"Comédie Noire/Noir" the section that puts "fun" back into "funeral" and "laughter" back into "slaughter".
That Clown Who Had Too Much To Say
Awake. The alarm clock was buzzing again. It was 7.30 and I was awake again. I kept telling myself that lately: "awake again".
I'm sorry for the lack of introduction. My name is Peter Lynch, and I am a professional clown. I'm guessing you are here for a joke, or something to amuse you? I'm guessing you are here to find comfort in another man's pain. I'm guessing... you have blond hair and brown eyes? No? Well, there's you joke!
It has been more than fifteen years since I gave up myself, gave my whole person to the public, though in fifteen years I have never felt lonelier and more abandoned. You will say that it's funny how that could happen, since every night I'm being applauded by hundreds of spectators. Didn't I mention I was a clown?
It has been more than five years since I stopped wearing make-up. The dark rings around my eyes, result of many sleepless nights, the purple lips, result of the lack of heat in my flat, the pale yellow-white-ish color of my face, result of under nutrition, fatigue, poor health and whatnot, but especially whatnot, all where my natural makeup now. Of course, the audience would not be bothered by the pattern of my mouth: tooth, tooth, tooth, dark hole, tooth, dark hole, dark hole, brown tooth, yellow tooth, dark hole;
Lately, I haven't even been wearing a wig, due to the accelerated balding and "natural" blue color of my hair. Funny story here, but the "toxic waste refinery" near my flat, to which I must be grateful for the blue color of my hair and other degeneration in my body, should have given me an option ten years ago, when they first decided to buy that old factory:
"Please sign here if you agree with the new placement of our chemical research plant. And here... and here... and below please choose which color would you like us to gradually dye you hair into."
Are you still here? Oh, you also find my misery amusing. You think I'm a workaholic? That I dedicated so much to being a clown? Haven't you ever been so deep into something, that's it's hard to ever surface from it? Furthermore, who would accept me as anything else than a clown, especially now when I'm physically turning into one? The little money I get is my grand fortune. The only workaholic I could be, is if I drank workohol!
Speaking of which, did I tell you that I'm a recovering alcoholic? You will say that is a good thing. And it might be a really good thing! Not when you're recovering from the impossibility of buying any booze. Financial-wise. I know what you are thinking, I'm more pathetic than any falling-down-drunk alcoholic. Smoking? I gave it up years ago! In the state I find myself in, when everything hurts even if I think of it, and I avoid touching any part of my body from fear of losing it, smoking would really be too much.
How did I get like this, you ask me? Oh,... I really got too far to even remember how I started. How did you get to talk to someone like me? See, hard to answer. I'll tell you what - something definitely went wrong, ha-ha. And you can laugh to that! Word of advice: next time you think of doing something nice for someone, make him laugh or simply smile, do it with all your heart, kid! Because I didn't.
But I spoke too much for a clown. I've got a show in half and hour, so scram, kid!
It's time to smile and wave.
Ram-pam-pa-na; nah-nah-nah-nah-na-na...
Dialog Between Two Skeletons
Good mourning, neighbour!
Good mourning, yourself!
You sure look good after a moon-less day slept in a velvet coffin.
Well, the moon might shine brighter for you too, today. I hear you are getting your feet replaced.
Yeah, they found some old ones, barely used, by the unnamed graves in the southern area. They figured that someone who used to be in a wheel chair couldn't get used to them. Where to?
I'm going to the market, catch a bit of a laugh with the fish-bone traders. Humor seems to be the only thing keeping this place alive.
Some of my relatives are selling tattered pieces of cloth at the market. One of my old... eh, previous friends, digged in today. He used to be a tailor so I promised him a visit to the market, maybe he can fancy some clothes. Would you be interested?
Not really. Why should we cover our inhumanity with human means?
We are humans! At least, we used to be. What have you been up to?
Stupid travel agents. Don't you just hate them?
Have they been bugging you again?
Are you kiddin' me? They are non-stop in front of my tomb. One cannot rest his bones peacefully?
What did they want now?
Well, they found out that I just got my afterlife credit card upgraded to golden status. They keep bombarding me with they're imperious offers: "Haven't you spent enough time here already?", "Wouldn't you like to ascend to a higher plane?", "Don't you think that all of your spine problems will go away when you become an astral spirit?"
Your spine does look ugly...
That is not of the matter right now.
Your ten stories fall was quite brutal to your spine...
Are you even listening?
Of course I am! You were talking about your spine.
No, you were talking about my spine, I was talking about the darned... nevermind.
Look, I can really relate to your disagreement with those pesky travel agents, but you must admit they are right! You, of all, really deserve a place in the beyond realm! Hell, you can even afford the top traveling means with your golden card. Why do you stay here?
Hell doesn't exist. There's just this place, and the next one, and the next one and the next one... that's why I'm not interested in paying any of those travel agents. I lived for 99 years and 45 days on Earth. And I could have gotten one hundred if it weren't for that disease-carrying birds. Somehow, we got to this... land of the dead and I've worked just as hard as in the previous life to build a respectful and decent life. For once, I am given the option to stay - I'm not going to blow this one.
Well, I don't have the option. I am bound to this world. You can't even hurt yourself here. But I can't say I'm not thinking about the astral plane.
That's exactly what I'm telling you! You used to be flesh, skin and bones. You used to have feelings! Now you're just bones, left without any physical feelings. Don't you think that the "next life" will leave you worse than you've ever been? And the so called "astral plane" isn't just another "heaven" and "hell" that the fanatics have served us all those previous years? You should be happy to be here. You should be happy to have finally reached a balance.
When have you stopped fighting? What happened to the man who had a dream to ascend. To transcend? What scared you, man? In twenty years of residing here I have never seen a man with a golden afterlife, with the unstained life and brilliant mind that you posses.
The sadness. The heavy sadness of the previous life and the deep sadness of this life. I'm scared to even try another life.
To be amused/not amused...
