The Circus

The condensation strewn, covering the windows, cold and wet from the snow that just fell down a moment ago. Covering the city like a blanket, putting it to sleep. My parents are talking the front seat, but I can't understand what they're saying. Me, I'm Abel, I'm from Slovakia, and my parents have always force fed me rules and regulations that aren't really what you would call regular. We're on our way to the local circus right now. I know, I'm 8 going on 9, I'm a little too old for this, but my parents never baby me anymore and I thought this would be the closest thing to it. The green signs are passing me up so fast I can't read what they say. I don't know how to get to the circus, but I don't think it's on a dirt road. My brain is bouncing off the sides of my head and my hands and fingers are dancing inside my coat pockets. I hear the snow crinkle in between the tread of the tires, and the pebbles crackle in and out of them like minuscule bones. This road is really bumpy and I have a feeling I'm on my way to a place much more different than the circus.

We climb to the top of the hill. I see an abandon building. Half of the front what was probably an entrance caved in with bricks that used to touch the sky. We got out of the our vehicle and some strange man in an all black velvet business suit walks up and drives our car to a safe place. My dad grabs my hood like a leash. Like I'm a dog, and drags me to a booth. In the booth, a fat bald man with a lazy eyes watches pornographic movies on his portable DVD player. My dad discusses with him with a horrible Slovakian accent behind his English that the price for youth is outrageous. I grab his hand and look up with my bright green eyes and say, "Father." He continues discussing. I tug, "FATHER." My father looks down and spits in my face. I sneeze and wipe his streaming saliva off of my eyebrows and eyelashes. We proceed forward. My mother just following us like she's our caddy. Like we're playing golf. We step over those bricks that used to touch the sky, then I hear violent screaming. I stop dead in my tracks. My mom pushing me forward. My father tugging me, forcing me forward.

Internal monologue has set in, paranoia ensues. What am I doing here? There's cages and chains and shackles and chairs and high voltage hats. I don't want to get hurt. I don't want to die.

We continue forward. I see a man. He has a bag of candy. I ask for a piece of bubblegum, he hands me a piece and says "Go have yourself an adventure." He sounded sarcastic, almost pissed to be there. I bite down and the sweet sensation of bubblegum jolted through my teeth leaving me with a big smile on my face. Very opposite of what I was feeling. We keep walking down this narrow hallway lined with cages. Replicas of jail cells. Elite Hunting. My father's job. His fucking profession. Torturing people, letting them suffer. Making them not bite the bullet, but swallow it. My thoughts were then interrupted by a man lashing out and screaming. Sounding like pebbles hitting the floor, "I'm scared." I say out loud. "Shut the fuck up, Abel." My father yells. My jaw quivers, my eyes clear coat with tears. I looked down at the ground. We've been walking on a path made of preserved bones this whole time. We stop. I'm thinking we need to talk to another hunter. "Follow me" he says in a dark ominous tone. He hands us three lab coats. One for me, one for my father, and one for my mother. "Check your pockets" he says. We all pull out hospital masks. At this point, I'm crying.

I kick the wall, throw the equipment on the rugged bone floor and scream, "I DON'T WANT TO DO THIS! YOU TWISTED PEOPLE! WHAT HAVE YOU DONE WITH MY PARENTS?!" My father hits me. My mom forces my arms straight out, adjacent to each other. She forces the lab coat on my limbs. My father covers my mouth so I could stop lashing out. My parents both force the hospital mask on my face. As soon as the last strap wraps around my left ear, I spew everywhere. No one saw. At this point, I'm crying, shaking, and puking my brains out while walking. We enter our cage. Our jail cell. I catch a glimpse of a man. A familiar looking man. I rub the river of tears out of my eyes to see it's the same man who gave me bubblegum. I look into his eyes, he looks pissed to be there. His mood hasn't changed at all since the last time I saw him. He's tied up to a chair. Helpless like an ant under a magnifying glass with the sizzling sun ray hitting on its back, killing it in front of it's own family. We're going to kill him. If not my sick-twisted parents. The virgin-minded me. He had "The Fork" on his neck like an unwanted necklace. The Fork is basically a midevil torturing weapon/tool just used to be jabbed into the chin making talking and movement of the head nearly impossible. My dad is already revving up the chainsaw.

I'm trying to stop crying. My father flaunts the chainsaw in front of the man's face, like you do with human food in front of a dog's dancing eyes. Except this guy, didn't want it. His eyes were trying to stop my dad from doing this. The fork was making him squirm. He couldn't move a muscle. He couldn't get away. My father looks at me. Finally, he stopped. He hands me the chainsaw. "Son, you do the honors, maybe If you do this, I'll respect you more and you'll be less of a pussy." I stare. "TAKE IT, GODDAMMIT!" I immediately put my hands out. And I hold the chainsaw. It's so heavy, but I can manage. I press the handle to make the teeth spin. The guy, is scared that his life is in the hands of an 8-year-old. I have the power, I'm in control.

All I could think of is if I do this, kill this man, maybe my parents will treat me better. So I rev up that chainsaw, with the teeth eating the air. I jam it into his groin. Blood splatters everywhere like one of my favorite pictures. My mind goes blank. I go from the groin to the inner thigh, to the knee cap, to the femur, eventually hitting his toes. My jacket is now a light pink. The moans and groans of the bubblegum man push me along to keep butchering him like a dead deer. There's blood in my hair and blood on my equipment. A demon has consumed my brain. I can't think about anything other than what I do next. I stop. I'm done. Step away, look at my masterpiece. It's struggling for life. The fork still around his neck. He's dead. I drop my jacket. I hand over the chainsaw to my wide-eyed father. My mother expressionless. It's then, I notice. My gum has just lost it's flavor. I walk away. out of the cage, the jail cell, not caring if my parents are following or not.

I'm walking away with blood in my hair, and in my fingernails. I still have the mask on. I walk over the bricks that used to touch the sky, and see my car. The snow crinkles in my shoes tread, and the man who took our car lets me in it warmed up and ready to go. I look in the rear view mirror, and realize that I like what I see. I don't feel like an 8-year-old. I don't feel like Abel. And that's when I knew, I became and Elite Hunter.

My name is Abel, I am now 24 years old, I have dark shadowed hair, with red tips to represent the day I killed my first victim. Only for you bubblegum man, your blood changed my life. Who's next?

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So, I wrote this a while back, but just wanted to share it with some people and get feedback because It's really the only serious thing I've ever written. Tell me what you think.

-Kayla