Rosalie's Final Fanfiction

The circus arrives in the night, without notice, without warning. One morning it is simply there where before it was not. In place of an empty field are dozens of tents enclosed in an iron fence. A sign above the gates reads “Le Cirque des Rêves”, the circus of dreams, below it “The circus opens at sunset and closes at sunrise.”

Everywhere you go talk of the circus follows you, those who have been tell stories of magical illusionists, daring cat tamers, and impossible attractions. It’s been years since you thought of the circus, since one has last come to town, since you wrote it off as a con to exchange money for half-baked dreams. Despite this you find yourself counting down the hours until you get off the work, counting the minutes until the sun sets, until the circus is open. 

When you step into the circus you are swept up by the crowds, past a magnificent clock and deposited inside a tent. Inside the tent there is nothing: no seats, no props, nothing. You’re about to leave, to follow the enticing smell of circus treats, when the door seals shut as if it was never there. Puzzled, you join the audience, what else is there to do? The lights dim, but still nothing. A lady beside you whispers “Look up”. Up you look. Above you there is a web of ropes stretched across the tent, accompanied by a stream of ribbons cascading down. Trapeze artists glide through the air, momentarily weightless as they fling themselves around the room. Aerialists and acrobats spin through the air suspended by ribbons. Your visions of this is crystal clear, there are no nets to interfere. A man in a tuxedo emerges from the centre of the web spinning until he becomes a blur. Then he plunges down, hurtling towards the audience. You dive out of the way, or rather try to. He stops inches above your head and takes a bow.

You find yourself ducking into tents to avoid the crowds, pausing only for the slightest moment before leaving, but this one grabs your attention. Inside is a desert, complete with a scorching hot sun and sand that creeps into your shoes. Outside: the moon is high in the sky, while the grass is firmly packed down. Impossible. A group of people emerge from nowhere, a light powder of…snow covers there shoulder. All are decked out in grey, embellished with a touch of red in the form of a scarf, a tie, a bracelet. They seem amused by your shock, and reveal a hidden door that leads to another room. Curious you enter, only to find yourself in a winter wonderland. The room beyond that reveals a beach, a glacier, a valley. Each room is more spectacular than the last, eventually you find yourself back in the circus. Disappointed you turn to re-enter the tent, only to find that it is gone. 

You wander along until you feel the cool breeze emanating from a tent; you cautiously enter, expecting a blizzard or something equally bizarre. Instead there is a garden, made entirely of ice. Transparent roses bloom before your eyes, crystal grass crunches beneath your feet. A fountain bubbles at the centre, water streaming down the sides before it freezes and becomes a part of the sculpture. An elegant tree stands beyond the fountain, the ice twists around the trunk, each twist breaking off to become a branch. Each branch is covered in leaves, tiny delicate leaves that are thin enough to see through, and thick large leaves, with craggy edges. A vine wraps around the trunk, flowers budding. You reach out to touch a flower, one that has just blossomed, only for it to shatter. You take a step back preparing to run back out into the circus, only for the flower to grow back, as though nothing had happened. As you step outside you look back to see a young man adorned with a bowler hat stoop over the flower, you blink and he is gone.  

The next tent you stumble upon contains yet another tree, made not of ice, but of fire. It’s labelled the wishing tree, and you are encouraged to make a wish by lighting a candle and attaching it to the tree. It is these wishes that make the tree appear to be made of fire, as the flames flicker from every branch. Is it weird that you find yourself wanting to make a wish? After all, wishes are for children, like toys and cartoons and…circuses. But what to wish for? That new promotion, a better office, the lottery? You could, but instead you smile and write down your wish, wrap it around a candle and attach it to a branch. Out of the corner of your eye you see a young lady in victorian dress light her own candle. You blink and see only a flickering candle. 

It takes you sometime to find the next tent, now realising that each tent contains something spectacular and amazing and that its contents should be considered carefully before entering. What does it smell like? Feel like? Do others frequent it? This next tent seems to have many, many visitors and feels like the cool mist that descends on a foggy morning. Inside you are alone those that you followed in have mysteriously vanished. Instead there is a cloud in front of you, with steps leading up to it. You climb the stairs and hesitantly step on it, to your left another cloud appears and you clamber on to it, and reach for the next cloud. The tent is true to its sign, for it is a cloud maze. From time to time you hear the sound of laughter, catch the glimpse of someone in the distance. You reach the top and discover a group of circus goers, once again dressed in grey, with a touch of red. You reach them just as one leaps over the side and hurtles to the ground. “Don’t worry”, says one of the group. “It’s perfectly safe. The clouds slow you down and catch you. Try it.” As you plunge down towards the ground a cloud swoops up under you, catching you at the last minute. 

Outside the crowds have thinned no doubt retiring for the night. You take the opportunity to wander along, pausing to observe the impromptu performances of contortionists, snake charmers, storytellers and human statues. Eventually you stop to listen to as a young man begins his story. It is a tale of how the circus began, of the two magicians who competed in it, the love they shared, and how that love nearly destroyed the circus.

It is hard to leave the circus unchanged, and changed you are. You pause at the gates. It’s difficult to leave, even though you know that you will be back tomorrow.