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 Welcome to the Freakshow! #1 (Opening Tag Match)

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PostSubject: Welcome to the Freakshow! #1 (Opening Tag Match)   Sat Nov 12, 2011 4:31 pm


I walk down the steps to the metro station. I think I’m being followed. I quickly realize I’m just being paranoid, as usual. I tend to do that. I look around, just in case. I’m definitely not being followed.

On the train, I remain standing despite the vast amount of empty seats. A bum looks at me strangely. He looks crazy, I look back at him, glaring. He is forced to look away. I smirk to myself.

If someone is to look at me, they’d think I am not much more than a kid.

I mean why else would they think otherwise? I look young and I certainly don’t look like I can put up a fight. But when they look into my eyes, that’s when they see the nightmares, the torments, the Hell that I have been through. And if they are stupid enough to attack me, I simply destroy them. With the best weapons at my disposal: my feet.

That big ass door. Talking about the entrance door to the Underground Circus I’m part of. It looks like one of those castle doors you see in movies or in storybooks. There’s barbwire and ivy all over it as well. I’ve been told it’s to give the door a menacing look, to scare unwanted guests away. I think it looks stupid. But anyway... I press the secret ‘staff only’ button and a secret door opens for me on the side.

“You’re late,” the Ringmaster says to me sharply. “You’re on in just a few minutes. You better not disappoint!”

“Do I ever?” I frown. I’m a bit of a smartass and sometimes I can’t control myself. I just like to push people’s buttons. It amuses me.

The Ringmaster doesn’t say anything else but offers me a deathly glare. Figuratively speaking, of course. I make my way to the changing rooms. Take off my tshirt. Take off my jeans. I put on a baggy pair of black pants. Better for kicking. Wrap my wrists and hands in red tape (the material is like silk but not quite). I take a few breaths as I kick the air.

That’s when Lady Fleck knocks on the door announcing her entry into the room. She’s weird looking. I’m not being mean but I’m the only one in this joint who looks normal. Though I guess my weirdness would be no hair on my body, except for my armpits and... well... on my privates. And on my head. The one on my shoulders. I don’t know why. That’s something you’d ask your parents about I guess... but I have none, so there you go. And before you even say it, it’s not a puberty thing. It’s my DNA. Maybe that’s why I’m so good at kicks... must be in my blood or something.

Anyway, Lady Fleck is in the room and she tells me there’s some guy who wants to see me. Man, another fan... I hope he’s not as crazy as the last one who strolled in here. Came in with a knife because he thought my toes were too cute to stay with me. I kicked his ass hard. So hard he never ever came back to the Circus. Lunatic.

“My name’s Tyler McKnight,” says a man who walks into the room. He is wearing a trench coat, a nice shirt with a tie. Classy. Hope he’s not a douchebag. “I have been told great things about you. I’m looking forward to seeing what you can do.”

I crack a smug smile on my face. I say, “What you’ve been told doesn’t do justice to my skills, coatman. I am more awesome than you think. When you’ll see me kick ass out there, you’ll see.”

He chuckles. Men in trench coats tend to chuckle rather than laugh. How strange. Then again, I have only met two or three so far. Maybe it’s too early to generalise. Tyler McKnight looks around the room and then turns his attention back to me again.

“If you are as impressive as you say you are,” he says. “I might have an interesting proposition for you.”

“Sounds dirty,” I say, smirking. “But hey, look, I got to go do my thing out there. We’ll talk more about your ‘proposition’ after I’m done. Cool?”

Tyler McKnight nods with a smile.

What a creep.

When I walk through the curtains into the arena, I see a small crowd gathered. They cheer, some wonder and others don’t seem impressed. I take it in my stride. Some people judge me too quickly on my looks. That’s fine. I do enjoy kicking their asses when they underestimate me.

Welcome to the Freakshow! We are open three nights a week, we have a dozen freaks out the back and we are underground. All the right elements to create a cult following amongst quite a few New Yorkers. I got into this gig about 2 years ago now. Gangle, the ringmaster, took me under his wing so to speak and gave me a job. This job.

I show the guests, the crowd, however small they are, just how awesome I can be with my feet. I take off my shoes and socks. The crowd seems disappointed. Probably because my feet look normal. I take care of them, they’re hygenic. Nails are trimmed and all. Nothing out of the ordinary really. Typical teenage feet, except for the lack of hair of course.

But then I break a few melons. Some mild cheering. Not freaky enough obviously. I break through a solid wooden door, making a sick and loud CRACK sound. The cheering is a bit louder this time. Then I proceed by kicking the air very rapidly, making whoosh sounds. People are being impressed. They try to keep track of my feet but they’re way too quick. Lightning quick.

Of course all this is not enough. The people want something more to prove just how awesome my feet are. So in comes Bokono, a burly Asian guy. I kick his ass. My feet connect with his body, everywhere, and he’s too slow to be able to block any of them. Nobody can. Soon enough, he falls to the ground, knocked out. The crowd is in awe, I’ve won them over.

Typical day at the office really, so to speak.

At the end of the night, I get my wage from Gangle and I notice he looks kind of sad. That’s the first time I’ve ever seen such an emotion on his face.

“What’s the matter?” I ask.

“I’m going to miss you, kid,” he says to me.

“Miss me?” I frown. “What do you mean? Are you firing me? But I rocked the house. They loved me!”

He smiles at me. He smiles?! Damn, what’s going on here? He doesn’t say anything else and walks off. Oh, come on! Who does that?

“He likes you,” says Tyler McKnight appearing out of the shadows. “When I told him who I was and why I wanted to see you, he knew what was going to happen next.”

“Look, I appreciate the fan attitude you’re experiencing but I am not interested in your games,” I reply, rather annoyed. “Either you tell exactly what you want or you get out of my way.”

He nods and pulls out a folder. He hands it to me.

“SWE?” I ask. “What the Hell is that?”

He takes a moment to say what he’s about to say, as if it has some deep meaning, “Your future.”


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