Just A Daydreamer
A Noodle
I wrote this based strongly off a really cool dream I had. Enjoy! Or don't. It's your right to do either 
----------
Deserted. At the circus? Why there? No one knows, but there are two boys at the entryway. A child, no older than three, and a baby wrapped in rags. The baby cries. The boy holds his brother's hand and does not speak, staring with somber eyes at the people who have found them. The night is cold. Rain drips from the child's hair.
"What do we do with them? Where are their parents?"
A gleam in the ringmaster's eye. The children are ragged and the cheeks of the older child are sunken in. "Abandoned," he says. "For us. For me."
He has never had children and now they are here, children of the circus to be raised as his own. Raised as he wants them to be.
--
The younger has grown tall. He is lithe and agile. Slim, but strong. An ethereal beauty. His skin is of the palest white, his hair even lighter than his skin. Snowflake, they call him, but his brother calls him Snow. Is it his true name? He knows not. It is the only name he has ever known. Some say it and laugh as though his name amuses them. This, he does not understand.
In the sky, he is free. On the trapeze, untouchable. None can match his talent. His grace. He is one of another world. He dreams that up there he can perhaps touch the sky and every day he reaches higher, yearning to touch it. It remains out of his reach.
What is the sky? Over and over again he asks his brother to describe it. What are the trees? The grass? The rain? He can hear the rain but has never seen it. He has felt the cool touch of it on his skin too long ago to remember it. Though he doesn't remain hidden from the outside world, the outside world has been forever hidden from him. He has never even seen what it out there. Engrossed, he will listen for hours of those who describe it to him. Yet, he fears it. He dares not leave. Inside, he is safe. Outside, there is only the unknown.
--
"Beat him."
"No! You cannot allow that."
The ringmaster glares. The man in front of him trembles, but stands firm. Snowflake's shoulder is firmly grasped underneath his hand. The ringmaster speaks. 'Who are you to tell me what to do in my circus? The boy is mine. Mine!"
"Sir... he is talented. We must give him to the world to see."
"He tried to escape!"
"The scars will forever show on his back. They will mar him."
A pause. The ringmaster seems to be considering this. Snowflake is shaking violently but says not a word. Finally, the large man nods. "I see. Beat his brother then. He will learn."
The boy begins to cry, and his cries grow louder as he is taken away and thrown into his small room. The room is on the back of a cart. There are no windows and it is small. This is how they travel. The circus tent is then connected to the door which is opened and he is allowed to come out, and such is how they conceal him from the world. A treasure. A possession. They can't let him go. Inside the room, he cries, hearing the fall of a whip on his brother's back but his brother makes no sound. There was no second attempt at escape. Snow thinks he saves his brother from more beatings this way but little did he know the truth.
--
The older brother has grown even taller. He is strong, fast, and good with any weapon he lays his hands on. There is always a pensive frown on his features. He shares no signs of delicacy or albinism with his brother. In fact, one would scarcely believe the two of them are related at first glance and it is only at a closer look that one can truly see. They share a smile. Their eyes squint in the same way when they laugh. Their mannerisms mirror one another. But ah, who looks closely enough at them? They are objects to be seen, but not to be observed.
One is a slave.
The other, a slave to his brother.
After all, what stops him from leaving? He can go at any time. But he is bound by a deep love for his brother, a love that no other love can transcend, and so he remains. Why does he not rescue the lad? Ah, but he has tried. There are many new scars on him for it. The security is too strong. He lies to Snow about where he gained the scars. To see Snow is his only joy in life, and it is the only kindness that the Ringmaster ever shows either of them. It keeps them both docile.
There was a time they tried to make him a circus act. He was not good for it. Snow took immediately to the trapeze, so graceful was he, but the older brother was more clumsy. He failed everything he tried to do. And then he picked up a weapon and found grace in it. They made him a guard. Confident that his tether to Snow would keep him there. Now he patrols. He fights the monsters that come calling. Keeps the ones were are out of the circus, out, and the ones that are in the circus, in.
--
"Come one, come all! Come and see the finest collection of beasts, freaks, and acts in the world! The finest magic, the most enchanting Sirens, the fiercest Wyverns, and the hairiest Werewolves!"
And on the poster, in the very middle of it all, is Snow. The circus may have the finest creatures, but these creatures exist in other places. They are not new to this world. Snow is different. One sees him and comes away feeling as if they saw someone from a dream, someone who cannot possibly be real, and the memory of him remains. They are fascinated. They return night after night to see the ethereal beauty fly and mourn when the circus departs from them. When the circus returns, they do so also. Eagerly. They throw away their money with a laugh and smile. They notice not the pain behind the beautiful eyes.
Some have even tried to take him. Such a creature for themselves, what a wonder! They always find themselves meeting with men that no one can best. Men who hide in the shadows and watch. Wait. Prepare. But they are always present. The fiercest among them is the first to protect Snow. No one is to touch his brother. And so Snow remains, and the world remains hidden from him.
--
But is there not always a girl? A mere cleaner girl, dressed in rags that threaten to fall off at any moment. Still, she dances. Throws her head back into the wind. Her hair flies free. She is barefoot. There is dirt on her face from cleaning, but still, she is beautiful. And the brothers -- how she loves them!
The elder always means to do the best for the younger brother. But he is clumsy and lacks a delicate touch for a delicate creature, and the creature yearns for kindness. The girl will step in and croon to him, comfort him, and tell him of things to make the pitiful young man smile. She laughs with him. She understands him. She loves him, and yet she mourns for him.
The younger cannot join the elder outside. The girl will accompany him instead. Talk to him. Console him and soothe him. She will dance and play and sing for him, and show that the only company he has is not just a forlorn brother who has never seen the sun. She desires not to replace Snow. She understands their love. But both are lonely, for they never see each other enough. And she loves the elder, yet mourns for him.
And they love her. Since they were children, they loved her. Their only other companion. In time, their love grew into more. Perhaps they have yet to realize it. But it is there. Does she love them back in such a manner?
Time would tell.
The three of them need each other. Without even one, they are lost. Broken. Confused.
--
Snow is beauty. He is that strange feeling we have just as we wake up and still remain in our dreams, uncertain of what is real. He is what we long for the most. He is that yearning for something we cannot have and do not understand. He is curiosity. He is a story. And yet he also is fear.
The elder is strength. He is what men fear and yet long to be. He is speed. He is the lost feeling you have when you are somewhere unknown and yet have no desire to be found. He is anger. He is ferocity and an intense protectiveness. And yet he also is hopelessness.
She is freedom. She is passion. She is dancing under the moonlight. She is the feeling of seeing something for the first time. She is compassion. She is the nurturing we have for all the things we love. She is love itself. And yet she also is sorrow.
----------
Deserted. At the circus? Why there? No one knows, but there are two boys at the entryway. A child, no older than three, and a baby wrapped in rags. The baby cries. The boy holds his brother's hand and does not speak, staring with somber eyes at the people who have found them. The night is cold. Rain drips from the child's hair.
"What do we do with them? Where are their parents?"
A gleam in the ringmaster's eye. The children are ragged and the cheeks of the older child are sunken in. "Abandoned," he says. "For us. For me."
He has never had children and now they are here, children of the circus to be raised as his own. Raised as he wants them to be.
--
The younger has grown tall. He is lithe and agile. Slim, but strong. An ethereal beauty. His skin is of the palest white, his hair even lighter than his skin. Snowflake, they call him, but his brother calls him Snow. Is it his true name? He knows not. It is the only name he has ever known. Some say it and laugh as though his name amuses them. This, he does not understand.
In the sky, he is free. On the trapeze, untouchable. None can match his talent. His grace. He is one of another world. He dreams that up there he can perhaps touch the sky and every day he reaches higher, yearning to touch it. It remains out of his reach.
What is the sky? Over and over again he asks his brother to describe it. What are the trees? The grass? The rain? He can hear the rain but has never seen it. He has felt the cool touch of it on his skin too long ago to remember it. Though he doesn't remain hidden from the outside world, the outside world has been forever hidden from him. He has never even seen what it out there. Engrossed, he will listen for hours of those who describe it to him. Yet, he fears it. He dares not leave. Inside, he is safe. Outside, there is only the unknown.
--
"Beat him."
"No! You cannot allow that."
The ringmaster glares. The man in front of him trembles, but stands firm. Snowflake's shoulder is firmly grasped underneath his hand. The ringmaster speaks. 'Who are you to tell me what to do in my circus? The boy is mine. Mine!"
"Sir... he is talented. We must give him to the world to see."
"He tried to escape!"
"The scars will forever show on his back. They will mar him."
A pause. The ringmaster seems to be considering this. Snowflake is shaking violently but says not a word. Finally, the large man nods. "I see. Beat his brother then. He will learn."
The boy begins to cry, and his cries grow louder as he is taken away and thrown into his small room. The room is on the back of a cart. There are no windows and it is small. This is how they travel. The circus tent is then connected to the door which is opened and he is allowed to come out, and such is how they conceal him from the world. A treasure. A possession. They can't let him go. Inside the room, he cries, hearing the fall of a whip on his brother's back but his brother makes no sound. There was no second attempt at escape. Snow thinks he saves his brother from more beatings this way but little did he know the truth.
--
The older brother has grown even taller. He is strong, fast, and good with any weapon he lays his hands on. There is always a pensive frown on his features. He shares no signs of delicacy or albinism with his brother. In fact, one would scarcely believe the two of them are related at first glance and it is only at a closer look that one can truly see. They share a smile. Their eyes squint in the same way when they laugh. Their mannerisms mirror one another. But ah, who looks closely enough at them? They are objects to be seen, but not to be observed.
One is a slave.
The other, a slave to his brother.
After all, what stops him from leaving? He can go at any time. But he is bound by a deep love for his brother, a love that no other love can transcend, and so he remains. Why does he not rescue the lad? Ah, but he has tried. There are many new scars on him for it. The security is too strong. He lies to Snow about where he gained the scars. To see Snow is his only joy in life, and it is the only kindness that the Ringmaster ever shows either of them. It keeps them both docile.
There was a time they tried to make him a circus act. He was not good for it. Snow took immediately to the trapeze, so graceful was he, but the older brother was more clumsy. He failed everything he tried to do. And then he picked up a weapon and found grace in it. They made him a guard. Confident that his tether to Snow would keep him there. Now he patrols. He fights the monsters that come calling. Keeps the ones were are out of the circus, out, and the ones that are in the circus, in.
--
"Come one, come all! Come and see the finest collection of beasts, freaks, and acts in the world! The finest magic, the most enchanting Sirens, the fiercest Wyverns, and the hairiest Werewolves!"
And on the poster, in the very middle of it all, is Snow. The circus may have the finest creatures, but these creatures exist in other places. They are not new to this world. Snow is different. One sees him and comes away feeling as if they saw someone from a dream, someone who cannot possibly be real, and the memory of him remains. They are fascinated. They return night after night to see the ethereal beauty fly and mourn when the circus departs from them. When the circus returns, they do so also. Eagerly. They throw away their money with a laugh and smile. They notice not the pain behind the beautiful eyes.
Some have even tried to take him. Such a creature for themselves, what a wonder! They always find themselves meeting with men that no one can best. Men who hide in the shadows and watch. Wait. Prepare. But they are always present. The fiercest among them is the first to protect Snow. No one is to touch his brother. And so Snow remains, and the world remains hidden from him.
--
But is there not always a girl? A mere cleaner girl, dressed in rags that threaten to fall off at any moment. Still, she dances. Throws her head back into the wind. Her hair flies free. She is barefoot. There is dirt on her face from cleaning, but still, she is beautiful. And the brothers -- how she loves them!
The elder always means to do the best for the younger brother. But he is clumsy and lacks a delicate touch for a delicate creature, and the creature yearns for kindness. The girl will step in and croon to him, comfort him, and tell him of things to make the pitiful young man smile. She laughs with him. She understands him. She loves him, and yet she mourns for him.
The younger cannot join the elder outside. The girl will accompany him instead. Talk to him. Console him and soothe him. She will dance and play and sing for him, and show that the only company he has is not just a forlorn brother who has never seen the sun. She desires not to replace Snow. She understands their love. But both are lonely, for they never see each other enough. And she loves the elder, yet mourns for him.
And they love her. Since they were children, they loved her. Their only other companion. In time, their love grew into more. Perhaps they have yet to realize it. But it is there. Does she love them back in such a manner?
Time would tell.
The three of them need each other. Without even one, they are lost. Broken. Confused.
--
Snow is beauty. He is that strange feeling we have just as we wake up and still remain in our dreams, uncertain of what is real. He is what we long for the most. He is that yearning for something we cannot have and do not understand. He is curiosity. He is a story. And yet he also is fear.
The elder is strength. He is what men fear and yet long to be. He is speed. He is the lost feeling you have when you are somewhere unknown and yet have no desire to be found. He is anger. He is ferocity and an intense protectiveness. And yet he also is hopelessness.
She is freedom. She is passion. She is dancing under the moonlight. She is the feeling of seeing something for the first time. She is compassion. She is the nurturing we have for all the things we love. She is love itself. And yet she also is sorrow.
