others and I see Ema and Ira and they are my enemies I hiss at them and pull you up and into my arms where you will be safe from them you are surprised and you can’t react and you can’t push me away and I know you won’t because you know I am trying to help you to save you and Caelan is getting up and he is nothing but a red monster and blood is on his skin and his clothes are red and his hands are red and he is yelling my name and Ema is yelling my name and Ira is yelling my name and I can feel them closing in on me on us on me and I run away so fast they can’t catch me I am faster than the wind I am faster and I am stronger and you are with me I am going to help you and for a second you stop screaming but your hands are at your head and you are crying loudly and your face is getting wet with your tears and your blood is on your hands and in your hair making it red so red I like it red why did you try and make it brown but I hear them behind me again so I run faster and suddenly you are heavy but they are miles away and I

trip

over a stone

and for a second I stumble but I think I regain myself only when I look down you are not there so I have to turn and look for you and the sky is opaque when I turn and I cannot see my hands when I turn for a second I am blind I think but I see the moon somewhere and it shines on me and I know I am watched over and then I turn and there you are on the ground why are you on the ground I jump on you and you try and struggle but I keep you still can’t you see I will help you I raise my hand because I want to stroke your lips to get the blood off so you can breathe

but I am roaring really loudly and it is not you screaming anymore it is

me

I am the one screaming now but that is okay I am The Screamer I scream I scream louder than a jet plane I scream louder than 100 baby howler monkeys at birth I am The Screamer and it is my job to scream not yours and you must not scream it makes me sad and it makes me angry and I want to take it from you

so I open your mouth and keep it open with a hand and then with both I push down on your jaw and you try to bite me but I keep doing it and I force your head back with one hand and push with the other until I feel the hinge straining against me.

I feel the strength of your jaw and it calms me. I know you are not screaming anymore and all I can hear is the sigh of the wind in the trees and the rustle of the leaves as they watch me.

The moon above shines light onto half of your face, illuminating it and the blood shimmers. It has got into your eye, and your eyes stare up at me.

They are like mine, I think. I suppose they are. They are definitely green.

Juxtaposed with the colour of the blood and hair around your face they stand out and shimmer at me in the darkness and I see fear in them.

I know I am helping you because why would you let me on top of you if I weren’t?

Your shoulders are taut, up by your jawline which is soft and smooth and I look at it now. The moon makes it silver through leaves which hang on trees as they watch me.

Your eyelashes are stuck together and tears like diamonds glitter at me so I lean down closer to you never moving my hands. I stretch out my tongue and I press it to your eyelashes and I taste the salt of your tears and I lick it up.

And the noise you make is not screaming but whimpering and it is quiet and it is what I want. You will be silent soon because I will soothe you.

Shh, and I push your jaw again, slowly. The leaves don’t move above me. Below you is the ground. Coming at me from the side are my three enemies, one red, one yellow and one brown and they have no shape because I am not looking at them.

I am looking at you and your red hair.

I am looking at you and your lighted cheeks.

I am looking at you and your green eyes.

I am looking at you and your silver jawline.

I am looking at your and my hands. One hand heel holding your upper jaw. One with soft fingers pushing your lower jaw down. And each finger. The ones in your mouth are wet. Your tongue is under them and I feel it pulsing gently against my fingers. There is blood on my wrist from your nose where it has run over your lip and onto me. I hold you slowly like this. My enemies are coming. But it is okay. You have stopped screaming.

You have stopped screaming.

You will never scream again as long as I stay here.

I must hold your jaw open forever.

I will do this.

You cannot scream then and you never should for I am here.

I am here not to protect you.

Not ever to love you.

But just to stop you from screaming.

 

IX: Moral Hate Circus  X: Moral Hate Circus (Final)

VII: Moral Hate Circus

I: Moral Hate Circus  II: Moral Hate Circus  III: Moral Hate Circus  IV: Moral Hate Circus
V: Moral Hate Circus  VI: Moral Hate Circus

 

Nothing.

Nothing!

Caelan’s voice remains steady but I hear screaming and his mouth is not open enough and his accent is gone and I cannot understand. It is not my screaming I know it is not my screaming this is not my voice I taste no blood I hear nothing I understand nothing I comprehend nothing I hear the voice and I hear it Loud I look around at Ema but she is not screaming I look around at Ira but he is not screaming I hear it Loud and I look at Caelan and he is not screaming and I look at me and I am not screaming but still I hear it Loud.

My sweat is salty and I taste it and I know I am not screaming and I know I am not crying and I know I am trying to hear Caelan but he is not screaming.

I wish he would scream because then I would know I am hearing him but I cannot hear him I just hear the scream loud and loud and Loud.

There is nothing screaming no one screaming Ira and Ema and Caelan don’t react they cannot hear the screaming why can I hear the screaming I am not screaming they don’t react they don’t move they don’t help why can’t they hear the screaming why can’t they hear it Loud why cant they hear the pain why cant they feel what I feel why cant they see what i see i am the screamer and i hear screaming i am not screaming it is not me

I see the girl.

With red hair.

Twirling.

Her hair following her.

Like a child.

Or a lover.

I see her.

Spinning.

In front of my eyes.

Blocking out Caelan.

And she is screaming it is her she is screaming and I hear her she is screaming and I must stop her screaming because it hurts and it is too Loud and I must stop her before she breaks me but I can’t I don’t know where she is she left I wish I could find her I wish I had spoken to Ira to tell him I wanted her because then I would know that it is her screaming and I could stop her and I could not break and I could silence her once and for all I could make her quiet I could soothe her I must have her near me stop screaming it is too Loud stop screaming it doesn’t suit you let the only Loud thing about you be your hair why must you scream why must you hurt me why must you I helped you I need you to stop to be quiet to shut up why must you keep being Loud.

I move and I feel myself moving.

I move fast.

I move past Ema.

I move past Ira.

I move past Caelan.

I move everywhere and nowhere all at once.

I move over the earth and it crumbles beneath me.

I look at Caelan, Ira and Ema all at once.

I look at nothing also.

I can hear all and see all and hear nothing and hear nothing.

I feel my soul wrench.

Ira’s hand on mine.

I have moved.

I am getting away.

I shake him off and it feels like I am moving underwater.

I try to move, legs through water.

I breathe and it is cold.

I move past the tent fabric into the cold air where it is cold inside me too.

I must find her.

She is screaming and I hear it in my head and I must stop her from screaming.

I must soothe her.

My hands raise in front of me and I grope for where I remember she once was.

She stood there.

I grab onto nothing but I feel her.

And I follow the feeling of her.

And my hands get colder.

And my breath gets colder.

And my steps get shorter.

The floor meets me.

My face to the grass and I begin crawling. I must find her.

One hand in front of the other. One knee in front of the other.

One hand.

One knee.

One hand.

One knee.

One hand.

One knee.

Past the portaloo.

She has been here I feel her.

One hand.

One knee.

One hand.

One knee.

I focus on the ground beneath me as my vision slips into blurred shapes. I must not fall here. I have not found her yet.

I search for orange on the landscape but the darkness hides any colour and it is all dark greens.

I hear my name called from behind me, they must not catch me and pull me away.

One hand one knee one hand one knee one hand one knee one hand one knee.

One hand one knee one hand one knee one hand one knee one hand one knee.

One hand one knee one hand one knee one hand one knee one hand one knee.

You won’t touch me.

You won’t catch me.

I am faster than you.

You should give up.

You know you should give up.

Give up.

Don’t follow me.

Don’t find me.

Don’t catch me.

Give up.

Don’t look for me.

Give up.

Give up.

Stop following me.

Stop hurting me.

Stop stopping me.

Give up!

Leave me!

One hand!

One knee!

Crawl, Screamer, crawl, crawl away, Screamer, crawl away, run away, Screamer, run away run run run run run run

Run to the girl with the red hair I see her now I see her Screamer run I run I am running Screamer runs I run I see her and I run I stop crawling and I get up and I run and Screamer saw her Screamer got up and Screamer ran I run I begin running I feel my hands wet with mud and I run and my knees hurt and I start running and Screamer falls again.

I get up again because I have to get to her let me get to her.

She is still screaming and I hear it.

I cannot shout to her to tell her I’m coming I cannot do anything apart from run.

Soothe you.

I will soothe you.

Come here.

Come to me.

Let me help you.

Let me help you stop screaming!

 

VIII: Moral Hate Circus  IX: Moral Hate Circus  X: Moral Hate Circus (Final)

VI: Moral Hate Circus

I: Moral Hate Circus  II: Moral Hate Circus  III: Moral Hate Circus  IV: Moral Hate Circus
V: Moral Hate Circus

 

-Screamer.

My trance is broken, but not my body.

Still taut.

Painful now.

Ema is speaking to me.

Caelan’s jaw is still moving, but I only hear Ema’s voice from behind me.

-Don’t listen, Screamer, it wasn’t your fault.

I’m not listening.

It’s just your voice, Ema, in my head. Are you even speaking?

-Do you hate right now?

Do I hate? Oh, yes.

-What do you hate? Who do you hate?

I hate Ira.

And I hate Caelan.

And I hate being treated wrong,

differently,

like I’m a fragile doll or a three-legged puppy.

And I hate you for not standing up for me.

But standing back.

Behind me.

And I hate you for that, Ema.

-I am standing up for you. I am right here. I am taking your mind off Caelan am I not? Off Ira?

You don’t tell them about me.

-No.

You should tell them how I hate this.

-No. You should tell them how you hate this. Or else I’ll be giving you special treatment. I know you can do it yourself. So why should I do it for you?

Touché.

-Open your damn mouth, Screamer, and tell them. Make sure they hear it, too.

 

Caelan is still taking.

His voice is muffled and instead of the firm and solid tone his throat is holding, I hear only a shriek, rage-fuelled, angry and hideous, aimed right at me. Bring it to me, let it hit me, yell at me, Caelan, do this for me, do this one thing for me, treat me as I should be, shout at me because I’ve done something wrong, because I’ve done something you told me not to do, you’ve ordered me not to walk around my own circus and go where I want, but shout at me because you’re right, scream at me, don’t keep it silent so I hear it echoed and amplified in my mind, Caelan, Caelan yell at me.

He doesn’t yell at me.

Even when I order him to.

Explicitly.

Caelan!

So I yell at him instead.

I use my talent.

My pure and raw talent.

The reason this circus exists.

I scream.

Long.

Loud.

Hard.

Raw.

Red.

Hurt.

Cause.

Noise.

Sight.

Flick.

Glitch.

Round.

Start.

Hold.

Bad.

Bad.

Bad.

Look at me now!

Look at me now           !

Look

at

me

now!

I have scared off my sweet Isolation!

I have frightened away my backup!

I have shocked my tormentors into silence!

I have ridded myself of my obstacles!

I have prepared an empty path!

I have nothing to show for it, only a bleeding throat!

Look at me now!

I need my sweet Isolation!

I need my backup!

I need my tormentors to be loud!

I need my obstacles to overcome!

I need my crowded path!

I need something apart from my blood to show!

Look at me now!

Give me my sweet Isolation!

Give me my backup!

Give me my tormentors!

Give me my obstacles!

Give me my path!

Give me something to show!

Look

at

me

now!

 

VII: Moral Hate Circus  VIII: Moral Hate Circus  IX: Moral Hate Circus  X: Moral Hate Circus (Final)

V: Moral Hate Circus

I: Moral Hate Circus  II: Moral Hate Circus  III: Moral Hate Circus  IV: Moral Hate Circus

 

I don’t hear Isolation go, but I hear Ema return.

-Screamer, look at me.

I comply.

Her eyes are green.

-Screamer, would you drink this? And she hands me water.

I take it.

Sit up easily.

Down the glass.

It soothes my throat after singing.

I miss Isolation already.

Ema takes my arm, urges me to get to my feet.

Helps me avoid my sick.

Outside is cold and dark but I sweat instead.

She has my hand and walks me slowly over to the main tent.

There are people I do not recognise.

Customers?

-Hello again.

At first, I think it is Ema speaking, but she looks confused.

So I look around.

Red hair dances around soft shoulders like a child.

Or a lover.

It is the portaloo girl.

-Did you find them alright? I say.

-The… yes… she says, -thank you. I heard you collapsed.

-Not really.

Ema is looking at me, ignoring the girl. I think she wants me to hurry up. Her green eyes are urgent.

-Not really. I say again. I eye Ema back.

-How are you feeling? The girl is concerned.

I think.

She touches my arm.

I retract it quickly.

She does the same.

Looks embarrassed.

-I’m fine. I say.

Now Ema is looking around me slightly at where the girl is, but her eyes are darting around.

I look sideways at her.

For a long time.

She eventually meets my eyes.

Ira appears.

-Screamer, he says, how are you?

-I’m… fine?

Why do they keep asking me the

same

questions?

-He’s not. Ema says. Looks at me strangely.

-Hospital? Ira says.

Ema shrugs, -I hope not.

-We probably should. He could have a concussion.

-I don’t.

-You might.

-I think he does. Says Ema.

Stop putting words

in

my

mouth.

I can speak for

myself

thank you Ira and Ema.

I am angry now.

-He’s talking to… Ema says, glancing quickly out of the sides of her eyes at where portaloo girl is.

-I’m… she stumbles and looks at me.

I look at her.

I don’t know what she wants from me.

-I talked to him… she points at me, -earlier.

Ira doesn’t seem to hear her and looks at Ema. They have a conversation.

Not out loud.

But with their eyes.

Portaloo girl looks at me now and I shrug.

-He uh, says portaloo girl, he kind of shouted at me. Is that normal?

-Yes. I say.

Ema and Ira look at me.

Portaloo girl nods.

It is normal. They don’t say it is. They don’t say anything.

Anything at all.

This annoys me more.

For some reason.

Ira nods at me. –Are you sure you’re not concussed?

-Yes. I say. Angrily.

-Would you mind coming to hospital later though, Ema? We might be dealing with… a concussion, Ira says. -You’re good at controlling him.

Ema shrugs and nods.

–I mind.

You mind?

-I. Mind.

-Why, do you want her to stay here?

-Yes.

I don’t really.

I just don’t know which side Ema is on, mine or Ira’s. I don’t know if I want her near me.

I’m confused.

I certainly don’t want Ira with me.

But he’s taking me.

And I don’t know about Ema.

They’re irritating me.

Ira looks at Ema, and she shrugs, but he doesn’t.

He eventually shakes his head.

-I think Ema should come.

I feel portaloo girl’s hair on my arm and touch my arm where it touched me.

-I want her to STAY here. Right HERE.

Portaloo girl jumps. Looks back at the conversation.

-She’s coming, Screamer. Ira glares at me. –She is coming.

I cannot argue. I’m going off to hospital. With Ira. And Ema.

-Apparently I’m going off to hospital. With Ira. And Ema. I inform portaloo girl. –You can’t come with us.

-No? she says. –Well that’s okay. I just… wanted to check on you.

-Go.

She looks at me in surprise. Blinks. Green eyes like mine.

Ema and Ira, beside me, look confused at my new conversation.

But they leave me to it and don’t interrupt.

Have another eye conversation.

-Go. I tell her again.

She nods.

Hesitantly.

But turns to leave.

She leaves.

-Okay now? Ira says, and there is something in his voice I don’t like. –We’ll all three go. But we need to talk to you first.

-No.

Ema sighs. –Screamer, please listen.

Whose side are you on, Miss Director?

-I don’t want to listen. I fold my arms.

-You don’t listen now, you’ll certainly be listening later. Let’s not waste time here. Says Ira.

Ema touches my arm. Her touch is not as soft as portaloo girl’s hair.

I look at her.

Her eyes tell me to listen.

And I can’t find any way to not listen.

I look at Ira.

His eyes are the same as hers.

Violet, instead of green, but certainly with the same glare.

-Listening? He says. Firmly. Dangerously.

I nod.

I growl to myself.

Defeated again.

I hate how they treat me

differently

to how they treat everyone else.

Can I not be the

same

as them?

Ira leads us away, wrapping a strong hand around my arm. He will cut off the blood.

Then maybe my arm will fall off and I can make a big deal of it.

Then how sorry will he feel?

-Screamer, we told you not to come into the tent like that. He says without looking behind him and he sounds angry at me like it’s my fault like I can’t go wherever I want to in my own circus?

Ema follows along behind me, and I don’t know what she’s thinking, whether she is agreeing with her brother or not. She does not seem particularly happy but not in the way Ira isn’t particularly happy, because I think he is angry, but I think she is sad.

I catch her eye as we stop walking, having arrived at the main tent entrance.

She looks at me as I look at her and we don’t say anything to each other.

Then she looks at the floor.

I don’t.

-Screamer, says Ira, look at me. Look at me, Screamer.

I don’t want to.

He makes me though, and his violet eyes are hard. –Why did you come in?

-Ira. Ema puts her hand on him and tries to move him away from me but he doesn’t let her and he comes back close to me.

-You kind of almost ruined the circus. Heckler got really distracted.

-Heckler has cataracts.

-No, Screamer, he doesn’t. Says Ema. Just listen to Ira, okay?

Is she on my side? I can’t really tell.

Ira isn’t though and I can tell he wants to shout at me but he doesn’t want to set me off shaking again. I wish he would just shout at me. He would shout at anyone else. But since it’s me he has to treat me

special,

different from everyone else.

-So why did you come in? Did you do it just to mess up the tone of the show? Do you know how hard the A’Lonzes practiced for that? It all could have gone wrong because you came in. His tone is like a supressed scream and I know he wants to shout at me.

I want to make him so I don’t say anything and just keep looking into his eyes.

-Caelan really wants to speak to you as well.

-Speak to me, I say, or shout at me?

-Not shout at you, says Ira, but he’s lying. Caelan will be doing the same as him, hiding the anger and the shrieking voice inside his body and not showing them to me even though I can see it in his eyes and hear it in the way he says my name as Ira steers me into the tent. Ema follows me, and I think she’s on my side. Though I don’t know. And I don’t know what to think of the look in her eyes.

-Screamer!

Caelan’s anger is harder for him to reign in but he apparently is still determined to treat me like a china teacup. I end up showing my anger more than he does.

I don’t know if Caelan can see it but Ira can.

Ema, behind me, can.

I know I can.

My teeth begin to hurt they are clenched so hard and my nails dig into my palms and I want to let go and relax but my body is taut now and impossible to make loose again. So I stand trembling in front of Caelan as he “speaks” to me.

I don’t even know what he’s saying.

He could be speaking in Finnish for all I know.

I am deaf to him and aware only of the situation.

How much I hate the situation.

How much he hates me.

How much I hate myself for being

like this,

different,

from them.

Why must I be

different

from them?

 

VI: Moral Hate Circus  VII: Moral Hate Circus  VIII: Moral Hate Circus  IX: Moral Hate Circus
X: Moral Hate Circus (Final)

IV: Can I Make It Snow on the Inside of My Heart?

My bones are heavy and my lips are dry. Even the feeling of my hair falling over my ears makes me want to scream; it is too heavy, too comforting, too nostalgic. I dislike nostalgia. Even the feeling of my hair reminds me of life and how everything was when we were alive.

I mean properly alive. I count myself as dead. Listen. The gentle lapse of the sun on the ground makes no sound and I cannot hear it. The soft slur of the wind under the ocean makes no sound and I cannot hear it. The racing rumble of the rattle of the rain in the Sahara makes no sound and I cannot hear it. I cannot hear anything. I cannot see anything. I cannot hurt anything else.

I have hurt you before, sweet dear. I have and I know I have. My incontrollable violent mood swings have hurt you. I was unresponsive towards you. Too calm on the outside. I was a shell. Empty and void of all feelings of affection towards you. When you walked off and talked for hours with other people, I sat staring and did not care. Shells have no emotions. Of course, the tiny bit of me that did care was withering and dying as I saw the only person in the world I loved talking to people that I hated. But, as a shell, I remained mute and deadpanned.

You drifted. You drifted away. Too far away for me to pull you back. I pretended to not care, but, again, I did. In my good moods, I tried to make amends, to build bridges and to fasten an emotional rope around you in order to pull you back into my arms. But whenever I touched you, I only felt the shudder than ran through your conscious, nothing else. I felt ecstatic and electric, but you shuddered. I felt it, my dear. Do not lie. I have lied in my past, but never lie to me. It will only hurt me more.

Why should you care if I am hurting? Nobody cares. I care for my emotions, my fragility so rattled it could crash and break at any moment. My shell has thinned. Emotional erosion has rubbed away at me for so long. My outer shell has become dull and colourless and my inside is more exposed than ever. A portrait of you I kept in my head has not changed. Or, at least, I thought it had not changed. Apparently, the colours have run and the beautiful face I used to envisage has been replaced by a face that could easily represent the Devil’s.

I don’t want to hate you, but I find myself doing so. A young couple could break up, a mutual agreement making most of the decision, then the pair would find themselves wondering what they thought about the other person. The more submissive would undoubtedly keep their feelings on the outside, like a force field, a melancholy expression plastered onto their face. Some people might call it attention seeking. But me? I believe that a submissive will think. A submissive will think so much, they will be unable to keep the sadness to themselves.

A dominant will do it the other way. They will keep their feelings inside, a spring in their step and a grin on their face. They will appear to not care about their breakup. They may be a little bit more sensitive towards their ex-other-half, or they may not be. They might stay single for a couple of days, then the submissive’s heart would be wrenched even more as they saw their ex-other-half with their arms around someone else. Two days after their breakup.

Of course, I am taking this from my own experiences. It is what you did to me, as you were the dominant. You had me at every beck and call. Not anymore, sweetheart. Not anymore. I am a free person. A free spirit. Free in every sense of the word. Free from the restraints that hold me back. Breathing. Life. Sadness. Joy. Tears. Heartbeats. I do not need to feel them anymore.

I am free and the only one who will get their arms around me will be the waves. The waves will never leave me. The waves will only hug and hug tighter as I plunge downwards. You knew. You knew I wanted, when I died, to be thrown in the sea. From an early age, I wanted that. Twisted dreams, maybe. But the ocean is my friend. The ocean is my companion. The ocean is my rock.

Pick me up.

Take me there.

Drop me down.

Don’t stay to watch as I sink. You cannot. You chose the cold, grey sod over the aquamarine waters. You will feed the worms while I will feed the living fossils ten miles down. You will rot underground while I will lie preserved forever on the seabed.

And I intend to.

I: Moral Hate Circus

This is my Moral Hate Circus.

We hate with reason, hate with compassion, hate with conviction. Do you hate? Stupid question. Everyone hates. Who do you hate? What do you hate? What do you loathe beyond the point you ever thought you could loathe something? Hate enough to kill, set, destroy? Lock on, target. Point. Pull.

This is my Moral Hate Circus.

Welcome to my Moral Hate Circus.

What colour should we have the curtains this season?

 

The curtains are that colour of fresh, untrodden snow because it’s summer here. We dislike the current season. We always wish it was the opposite one. Summer is too hot so we surround ourselves with cold colours. Autumn is too windy so we surround ourselves with heavy curtains. Winter is too cold so we surround ourselves with hot colours. Spring is… well, spring is just unpredictable. So we pin horoscopes everywhere.

Not that we ever read them. No point. Who are we? Not some poxy fortune teller’s parlour. This is the Moral Hate Circus and we are the acts. We are only human. Or, at least, human enough. That is why we hate the season we live in at the moment. Human petty shit. At least it’s moral. The cold could kill us. The hot could kill us. The wind could kill us. The uncertainty of unpredictability could kill us.

Oh! We tried living underground for years but it didn’t suit us. We are only human enough to want, to need the sun on our faces!

Ah, the sun’s too hot. Retreat underground! Retreat! One of my less fortunate acts got sunburned because he went from one tent to the other. My God. Damn U.V. rays. I’ll ban them. When I’m Prime Minister. Ray-bans. That’s what I’ll call my policy.

Ha!

No.

Old-school sunglasses. I have some aviators. Or I did. My act stood on them as he came in, his skin peeling everywhere. He’d been in the sun for literally three seconds. He was in pain and he stumbled. Caught my sunglasses off a table with his elbow and crunched them into the sod with the heel of his shoe. He still owes me.

I never wore them.

But it’s the principle that counts.

 

One of my acts says he once saw a blimp.

I think my act was lying about seeing a blimp. Probably just getting cataracts. Blimp-shaped splodge on his eye. That’ll be it.

I wasn’t aware he had cataracts.

I’ll have to get rid of him. Find a new Heckler.

I’ll replace him. Do two stages. Oh, yes, I’m part of the piece. I am an act. I am not just the owner of the Moral Hate Circus, I am an act. I hate. I morally hate. I morally hate, in a circus. My skill? I can scream louder than anyone else in the world.

I can scream louder than a baby at birth.

I can scream louder than a howler monkey.

I can scream louder than a jet plane taking off.

I can scream louder than a thousand baby howler monkeys on a jet plane as it is taking off.

Guess my name.

 

I’m the Screamer.

The Screamer.

The.

It’s cool. I scream.

All the time.

Well.

Most of the time.

Helps. I’m am erudite at my job, at my act. I am one of nine in the Moral Hate Circus. I own the thing, the circus, but we all look after it. I started it. I found eight talented people, all of whom I both love and hate simultaneously. I want to hug them but I want to squeeze the breath out of them. I want to kiss them but I want to bite out their tongues.

It’s hard in love and hate.

There’s me. The Screamer.

Then there’s the Speaker. He speaks.

Then there’re the A’Lonz Siblings, three of them, two guys and a girl. They act. They’re damn good at it.

Then there’s the Heckler. He heckles. We need heckles. It’s the only way we make the act work.

Then there’s the Doubler. His role isn’t so clear. He doubles the trouble. Heckler puts the pot on the stove, Doubler makes it boil.

How many is that? Seven. Seven in the act.

Two outside of the act.

Who?
Easy.

The Director and Producer. Names, Ema Schopenhauer and Ira Schopenhauer. Ema directs. She’s hellish. If she doesn’t like something, it doesn’t go. On stage. Not in life. We can’t argue on stage. We argue in life. We’ve learned, all of us, to understand her over the years. Now we understand even if we put a foot half a centimetre out of line. Sometimes she doesn’t even talk. Just sits there scowling at us. Or smiling.

I prefer smiles.

It means we’re doing well.

Ema directs the show during practices. Of course we have to practice. We get a couple days to practice before the show.

Now.

Ira Schopenhauer.

Producer. Advertiser. Money raiser.

Con man.

Professional.

Who else would buy tickets? £25 a head. I hear he’s still waiting for Siamese twins to turn up so he can charge them double.

We should put on a sale.

£25 a head, £45 if you have two heads.

It’s a deal. Steal.

Ira has to poster up adverts all over the town we’re circussing in. He doesn’t write ‘Moral Hate Circus’ on the poster though. He just writes ‘M.H.C.’ so it’s less clear.

It’s advertised as, “Entertainment through Speech.”

Such a circus!

No, the speaking isn’t the circus. It starts the circus.

“Controversial Conversations Covered – The M.H.C. Presents its Very Own Professional Public Speaker for One Night Only!”

“Tickets £25… refreshments supplied… please provide your own hot-blooded attitude.”

We do provide refreshments.

Warm beer.

Cocktail sausages.

We get complaints.

We don’t listen to them.

Hot-blooded attitude, that’s essential to our circus.

Oh, and we don’t provide refunds.

Read the small print. Always.

It’s on the back of the ticket.

In Swahili.

We do attract a crowd – mostly it’s people who like speeches and controversial issues. Hot-headed English Graduates. And people who like ‘only available now!’ deals.

Have to admit, I’m one of them.

Something rare. That’s why I’d pick up a record signed by someone I didn’t even know existed. Just because it’s that special one-of-a-kind thing. Pick up a boxing glove owned for nine years by some infamous boxer who’s sweated in it.

It’s mine! All mine.

I collect. I hoard. Eventually, people get sick of me hoarding and steal stuff. I don’t mind. I don’t care what they take – no idea what I’ve even got anymore.

I know the Heckler likes to take things. Shiny things.

He’s like a crow. Magpie.

Stupid idiot misplaced his trailer key because it was shiny. Put it in his secret stash of collectables. It’s a box behind the portaloo.

Everyone knows.

But no one uses the portaloo. Even the girls. Go squat in the trees over some moss, there’s a good lass.

Come to think of it, we only have two girls.

Ema.

And Celile A’Lonz. Her name is pronounced Seh-lee-l.

Celile.

It’s an odd one. I think it’s French.

Anyway.

Two girls.

We used to have a female Heckler. But we had to let her go.

Not sexism. She was just useless.

And she ate my food. My secret stash of food. She ate some. I let her go. Angrily, but carefully.

Didn’t have to pay her.

Gross misconduct.

Bang!

You’re fired!

I win!

 

II: Moral Hate Circus  III: Moral Hate Circus  IV: Moral Hate Circus  V: Moral Hate Circus
VI: Moral Hate Circus  VII: Moral Hate Circus  VIII: Moral Hate Circus  IX: Moral Hate Circus
X: Moral Hate Circus (Final)