Jeremy-Burner

(The Black Candy Circus) There was a loud crash followed by a woman's scream. The sound of breaking glass was muted by the rain and roar of thunder outside, but it had been close enough to be unmistakable. Without thinking, I dropped the meat bucket and ran toward the noise. Had it come from the ringleader's trailer? As I drew closer to the tent's exit, something inside me told me I was running in the wrong direction. That it was dangerous. Overcome with curiosity, I pressed on and stepped out into the pouring rain. If only I had known what awaited me outside. The hair on the back of my neck stood on end when I saw her. The ringleader stood proud and tall over her prey, a whip trailing from her hand. The man before her tried to rise up from the ground. His cloths were soaked, and his arms and face were a patchwork of scraps and cuts. Judging from the gaping hole in the ringleader's window, it was obvious that the man had somehow been thrown through it. That's when I noticed the

Applause reverberated around me, but I tried to block it out. It was sickening. As my eyes met Gabe’s, his pain was like an open wound. His roars were so completely unhuman, so full of anger. Even from the stands, I could see the tears soaking his fur. My heart clenched with a mix of disbelief and horror, watching my once-human brother transformed into a magnificent yet tortured beast. The crowd marveled at the spectacle, ignorant to the tragedy beneath the surface. Each leap and snarl fueled the nightmare. As I sat amidst the audience, I felt overwhelmed by a sense of helplessness. With rage coursing through me, my eyes drifted towards Candy. She was draped in the same attire I had seen on our first day. In fact, she was a splitting image of her earlier appearance, with not a hair out of place. However, unlike before, she was laughing as she accepted praises and applause. Once again, I vowed to set him free. Even with the throes of people separating us, my brother's humiliation

I ran as fast as my feet could carry me. My surroundings blurred as I ran past cages and tents, tears streaming down my face. Desperate, I clutched at the cross my mother gave me. I felt its cold touch against my warm hand as I uttered the prayer like a mantra, “Though I walk through the valley of darkness, I will fear no evil.” Eventually, the surrounding darkness gave way to the main tent. Inside the tent, an eerie silence hung in the air, the only sound being the soft, haunting notes of a violin playing on its own. The air was thick with the scent of aging velvet and wax, and the ground was covered in a carpet of deep, crimson red, threadbare, and frayed at the edges. I tried to think, tried to remember the way out. My mind was a storm of emotions that refused to clear – grief at my brother’s agonizing state, guilt for the consequence of my stubbornness, and, surprisingly, joy for having been able to see him again. As these feelings built up abruptly, my left hand started