When the circus performance started, I immediately noticed the absence of the animal tamer. The show went on without him, and the lion had been entirely cut from the acts. My head swam with thoughts of where the flogged fellow could be now and what horrible fate might have befallen him. The jovial din of the clarinets, bugles, and violins playing in the background now seemed ironic and out of tune. The show had taken on a darker tone in my mind.

     The performance was much the same as the one I had watched the previous night. Most of the acts proceeded without fault, the talent and dedication of each member once again wooing the audience and even leaving me with the same feeling of incredulity. However, with this amusement now came suspicion, and I watched every movement of the carneys, waiting for a slip up or subtle suggestion that might be the evidence I needed for my case.

     As I recall, the show went off mostly without a hitch. That was, until the juggling act. All around the ring, a dozen jugglers danced and spun their pins through the air. Every one of them were, of course, a part of the circus’ gimmick, and thus seemingly smiling with one mouth stretched wide across all their faces (which were so similar that their individual wearers were forgotten in an illusion of a single smirk). Regardless of how smooth the show was going, fate ensured that something was bound to go wrong eventually, and the perfectly mirrored line of performers was soon shattered.

     The jugglers were in sync, moving as one man, and the pins all in tune in the air, until a single stumble. It was halfway through the act, and with so much commotion and with so many places for the eye to rest, no one had noticed the toppled pin-tosser. In fact, I do not believe I would have thought anything of it myself if I had not already seen the show once before and was looking out for just such a thing.

     I knew something was amiss, and the small misstep was, to me, a grievous blunder. He had dropped one of his pins (and had indeed almost lost them all) but managed to regain his composure. He let himself forget the fallen pin and kept the remaining ones rotating in his hands. Though it all happened within a second, the world slowed, giving me time to gasp silently in horror and for a bead of sweat to slide down my face as the very thing I had been anxiously awaiting unfolded before me.

     When I saw a shadow appear behind the imperfect juggler, I choked on the breath I had been holding. The audience’s interest was fully absorbed by the airborne objects, and only I exclaimed when a white glove closed itself on the farmost juggler’s collar. Yanking him backwards, the ringmaster managed to inconspicuously remove the performer from the scene. They had both vanished from view, and aware of what happened to the last circus member who had made a mistake, I jumped from my seat.

     Fellow circusgoers hissed at me as I ungraciously stepped over them out of the stands. Despite the momentary commotion I seemed to cause, the spectators were quick to forget me and return their oblivious attention to the show. I ran, bumping and prodding my way past fellow patrons. When I had escaped the grasp of the crowd, I continued on after the ringmaster and his servant, or at least where I reckoned they had gone after disappearing from the ring.

     Lucky for me, the adrenaline that pumped my heart (in its concern for the poor carney) and my persistence allowed me to catch up to my forerunners. I followed the dim outlines of two figures, one being dragged along by the other, outside of the tent and up a ways past the carnival. We finally halted, out of earshot and eyesight, yet with the faint clamor still echoing from the big top behind us. I hid in the bushes, praying that I would go unnoticed until I chose to reveal myself. This I knew would come, for it was obvious the ringmaster intended to do far worse than scold his humble servant, and I could never simply stand by and let it happen, not again, but for then I stayed in the concealing foliage, readying myself for a confrontation.

     To me, it seemed as if I was caught up in some suspenseful storm. The poor performer before me was encircled in its might, and the eye of the hurricane (one with the ringmaster’s) glared menacingly down upon him. At any moment, thunder would erupt from the billowing showrunner, and his rage would clap down like lightning upon the frightened juggler. The poor carney braced himself for his inexorable punishment. He hung his head, his gaze fixed on the ground in fear. His form was hunched and taut. This motionless man in the dirt, his glazed eyes distant and sorrowful, looked drained of his spirit. He had barely a will to live. In fact, true liveliness had left him long before, and now all I saw before me was the cracked shell of a man that could bear himself no longer.

     The words of the ringmaster and the forced conformity his master had put him and his fellow troupe members through must have broken him. The juggler could hold no proud image of himself. He had been forgotten and forced to fall in with the others and had lost himself in the process. If he was not just another slave, perfectly executing his purpose in the show, he was nothing. His existence revolved around the ringmaster, who made it an eternal torture.

     I watched as the garish brute leaned over the cowering figure of the juggler. Striking like a viper, the enraged showrunner wrapped his fingers tightly around the man’s throat. He lifted the performer by the neck, pressing him hard against a pole, and the poor devil could do nothing but struggle and choke, thrashing madly in the air. I could wait no longer. I sprang from my place in the bushes, hurling myself at the ringmaster. I clawed at his shoulders and pried him from his prey, allowing the juggler to sink to the ground, gasping for breath.

     “You horrible fiend! How dare you treat your company in such an inhumane way!” I shouted in his face. The showrunner was shocked by my uninvited and unexpected intrusion. I suddenly felt very small, the towering figure before me like a dark shadow of some horrific beast. Yet my accusations flew unabated from my mouth, and my courage built with my contempt.

     “Your actions will not go unheeded! I saw it all! Y-you were going to strangle this man! God only knows what you did to that animal tamer! I demand to know what has befallen him!” As I spoke his title, the animal tamer appeared, like a chameleon out of its camouflage, at the ringmaster’s side. He looked at me with amused confusion, and my words fumbled and halted as I gazed before him. It was as shocking as seeing a man emerge from the grave.