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"You know, I'm almost grown!" The evil clown sputtered through his jagged, sharp teeth. Grown? I wasn't sure what he meant, I just tried very hard to remain calm and collected, but inside my stomach was churning.
I was frightened, very frightened. "You look like candy, little girl." The clown said to me. His attire was silky and torn, flowing with white and yellow stripes. Stay calm. Act natural. "Yes… like a sweet lemon drop!" At this, he smiled and bent down, pressing his wickedly painted face uncomfortably close to mine. Then he whispered in my ear, "Do you taste like one too?" I shut my eyes and shuttered. On some level, I recognized that I wasn't completely trapped. There was plenty of open space around me, other kids playing on the slides and in the sandbox. I could have screamed, but on some other, more criminal level, I knew they wouldn't hear me. "It's strange how most people don't see me." The clown went on, his sour aroma burning my nostrils. "But you do!" He laughed, and suddenly his voice grew loud and he became excited. "Isn't that wonderful?" He yelled. I opened my eyes to see him twisting his abnormally large head sideways in front of me. "Go ahead, look around! Nobody sees me but you." I didn't turn around, for I knew he spoke the truth. Yes, I'd witnessed several things on the playground at school, but not the sort of things you tell other people about. I learned very quickly what happens if you talk about the things you see. They send you to counseling and doctors. They fill you with pills and juices. Yes, they're almost as ghastly as the things you're not supposed to talk about- almost, but not quite. "Awww, lemon drop. Don't be sad. Talk to me! Tell me to go away if you like. I don't mind." The recess bell rang, directly above the clown. He wasn't expecting such a loud noise, and that's when I ran. As always, I didn't look over my shoulder to see if he followed. Instead, I tried my hardest to push him far back from my thoughts and mix in with the other kids. Stay calm. Act natural. It would be another thirteen hours before I saw him again, leering at me from the side of my bed- his hot, sour breath hanging above my nose. And the worst of it was his giant, gloved hands hovering over my body. What else could I do but stay calm… and act natural. Dear Lord, what else could I do?
C. Jake Cordova
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