I remember the morning as if it were today. Lovely weather, despite a gentle wind, which rustled the tent within which I was imprisoned. I say imprisoned, not because it was a place I was forced to attend, but rather for the state of it and my own state of mind. The big top was simply bursting with people and chatter. I found myself immobilized, pressed on all sides by other patrons (who clearly did not have as inflicting a case of claustrophobia as I).

     They were unfazed by the tight quarters and the relentless bumping and shuffling of others as they made their way to their seats. I had already settled down in my assigned area, a most comfortable arrangement that left me completely in discomfort. I shuffled around and resituated my suit jacket, but still felt out of place. I pulled the brim of my hat down low, casting a shadow over my face and shielding my eyes from the bright stage lights. I did not share in the encompassing crowd’s jolly excitement. Rather, I could not remove the impatient frown from my lips.

     I immediately regretted my decision to come. I had never been a fan of the circus, nor had I been a regular attendee. In fact, I had only ever been to one other circus in all my years--as a young boy. Yet the impression it left on my youthful past escapes me, and the memory is as faded as an old photograph. I never bothered attending one in my later years, as I had always considered it a waste of time and money. Nevertheless, there I sat, embarrassed and bored, waiting for the show to commence.

     Part of my self-consciousness flourished from an unreasonable feeling of guilt. You see, I never actually paid for a ticket to the circus (though I could argue that I have justly done so now, having played my part in the events that would later transpire). Do not think bad of me, for I am not the crafty type, and I would never have considered such an action as sneaking into the show without proper payment (especially that of some strange circus act). As I was saying, I felt shame burn my cheeks as I dawdled there, wishing to be anywhere else, when people further back would have died for my seat. My favorable position was almost within the ring itself, and while it would be seen as a lucky opportunity to any other man, I could feel no appreciation for my privileged placement.

     Attending the travelling circus during its time in my home city would never have crossed my mind... if it had not been for that fateful night the day before. Even now, I can recall it so vividly in my mind. It was one of those moments so unusual that it engraved itself upon my memory, even before I was aware of its future importance. So too were the events that followed, which have themselves been captured and replayed countless times in my thoughts and have been stirred once more in the starting of this narrative which I have decided to share with you. But for us to continue, I should first travel back to where it all began.

     I was walking briskly along the path lining the faces of the city’s abodes. The night was chill and dark, a fog encasing all in an obscuring mist. A man could hardly make out his own hand, waved in front of him, and I could not obtain a ride home. As I went on my way, I felt the silence and emptiness of the streets weigh heavy upon me. It was one of those nights you would not wish to find yourself alone or in the dark, and I was unfortunate enough to encounter both. I was so comforted by the light of a lantern and the silhouette of another person within it, that I did not go out of my way, as is usual for me, to avoid crossing the stranger’s path.

     I continued to stroll near them, and I did not ignore their request for my assistance. Blinking through the strained yellow light, I could now make out the stooped figure before me, her small, wrinkled face illuminated by her own lantern. She seemed at first impression to be a doddery old lady, with senile green eyes and bags beneath them that spoke of many years. Yet a few of her attributes seemed almost to contradict this. Despite her clear age, her curled hair remained jet black. The glassy pupils that bore into me left an unsettling feeling, but a gentleman always offers his assistance to a lady in need, and she was clearly in some small bind.

     As I stopped before her and asked what her trouble might be, she held up the burlap sack she was gripping in her knobby, shaking fingers. There was truly no need for her to explain, for the large seam in the sack’s bottom and the scattered shapes of miscellaneous objects on the ground outlined her plight clearly. She asked me in a hoarse voice if I could help her gather her possessions before she lost them in the fog. I wondered how she might carry her burden with the loss of her bag. However, my concern was quickly dispersed as she plucked a needle and some thread from a hidden pocket in her faded, yet tawdry rags. While she began to sew the seam shut, I set to my own task, groping around blindly for what I believed were once the contents of her sack. After retrieving a large glass ball (miraculously unshattered) and a bizarre package of playing cards embellished with runes, I was able to deduce her occupation. I was more cautious as I plucked up the remainder of the soothsayer’s belongings, fearing I might clasp my hand upon a horrid, dried head or other oddity.

     When I had finished, and her curios were retrieved, she threw the sack upon her shoulder and once again fixed her perturbing emerald eyes upon me. I gave her a courteous smile as our gazes met, but silently cursed myself for winding up in such an awkward situation. She did not immediately send me off, so I thought it best to personally commence our parting. There was something truly off-putting about the old lady, and I felt more alone and threatened in her company than not. With a tentative word and a doff of my hat, I began to creep away, but I was soon pulled back into her green gaze. A hand withered and nimble as a tree branch yet with the grip of a bear trap, lighted down on my shoulder with a startling speed. As I turned, I tried to mask the fright that had passed over my face. My heartbeat returned to its normal pace when her voice remained a friendly, innocent croon, and a word of thanks peeled from her cracked lips.

     She insisted that she show her gratitude, despite my insistence that I needed no such compensation. I did not want whatever magic spell or voodoo trinket the old hag had in mind. However, she clasped my hand in hers, and I felt a slip of paper force its way into my palm. As I curled my fingers around it, she explained with excitement. She spoke with conviction and enthusiasm, like one trying to draw an audience to their show, of an amazing circus traveling through the area.

     Elaborating on its illustriousness, she urged me to attend during its short visit. She ended her pitch by inviting me to visit her at her booth. For a small price, I could be read my fortune. To me, the only fortunate thing about this whole ordeal was that she looked content. I stowed the ticket and managed to move on my way, relieved as her glowing light reduced itself to a pinpoint far behind me.

     When I arrived home, I realized my mind had not yet left the amusing oracle, despite the distance I had put between us. I had no intention of attending the circus, nor learning of my future from some senile woman. Yet like the haze outside, my better judgement was clouded by an odd occurrence. As soon as I stepped inside, I stole the ticket from my pocket (where I had hurriedly stashed it) and discarded it in the bin. I had barely taken a step, my hand thrust back into my coat in the hopes of fetching my watch, when I gave a jolt. Along with the ticking clock, my fingertips grazed a slip of paper.

     As I pulled yet another ticket from my pocket, my mind began to whir. Had the old lady snuck a second ticket into my jacket without my noticing? Afterall, it couldn’t have appeared out of thin air. I resolved that that must have been the case, but staring down into the waste bin, holding the ticket readily above it, my eyes grew wide. The bin was full, brimming with ruby red tickets, exactly like the one currently gripped in my hand. It was as if the one I had thrown away had multiplied, creating dozens of duplicates in a matter of seconds.

     As I pulled the one between my fingers up to my face and studied it closer, I could draw no plausible explanation. I looked back down at the bin in shock to see they had all vanished. The only remaining ticket was the one still held out in front of me, as if the rest had all been a figment of my imagination. Perhaps it was a trick, my mind messing with me...or perhaps it was fate. Regardless, I was convinced of one thing: a day at the circus might do me good.