Clown Revolution

Wiggles stood at the gallows, noose around his pasty neck. His mouth fixed into a perfect half-circle frown, a single tear drawn on his cheek. The executioner took his red nose off his face and stomped on it. It died out with a squeak. There was an uproar from the majority of the audience. “The only good clown is a dead clown!” a man cried, causing the louder men and women to cheer even louder. But there was a pocket of the audience that stood in silence, not daring to move or feel a thing. They were there to bear witness.

“Now, now!” the mayor smiled, holding out his hands. “We’re not here to have a party. Let’s settle down.” The crowd quieted a bit. “We can always party after the clown is hanged!” Everyone laughed, except for the silent group of spectators.

The mayor walked up to Wiggles, a look of disgust on his face. “Now, Henry, you’ve chosen to remain a clown, even after the law forbade you to do such a treacherous act. You are charged with painting your face, wearing bright clothing and a bulbous red nose which is common among your kind. Most of all, you are charged with showing grotesque displays of happiness and sadness. How do you plead?”

Wiggles raised his head, his practiced frown turning into a perfect half-circle smile. “Guilty, your honor.” He squeezed a device in his hand, spraying water from a flower on his coat onto the mayor’s face. “Oldest trick in the book!” Wiggles guffawed. There was an uproar from the audience, most calling for blood.

“I thought you checked him!” the mayor whispered to the executioner, who apologized and handed the mayor a bright yellow and pink polka dot handkerchief. The mayor patted down his face and then looked at the thing. He cast it down onto the gallows. “What the Hell is wrong with you?”

“I’m sorry. It… it belonged to a friend.”

“Just hang the the clown, you fool!”

“Yessir.” The executioner took his position at the lever. Wiggles’s fixed smile made the audience uncomfortable.

“Now, my people. You’ve heard this clown admit to his charges! Ladies and gentlemen, we will now commence the hanging!”

“Stop!” a woman cried. Everyone looked to see Sally, the woman who ran the flower shop, dressed in patchwork clothing and riding on a donkey.

“Sally! What is the meaning of this?” the mayor fumed.

Sally rode up, her donkey decorated in daisies and peace lilies. Her face was painted black and white and gold.

“You look like a… a… a harlequin!”

“The name, sir, is Hokey Pokey.” She bowed and winked knowingly to Wiggles. Wiggles put his left foot out.

“Never mind that! Hang the clown! And arrest the harlequin!”

The executioner pulled at the lever, but not before Hokey Pokey whipped out a lasso and banded it around Wiggles’s leg. The clown slipped as if on a banana peel. As the trap door opened, Wiggles did not fall down and break his neck, but instead was choking, suspended between the noose and the lasso around his ankle. Wiggles regained his footing and Hokey Pokey loosened her grip on the rope. The police pulled her forcefully off the donkey and onto the dirt.

A mob forms behind the police, yelling hateful things at the femme clown. Another mob began to push its way in between Hokey Pokey and the police. “You can’t do this to her!”

“She’s a clown! It’s against the law!” A giant of a man punched out the officer and then the fighting broke out. It was as if a flood of emotion broke out. The quite cell of people erupted into laughter and tears. Carlos the mechanic laughed wildly as he smashed skulls in with his wrench. Tess the baker sobbed wildly as she gouged a man’s eyes. All the emotions restrained in these clowns came out in an untold violence. The giant, Darnell, helped Hokey Pokey up from the ground. Though her face was covered in dirt, she leaped up onto the gallows. The mayor hid behind the executioner, who stood in reverent silence.

“First they came for the mimes, and I didn’t speak out because I wasn’t a mime!” she cried. “Then they came for the tramps, and I didn’t speak out because I wasn’t a tramp!”

The normies all ran off, leaving the clowns to celebrate their victory. There would be retribution. There would be blood. But today, the clowns had made their stand.


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Filed under Flash Fiction, Session XXII

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