The circus arrives without warning.
A magnificent beast outside of time, the child of wonderment and whimsy, it eagerly feeds on the audience’s roars like a lion liberated from a radishes-and-kale diet.
Other spectacles invite, cajole; the circus believes such considerations dull. It prefers to paint with bold, thick strokes, and until one is suddenly, inexplicably facing vociferous elephants while a barker screams out marketing copy nearby, one has not experienced life’s sweetest gifts.
Do not attempt to flee the circus. Order an extra bag of perfectly-buttered popcorn. Take a program.
The circus is benevolent— it shall release you.
The first sentence of this story is taken directly from “The Night Circus,” Erin Morgenstern’s wonderful debut novel.
Everything following that sentence, however, is…very much not.