The Burning Circus is now available at Amazon.
Semiramis hasn’t been to the circus in such a long time.
Other circuses, yes. The circus, no.
Above the stand of trees, over to the left where the road curves around to encircle the big park, the striped canvas of the Big Top can be seen, the flame-red pennants waving in the breeze. While she’s pinning her eyes there as though it might disappear if not watched, she’s not paying attention her feet, and she stumbles, trips, does a kind of progressive dance but doesn’t fall. The heel of her right Mary Jane, though, gives up the ghost – the shoes were old before she got them – and she tries to hammer it back to the sole with nothing but her calloused hands. About as effective as using spit for glue. She surrenders, and sets off once again, her gait now the strange staccato roll of a woman with unequal leg lengths.
When she goes up on the left foot it feels, just a little, like flying. Just a little like the old days, that sense of ascending without a tether, then the downswing onto the right, down further than you know you should go, just like that too. Just like wondering if someone was going to catch you. Semiramis knows now only she can catch herself.
Go here to purchase.