Utopian Circus

by C. Sean McGee

Chapter 17

  The Elemental Ladies danced heinously in a large circle at first, holding each other’s hands and swinging back and forth as they skipped in a circular fashion; the bottom of their leathered heels slapping against the hard floor under their circular tent and then; as their voices sang high into the setting sun, casting its final sigh out upon the world, they rushed inwards towards the centre. Their hands then pulled low to the ground and their knees bent in as they met at a fine point in the centre, surrounding Mother, who sat with her stubby legs crossed and her hands caressing the new skin dress she wore as within the blackness of her eyes, a vacuity swirled and ever so slowly; as the old women continued their song, small particles of light were drawn into the black whirlwind circling where he eyes should have been.

  They washed about in a wild torrent, spinning faster and faster as the old women cooed louder and louder; their fingers crazily sweeping an imaginary piano; their arms swishing left and right and up and down and their bodies, convulsing and twisting and turning as their eyes all rolled to the backs of their sockets.

  The sun, still sitting high above the circle, started to pull and wane as the old women chanted their song, resting on their knees and lifting their arms up and down, fanning Mother with their wiggling fingers; oohing and aahing as her body started to shake and rumble as the light swarmed about the room in a blur, flooding into her eye sockets.

  The sky above began to shake back and forth and heave this way and that as if the sun; glued to the sky, were being pulled upon by an imaginary string with some celestial force. The sky pulled inwards then pushed back and in and back and in and back like a balloon until, pop; the sun fell from its place, casting a sigh and frowning into the break of the horizon where the whishing and whooshing of The Elemental Ladies pulled on that imaginary string and guided the fallen sun into molecular dissipation as Mother heaved greatly, bursting the sun into a zillion tiny atoms which then swirled around the dancing old ladies; still fanning their arms and wiggling their fingers.

  The Elemental Ladies wailed as Mother opened her eyes and gasped, inhaling the might of the world and; as she did in the onset of every eve, swallowing the fall of the sun, impregnating herself with the energy of existence.

  And the fire lit inside her eyes and in the black void of her mouth, the cosmos swirled and swarmed, seemingly escaping from the remnants of its own beginning; pushing farther away to infinity to outrun and hide from its own end until it one day ran the length of a circle and caught up with itself, chewing on its own tail; inhaling its own death.

  Mother; in the centre of the floor being swept by a circle of ancient hands, was existence herself. She defined eternity as in every night she was the keeper of the sun; her soul returning to her earthly vice and in the morn, she swallowed the moon and the stars and then birthed the promethean sun unto the world; setting fire to the imaginations of mankind and making promise of their purpose; to exist.

  She was nature.

  Almost as ancient as her father whose love for her had drawn cold and distant but of which just might catch its own tail whilst running from its own shadow.

  She gasped once more, clasping her mouth and eyes shut as darkness begat the world abounding. The old ladies stopped their singing and collapsed on the floor surrounding her as she sat in idle wonder; conversing with the ethereal silence.

  The Fat Old Lady lay completely still on the floor. She had; during the commotion, whisked her way into the circle of fanning, singing and dancing old ladies and assumed absolute normality. She now lay exhausted on her side; her hands stroking the gouge on the side of her skin dress to conceal her strangeness to the others.

  Her body felt weak; weaker than one would feel after the immolation of the sun. She knew that more than ever, time was becoming significant. It was fleeting and this human vice was so unappealing. It crept through her worn body and unless she dressed herself in another skin soon, it would consume her; ravaging every molecule of her ancientness; like a man picking at his own scab, the universe couldn’t help but chew on its own fat; consuming four million years of molecular mass as if it had existed, for mere seconds.

  The pain in her leg now carried up past her thigh to her ribs which now felt like they were giant fingers reaching around her lungs and squeezing the air out of her breath so that when she exhaled, only small tufts of fibres and dust evacuated from the nether of her existence.

  What the humans would call night; had now fallen. Mother sat with the sacrificed sun imprisoned in her womb. And she gave as a gift to the darkness above; the light of her eye, which shone down in delicate praise of the world below where all things were being consumed by the passage of time.

  And The Elemental Ladies too sat seemingly despondent; their faces drawn blank, offering; like Mother, a kind eye over the blanket of darkness that stretched across the heavens above. They looked down upon existence and the world below as a bright speck of white, glimmering and glittering in the sky above; assuming their vigil.

  The Fat Old Lady slithered out of the room. Her legs were sore and quickly becoming lead weights. She had to use her arms and throw her shoulders into every heave as she dragged herself past the catatonic old ladies; out into the open where The Pudgy Old Lady crouched; waiting for a signal to come.

  Fat whistled and caught the attention of Pudgy who was creeping under the cover of a shroud of leaves that hanged low over the entrance to the camp. She stared up to the sky warily seeing the bright specks of light and knowing the danger of every next step for should the light fall upon her and catch her in the midst of treason, the others would wake immediately making a prisoner of her. Mother would have her defaced and her part in the play of existence would go unseen and unheard. She would pass; with the footprints of time, into the realm of the forgotten.

  Pudgy sneaked around the twilight, sneaking in the darkness; stopping behind a giant shrub whose height provided her with enough umbrage to catch her fright and subdue it under heavy breathing. To gather her nerves she allowed herself a moment’s fancy; undoing the bottom tie of her skin dress that rested at the nape of her neck and then with firm hands, she pulled it tight against the line of her face; with every atom in her body then feeling another day younger, and with great focus as not to slip, she tightened as hard as she could and tied off the two strings of human skin with a double knot.

  The other old ladies were so aged and delicate with how they tied off their strings. Pudgy was not as lady like with this mannerism. Fat would always be first to explain; always in reverent discourse, why it was that she was the most infantile of the old ladies, that she had no poetry in her fingers and no poise in her toes. It was for this that she tied off like an imp; making her loutish and unsightly and because of this, she danced like a clump of wet sand; kind of flopping about and being indistinguishable from the old shrub she was now hiding behind which maybe was reason enough for her to stop at this point and; without the carping gaze of her celestial colleagues, feel young and beautiful enough to her own liking.

  She tied off the top string next and a wave of energy tickled at her toes. She felt like she could run from here to next century without detention. As she finished tying the string she thought not of herself; an art form of which the other ladies had made a religion, but she thought of her friend of whom she admired, of whom she wished herself to be, of whom she revered more than the other old ladies and almost exceedingly more than Mother and of whom she wished only to follow; in her shadow, to learn and become her form and in her words, to mend herself to become her thoughts so that one day she could feel what it was like to be loved; and to care nothing of it.

  “How long do you have?” asked Pudgy.

  “Only seconds before they feel me gone. I will keep an eye from the heavens. When the signal falls dark, you take the dress and run” said Fat.

  “But what about you? And where will I go? And do I…”

  “Stop thinking. Just take the human. Do not free his binds. Humans are tricky. Don’t let th
em fool you.”

  “But they have no empathy. They can no longer fool, right?” asked Pudgy.

  “Assume anything but. Don’t worry, just go, I’ll find you. Just take the dress and be gone. Remember, you must court the shadows. Keep out of the twilight. The old ladies are cunning and they know you are gone” said Fat.

  “They know I’m gone? What does that mean?” asked Pudgy.

  “Do not mark the skin dress” yelled Fat, crawling back inside the tent.

  “Wait, what do you mean? But you were there too” said Pudgy.

  The Fat Old Lady fell backwards onto the floor; no longer able to contain the weight of her body. She entered in a catatonic state like all of the other old ladies, lying flat on her back; her eyes glowing orange as if her soul were a ball of fire. Her body remained completely still; every muscle pulled tight as if death had been with her for the millions of years that she had taken to this practice of abandoning her wreck of an earthly vessel and becoming the night.

  “We can do this. We have no choice” said Pudgy, still including Fat in her struggle which was entirely her own right now as she crouched behind the large shrub, fearful to move a single muscle.

  The Pudgy Old Lady had been an ideal Elemental. She had spent her existence wanting so greatly to be like everyone else. She danced as they danced and spoke as they wanted to hear, hoping that by doing so, it would make her infinitely like them and one day; maybe, to be liked by them.

  And that is how she found herself in this state; alone, under the many eyes of the night, about to commit treason against the mother of all existence. Her will to please found her always on the consummate square and now she herself had been betrayed by the lady she loved; by the lady she longed to be.

  Pudgy had always been driven by one secular emotion; a simple yet overpowering desire to be different. Her desire was not to define her own image but to carve herself into the image of her longed friend of whom for thousands of centuries she adulated; The Fat Old Lady.

  “Oh dear, are you watching? Am I free?” she said to the skies in a quiet hush speaking to a light that flickered just above the centre of the camp.

  Pudgy watched intently, waiting for a signal. And as the light dimmed, she knew she had to act quickly.

  The plan was simple. She would sneak under the cover of a blinking eye; high in the night sky, as her beloved dear; The Fat Old Lady, whose eye was on guard above where she crept, cast a spell of darkness over the intrusion that would take place within the camp of catatonic old ladies. When the light fell into the backdrop of night, she would run towards the centre of camp and break free the naked human male being held captive; ensuring not to free his binds; those that tied his hands and which swallowed his tongue.

  As she looked upon the night watching the light flicker, her heart beat like it never had before. She felt not desire as she crouched under a shroud of leaves. It was something stranger, something she had remembered theorizing but never comprehended outside of mortal existence.

  She felt fear.

  Facers had no meaning of fear. It was a mortal vice. It brought one the conscious awareness of their mortality. It allowed man to walk graciously with reverent stride into his slow inevitable conclusion. The emotion was a consequence of existence, but Facers naturally didn’t exist and therefore never died. For as long as they wore the skin of young women, they could live forever.

  Earth; was their harvest.

  As the feeling swept through her senses, Pudgy thought less about what her dear would want, instead imagining a different ritual; one where she would bed with mortality.

  She imagined herself on her stubby knees waiting to be Defaced; her legs bound and her hands pressed together; palms facing outwards with large rusted spikes nailed through the centre keeping them bridged behind her back.

  Then came Mother with a black glove on one hand; her face so young and articulate, the very meaning of beauty. She stands before Pudgy in absolute silence but the void in her eyes; like the great vacuum, pulls the lie from beneath the surface; sucking the life and the light out of her eyes.

  While this happens she can see in the distance the image of a young man with the body of an old fat woman, standing in the cracks of the shadows behind the other ladies, saying nothing; offering not even a glimpse of condescendence; just a thousand yard stare; looking not at her; bound and trembling on her knees, but at Mother, extending her hand to touch her face.

  As the clip behind her ear is undone a shiver runs the length of her spine and she woke into her assuming trepidation; feeling the brush of leaves rubbing against the curve in her neck.

  She gasped quietly but with enough force to send her careening to the ground hitting her bum hard against the dusty earth.

  “What have I done?” she thought. “That stupid bitch left me. No, it’s not her fault; of course not. She’s trying to help us; to free us from these other stupid ladies. Yes, that’s it. She’s brave. She’s brave for hiding amongst them. Oh, you are a smart old lady you are. I wish I had half your wits” she said, feeling a familiar wave of desire wash over her mind, her limbs and magnetize her skin dress; making her eyes feel electric.

  She could see in the distance; maybe fifty meters, the outline of the cage in which the human male was imprisoned. She imagined herself running and opening the cage and overpowering the human who was now drunk on conscious Famine and by all accounts, at this stage of his Famine, completely incapable of anything grander than the accidental escaping of phlegm or the twitching of a toe.

  She would then drag him by his bound hands, careful to keep air between the top of his body and the hard dusty earth. The Fat Old Lady would make a meal of her should she ruin the dress. She imagined herself running and as she did her mind dosed her with adrenaline; tingling in her toes, accelerating her heart, sinking her stomach but heightening her flight.

  Then; above the outline of the cage, the light went dark. Pudgy lifted herself and threw away the shroud of leaves that folded around her stocky frame and ran towards the cage. Her feet pounded against the hard dusty earth, kicking sand up behind her as she pinned her arms to her side; thrusting them back and forth to quicken her pace.

  Her heart beat so fast. She had never known the gentle lick of time against one’s skin but now as she raced against impending condemnation and the awareness of her own existence, time felt so relative; so real. And feeling death grazing her skin was like a flower, kissing the sun for the first time; she felt alive.

  Pudgy ran through the shadow of asylum set by her dear whose watchful eye was closed for only a moment. When she reached the cage she could see the man lying on his back; his arms and legs bound. She undid the lock and entered the cage standing behind the naked man; reaching down to collect his arms that rested on his sun stained body.

  As she touched his fingers, his eyes twitched. She gasped and held her breath. Looking up she could see the darkness starting to wane. She would not have long. She braved herself and pulled on the man’s hands, lifting his body up off of the earth where his face had lain, sweeping the dirt in his unconsciousness.

  The darkness flickered again and this time the light returned; casting accusation upon her caught carriage. She panicked and dropped the man; his face smashing into the dirt, breaking his nose and bruising his skin. The Pudgy Old Lady screamed as the light of the moon shone down upon her.

  “Traitor” screamed a voice from the heavens.

  The Pudgy Old Lady took a breath then took the man’s legs in her grip and then she ran. She ran out of the cage dragging him along the dirt behind her; the stones and clumps of dried clay scratching against his face.

  Above her, she could hear the waling of the endless night as the moon followed her every step. She thought for a second as she entered the dense bush; where she could run.

  Once the night ritual was complete and Mother birthed her sun they would come for her and they would find her. No dress on earth would keep her from the outcome of mortality. No dress, except on
e.

  “Stay here dearie,” she said to the naked man leaving his face pressed against the dirt.

  The wailing grew louder and she knew that time was aborting from the womb of nature and she had to stop it. She ran back through the dense bush and into the camp.

  As she stood as the entrance to the ritual tent; where all of the ladies lay catatonic in prayer, she looked up into the sky. It was turning blue and inside the room the air was beginning to swirl and swarm.

  She rushed to where Mother sat with her legs crossed and her hands rested neatly on her lap. She took another deep breath and put her hands on Mother’s face, braving her fingers before reaching around behind her neck and untying the knot.

  The wailing stopped.

  The moon vanished.

  All of the lights were gone.