Description: A very short piece, “Circus” was written as an assignment to write about something “scary”. The type of situation portrayed in this little story is horrifying to me, although it might not be what the average reader thinks of when they think of scary. An editor of a magazine asked for the right to publish this piece, but after the tragedy on September 11, 2001, they decided it was too “dark”, and changed their minds. What is your reaction to the story?
Rating: PG

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His son walked the train track, a tottering acrobat performing in his mind for the crowd below. Where his father saw only a violent river, Ellis imagined awestruck stares from endearing fans, the rushing of the water replaced in his mind by their thunderous clapping.

Ellis’ wiry body was fourteen, but his intellect was somewhere closer to five. His father, Stan, had warned Ellis time after time to stay off the bridge, to stay away from the tracks. The concept was burned in Ellis’ mind, but this day had been one of the cloudy days where thoughts didn’t quite manifest themselves clearly.

Ellis hadn’t noticed the ringing bells, never noticed the movement of the black-and-white striped arm, never saw the light from the tunnel up ahead. Deep in his imagination he was in the circus, the stars a winking canopy over him, the blaring of the train’s horn a calliope to which colorful clowns danced, and fell, and sang.

“Ellis!”, Stan had yelled. “Get off the tracks, son!” Ellis hadn’t heard him, his father’s voice just one other among the cacophony of grateful spectators. Ellis smiled wider, his arms outstretched. One foot in front of the other, and then a teeter to the left. The crowd silenced for a moment, anticipating his plummet to the netting. Ellis righted himself and the appreciation swelled in applause from beneath.

As Ellis raised his hands skyward in celebration before his spectators, thick smoke billowed from the tunnel behind him, illuminated by the lights of the bridge. The steel bulk of the train manifested itself, and Stan began to run. “Ellis! Son, please, get off the tracks!”

Ellis paused, balancing precariously on the tightrope he imagined underneath him, finally hearing this voice that was more familiar to him, registering it. Daddy, who holds my hand. He says no, Ellis, that’ll hurt you! He shows me books when it is dark outside, and we watch movies on the couch with popcorn and Hershey bars. And he hugged me when I fell that one time and he kissed me on my head and carried me back in the house. That’s my daddy!

Ellis raised his head to face his father but lost his balance as a consequence. In one swirling moment, the tightrope he had imagined tangled around him. Stan watched as Ellis’ foot fell between the railroad tie and crossbeam. Ellis fell to the ground, banging his head on oily wood. The crowd in his imagination continued to roar and before his eyes closed, he saw the train bearing down on him.

Stan’s legs pumped like pistons, propelling him toward his fallen son. ”Why didn’t he listen to me? Oh God, oh God please no, please no. Go! Go! Get there, be there!” Stan willed himself to Ellis, his body seemingly propelled by a steel cable, pulling, pulling…but pulling too hard. Stan stumbled, rolled, slid, landing at Ellis’ feet, daggers lancing his hips, his legs. The pain delivered a cry to Stan’s throat, which echoed from the mountainside. The horn from the train blared incessantly, the sound reaching him almost as quickly as the sight of the light and the silhouette of a frantic engineer flailing his arms. The squeal of the brakes was deafening, the sparks from the wheels a blinding shower of beauty, hissing when they struck the water below.

Seconds until impact.

Stan could not lift his legs. His hands reached toward his son, unconscious and sprawled across the track. Through pain that should have rendered him useless, he rolled his son over the beam, farther from danger. With a final shove, his son’s body was consumed by gravity, falling from the bridge to the water below. Stan cried in pain when he saw his son fall and disappear under the white caps.

The great steel mammoth trampled Stan like a tiny rodent, tossing and rolling his useless body underneath fiery steel wheels and grating wooden cars. Stan bounced uncontrollably into lifelessness.

Below, Ellis floated ashore on the arms of his fans, where soon several Strong Men lifted him onto a litter fashioned from bamboo and wicker, and ferried him away on their shoulders. He replayed in his head a faint memory of the lion tamer whose lion was roaring and lashing at him, and the man who pushed him off the rope.