When We Were Still Human by Vaughn Foster (best ereader for textbooks .txt) 📕

driver’s door popped open, and a clown stumbled out. He straightened his back then waddled forward to take in the audience.

Avia glowered and scooted further back in her seat. It was going to be a long night.

The clown stood there a moment, staring across the rows of eyes. Without warning, he planted a foot back, tilted his head to the ceiling, and fired a massive billow of smoke from his throat. It sped towards the ceiling, stopped, then wafted out across the room.

Avia raised an eyebrow, realizing this is where the smoke had siphoned off the first time. The clown started to run forward and the smoke followed, as if the trail to his mouth was a kite’s string. He stopped abruptly again and started spinning and twisting his arms. The smoke swirled and reformed until it took the shape of a giant sword. The clown reached up and carefully took the tip, the “blade end,” from his mouth. He then held out his hand and passed it to another clown, who had just run up beside him.

Avia looked back to the tiny car to see ten more clowns exiting the vehicle. They circled the original two clowns and struck a crossed-arms pose.

Making a steeple with her fingers, Avia drew in a concentrated breath and imagined, for just that second, she was anywhere but there. As soon as the show had gotten interesting, they ruined it with a cliché routine. She was going to say something to Paris but looked to see that Gemini was on the edge of their seat, much like the small child next to them. With an exasperated sigh, Avia crossed her arms and looked back to the ring.

Clown #2 swallowed his sword, the action accompanied by the same loud sucking noise. When it was gone, he spat twelve smaller swords into the air, catching one himself. The eleven other clowns rushed forward and took each of the remaining. The swords kept their gaseous form, but were somehow corporal enough to hold.

Avia shouldn’t have been surprised, given where they were, but couldn’t help but gasp when they started juggling them. They threw their swords in the air and the weapons split into two, then three, and soon enough, they each held nine.

They continued that for a few minutes until there was a mishap. One of the clowns slipped and fell, causing one of his swords to spin through the air and crash into his chest. The weapon had already lost most of its shape, however. By the time the tip hit, the blade was already dispersing into the air. Still, he dramatically stumbled across the circle, stopping all the other clowns as he grabbed his chest and made swooning motions. A different clown, Number #1—Avia had no idea how she kept them apart, but she just did—made a pouty face and stomped over to him. Gently helping him down, Number #1 then reached for the flower on his chest and squeezed. A stream of green liquid shot at his fallen comrade and all the other clowns laughed. The audience started to join in but was just as quickly silenced. The squirted clown melted into a puddle of goop.

Avia stared open-mouthed, positive they had just murdered one of their cohorts. She turned to Paris to see if they should do something, but she too was motionless.

The remaining clowns stood and faced the audience. Without a sound, they each melted like their companion.

Avia blinked, unsure she had seen correctly, but there was no mistake. The puddles swirled on the ground and came together into one large mass. That mass then split into three smaller pools. Each pool shot into the air and reformed back into three clowns. Each struck a “superhero” pose. But they were different. They still had makeup and their ridiculous costumes, but it was plain to see they were no longer human—or rather, human-veiled. The grey skin, grey hair, black eyes, and red irises were enough, even from that distance, to recognize them as sempiternus.

Avia found herself inching to the edge of her seat, leaning in. The sulfur smell was stronger now, and the air had a warm pulse to it. Whatever was happening was definitely breaking the typical clown-car routine.

The one on the far left popped off his own arm and walked casually over to the one on the right. Before the other could react, the first clown slapped him in the face with his detached arm. The middle clown pointed and laughed, leaving the slapped one to offendedly gasp. The audience roared in laughter. As if on cue, the slapped clown removed his leg, hopped over, and bopped the slapper on the head with his detached foot.

Of course. The building tension, suspense, and bubbling magic in the air—wasted on buffoonery and base jokes. She couldn’t even complain that it was gory. Zombies, from what she could see, at least, didn’t appear to have any blood. Plus, the lights, costumes, and makeup made everything look too childish to be repulsive. It was just so… stupid. Settling back in her seat, Avia massaged her temples and waited for it to end.

The act went on for a while, the three attaching and detaching parts (often in the wrong spot) to either juggle or hit each other. By the end, two of the clowns had switched hands and feet, and the third held his own grinning head. They each took a ridiculously overcomplicated bow, which led to more stumbling and falling onto the ground. After a final wave from their entangled position, one of them squeezed his flower. They all melted back into the same green goop as before. The puddle then moved across the circle, entered the yellow car, then somehow drove off.

Now that the act was over, maybe she would be able to get Gemini’s attention.

“What the hell?” Avia hissed to Paris over the applause.

“I’ve never