Post by Meduzia on Aug 9, 2013 11:48:10 GMT 1
Smile of a stranger
Sweet music, starry skies
Wonder, mystery wherever my road goes
(...)
Once upon a night we'll wake to the carnival of life
The beauty of this ride ahead such an incredible height
It's hard to light a candle, easy to curse the dark instead
This moment the dawn of humanity
Last ride of the day
Nightwish - Last Ride of the Day
Life in circus was anything but fun.
When he was a child, if he ever even was one, he liked circuses. He found them funny and he liked attending them. He would go not alone, but with a person that he was sure was his mother, or maybe sister, and they would spend the whole afternoon there. He would never remember leaving, because eventually he would fall asleep and she would have to carry him off. But that was something else. That was some other life completely, a life that belonged to some other person, so some foreign child. A child named Charles and that was obviously not him. Not him. He was Faith Flynn, the beast master of the circus. He was Faith Flynn, who had no childhood, who had no life. Nothing outside of this hellhole.
They were told, of course, that they are going home. But what is home, if not illusion that people created to feel better when they are bound to one place? He couldn't make illusions, but he knew people in circus who could, but he wouldn't dare and call them friends. Seeing illusions made everything seem less real. If you are able to act it out, to clone it and copy it so easily, it was obviously not real. Nothing in this world was real, not their personalities, not their names, nothing but this body they were bind in, and maybe not even that.
Personally, he hated make-up. He hated costumes. He hated acting. But he loved traveling without purpose, and he loved animals. That's what got him here. And loved this. This being after-performance, or at least after his own was finished. This being him standing at the edge of the camp they lifted with closed eyes, listening to the noise and inhaling the fresh air mixed with scent of pollen.
Faith Flynn lived for long time. Far more than Charles Ravensdale did. Charles Ravensdale died young - Faith Flynn was born old. He was old, in every sense. How many years has it been? A century? Time stood still in circus. That's why he couldn't leave. He would start aging. He didn't want to age.
Flynn turned his back to the circus and watched out for the plains below. The village was quiet, only few lights flickering into life occasionally before they were extinguished. It was was quite late as it was, and even that was a surprise. He supposed most of the people were here, in this circus, anyway.
Sweet music, starry skies
Wonder, mystery wherever my road goes
(...)
Once upon a night we'll wake to the carnival of life
The beauty of this ride ahead such an incredible height
It's hard to light a candle, easy to curse the dark instead
This moment the dawn of humanity
Last ride of the day
Nightwish - Last Ride of the Day
Life in circus was anything but fun.
When he was a child, if he ever even was one, he liked circuses. He found them funny and he liked attending them. He would go not alone, but with a person that he was sure was his mother, or maybe sister, and they would spend the whole afternoon there. He would never remember leaving, because eventually he would fall asleep and she would have to carry him off. But that was something else. That was some other life completely, a life that belonged to some other person, so some foreign child. A child named Charles and that was obviously not him. Not him. He was Faith Flynn, the beast master of the circus. He was Faith Flynn, who had no childhood, who had no life. Nothing outside of this hellhole.
They were told, of course, that they are going home. But what is home, if not illusion that people created to feel better when they are bound to one place? He couldn't make illusions, but he knew people in circus who could, but he wouldn't dare and call them friends. Seeing illusions made everything seem less real. If you are able to act it out, to clone it and copy it so easily, it was obviously not real. Nothing in this world was real, not their personalities, not their names, nothing but this body they were bind in, and maybe not even that.
Personally, he hated make-up. He hated costumes. He hated acting. But he loved traveling without purpose, and he loved animals. That's what got him here. And loved this. This being after-performance, or at least after his own was finished. This being him standing at the edge of the camp they lifted with closed eyes, listening to the noise and inhaling the fresh air mixed with scent of pollen.
Faith Flynn lived for long time. Far more than Charles Ravensdale did. Charles Ravensdale died young - Faith Flynn was born old. He was old, in every sense. How many years has it been? A century? Time stood still in circus. That's why he couldn't leave. He would start aging. He didn't want to age.
Flynn turned his back to the circus and watched out for the plains below. The village was quiet, only few lights flickering into life occasionally before they were extinguished. It was was quite late as it was, and even that was a surprise. He supposed most of the people were here, in this circus, anyway.