The Drastic Choice

His hand wasn’t sweaty. His legs didn’t tremble. The make up in his face, it wasn’t ruined or touched, and there was not even a bit of regret running in his veins. He really wanted to do it, he was convinced. He raised his arm, the gun in hand, and he felt a touch of relieve. He was finally ending this. He was going away. Away. He even smiled a bit. It seemed like the world around him, everything was gone or worthless. The audience shrieking and clapping continually, the voice of happy workers, the acrobats, the other clowns. His mind, it was quiet. He desired it.

Before allowing himself to think about the once beautiful world he was leaving behind, a piercing noise was heard and it was all done. With just the pull of a trigger.

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It was my turn. It was soon to be. And yet, I went the other direction, and I knew the boss would be crazed and red as hell, but I didn’t care. At all. One of the co-workers called my name, but I just kept walking. Though I had already changed into my costume, and had my face retouched, I felt pretty calm. Suddenly I didn’t care so much about my absence, about the soon-to-be-disappointed kids seating in the audience. It was my life, acting all stupid and retarded and making people laugh, and feeling important. But I wasn’t feeling important, not at all. Suddenly being a clown wasn’t really pleasant.

Everything was pathetic. Pathetic. My life. I used to be happy, I thought, walking out the huge canvas tent into an obscure sky. But now there was something missing. Like this really huge gap that made my stomach get all rickety. I thought about my losses. My job. It wasn’t a loss, but it surely was to be. But I kind of deserve it in all its misery. Mostly because I’ve never been an anxious, dedicated person. My wife. Surely, she was not entirely my wife. The relationship, the marriage, we were both drunk and young. You might be beautiful when young, but you’re surely stupid. I have always been modest, and so I don’t consider myself to be smart, now. I didn’t have any kids, and my family, it was there, but not.

I walked around, back and forth, and thought of me. Of my life. So normal, plain, stupid, worthless. I felt sad, extremely sad. Didn’t felt like crying, because there was even scarce of water. Trying not to depress myself too much, I think about its good aspects, despite my pessimism. I was happy. I enjoyed the shows I made, the mistakes, meant to be, and the times in which I had gotten dirty of cake, and whipped cream. My friends, their jobs as bizarre as mine, we snickered and enjoyed cheap beer on whichever place we landed, and dreamed of gorgeous ladies and tons of money.

That was not really happiness. It was more like an excuse to forget real life. Sure it worked. But to forget? Pathetic. Life is here, I thought, and I was just being a coward for trying to avoid it. So what if my life was sad and horrible? Was it even horrible? My payment wasn’t much, but it wasn’t bad. I had grown a belly, but I wasn’t ugly.

I had to be patient, I thought. Sure, I was never a patient person. But it really ends when life ends. Death. And so, for the rest of my life, I’d have to seat somewhere and waits for Death.

Though I didn’t expect them, the words of my boss came to my mind. Ya’ know, in case of any asshole tryin’ to ruin our show. He had bought it not so long ago, but when we saw it, it looked pretty real. And he had placed it in some drawer, within the tent.

I ran back, into the boss’ office, and I open the drawer, and there are some papers, and knick knacks and cash. And effectively, this very attractive box. And I opened it, and it was like finding a plane ticket, when road tripping to the other side of the country.