thescribbler
A space to write original pieces; a glimpse of a dream available for all.
The Singular Face Of A Clown
The heavy round man felt tired to the bone when he slumped on the stool facing the reflection of himself. The obnoxious red plastic nose was now askew, the whitish paste he'd so carefully applied earlier had melted miserably, and sweat oozing uncontrollably down his forehead was making him look like some horror freak show. Something he'd despised most of all.
He reached down and opened the drawer on his right. With a sigh, he took out a lotion he knew would wipe the smile off his face.
He had a good reason to. Mrs. Uglehorn kept staring through the vision of a colored photograph inside an elaborately hand decorated frame. By his side she was smiling, kind of forced, with a bit of rouge on her lips.
The clown looked back into her paper eyes. Much sadeness flashed through around the corners of his masterly drawn smile. But there was nothing to be sad about tonight! Tonight, he reassured himself, was the night he'd made about twenty kids laugh. What a gift!
The little prince of the party had turned six and he was sure he'd accomplished the funniest tricks he could remember for him.
But Mr. Uglehorn wiped a lonely tear. He'd gotten too flustered getting ready to go out that he could not remember why he had made three young girls cry. They hadn't try to make him feel better too. They'd sped off spending the remaining of the night as far as they could to get away from him, as if he were a giant spider.
But Mr. Uglehorn had patiently spent the remaining of the evening waiting for all the kids to take the first steps. He'd never retreated like some of them had, even though, at times, he couldn't have been happier to. He'd doubled his efforts to be funny, and by the end of the night the parents paid him twice what he'd been supposed to get all along.
There was a warning, however, that he was not to contact them for future parties.
He reached down and opened the drawer on his right. With a sigh, he took out a lotion he knew would wipe the smile off his face.
He had a good reason to. Mrs. Uglehorn kept staring through the vision of a colored photograph inside an elaborately hand decorated frame. By his side she was smiling, kind of forced, with a bit of rouge on her lips.
The clown looked back into her paper eyes. Much sadeness flashed through around the corners of his masterly drawn smile. But there was nothing to be sad about tonight! Tonight, he reassured himself, was the night he'd made about twenty kids laugh. What a gift!
The little prince of the party had turned six and he was sure he'd accomplished the funniest tricks he could remember for him.
But Mr. Uglehorn wiped a lonely tear. He'd gotten too flustered getting ready to go out that he could not remember why he had made three young girls cry. They hadn't try to make him feel better too. They'd sped off spending the remaining of the night as far as they could to get away from him, as if he were a giant spider.
But Mr. Uglehorn had patiently spent the remaining of the evening waiting for all the kids to take the first steps. He'd never retreated like some of them had, even though, at times, he couldn't have been happier to. He'd doubled his efforts to be funny, and by the end of the night the parents paid him twice what he'd been supposed to get all along.
There was a warning, however, that he was not to contact them for future parties.
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