Sparkling like diamonds, stars covered the skies in a dazzling cloak. The air was cold and crisp as it whispered against my skin, bringing shivers. I clenched my teeth as the wind found its way below my shirt, to the bruises and cuts of the morning.
My feet dangled off the tree branch while my back lay against the rather thin top branch. It creaked, it bent, but it refused to break.
Turning my head away from the celestial spectacle, the ground seemed impossibly distant. It seemed easier to grab the stars than to reach the ground. A fall from this height would leave nothing but a smear on the ground should I fall.
My heartbeat picked up speed and a heat spread through me as I shook my body.
Creak. The branch bent further, the outer layer of bark breaking. Creak. The branch lowered further while my heartbeat skyrocketed, This was the closest I ever got.
The moment was broken by shouting. Far, but too close to comfort, a house illuminated a patch of the woods. Indistinguitible shouting echoed in all directions and the smell of alcohol reached my nostrils, crushing the smell of bark and dried mud.
"Again," The moon was almost lost amidst the sea of stars, but it stood out enough to take my focus.
As I prepared to get out of the branch after having the moment ruined. I lost my grip. The world went upside down. Fear gripped my heart as branch after branch whipped at my back, up and down changing with every beat of my heart before I finally could get hold of something. A thin metal wire bit at my fingers, quickly touching the bone and slowly cutting further. More blood than possible flowed down my hands, between my fingers. But my fall stopped.
It felt like I was looking up at a waterfall while in the middle of it, but my eyes were kept painfully open.
Where stars once illuminated the dark, they now became uncountable eyes. Tracking not only me but everything. This was a twist to the ever-so-common dream.
The wire continued biting further into my hands, yet it never separated my fingers from them. It simply brought the so-common sensation of glass biting against flesh.
The eyes slowly disappeared, together with my ability to breathe. Claws and fur blanketed the world. The eyes were not gone, just hidden as fur rained down. It clung to my hands and body, hiding the wounds and stemming the bleeding. My throat was clogged.
Trying to cough proved futile, as a heavy weight rested on my face. I held onto the wire as long as I could, but I let go. Shooting to my face, my hands tried to free my airways, to bring back the ability to breathe. Shocks ran through my body as I fought for air. My head ballooned, and my thoughts became disconnected until I suddenly could breathe again.
**
Giuliano jerked upright, his sharp intake of breath slicing through the silence like a knife as he tossed the source of his near-suffocation out of his face. A pair of emerald eyes glared at Giuliano, filled with a mix of indignation and betrayal as he took deep, life-affirming breaths.
Fur coated every inch of his face and lips, causing him to sputter and spit it out. His heart beat ferociously on his chest, bringing pain similar to the time he tried canceling a gym membership. Giuliano held his chest, the world slowly returning to him, the shadows of the most recent nightmare still clinging to his mind.
"A girl after my own heart," Giuliano murmured after reality asserted itself. Now breathing calmly, he reached down to pet an irritated Myst.
Myst eyed Giuliano up and down, holding herself ready to teach him a lesson for disturbing her precious sleep, before begrudgingly accepting his touch, her anger melting into purrs of contentment.
The bed creaked under Giuliano's shifting weight as he stretched, trying to convince himself to get up. The noise nearly roused the other two feline occupants sprawled across it, their bodies commandeering more than their fair share of the space. Bleary-eyed, and with fur still clinging to the inside of his nose, Giuliano got up.
Opening the windows, he let in the cold morning breeze—a futile gesture given the cracks in the walls, yet it felt like lifting the tent flap to let in a breath of fresh air into the stuffy circus. The city light cast a glow across the room, momentarily transforming his humble abode into a spotlighted stage.
The air that flowed through brought a semblance of freshness into the otherwise barren room. The only furniture was the TV mounted on the wall and the wardrobe, propped up by a pair of old school books in place of its missing legs. The wood was cold against his bare feet, sending jolts of pain that helped dissipate the morning fog from his mind and nudge his body toward the warm embrace of the shower.
As Giuliano stepped into the bathroom, the morning chill still clung to his skin like the remnants of a bad dream. Turning on the shower, he watched as the room gradually filled with steam—a comforting shroud that seemed to cloud over his reality. There was something almost nurturing about how the steam embraced him, hiding him from the world, if only for a brief moment. In this veiled sanctuary, the harsh truths of his life seemed to dissolve, if only superficially.
"Another day, another..." The words left his mouth in a slur, having little meaning besides stopping him from falling asleep under the misty embrace.
As the bathroom transformed into a misty haven, Giuliano allowed himself a moment of reprieve. The warmth enveloped him like a loving embrace. It was in these fleeting moments, with visibility reduced to nothing, that he found a semblance of peace—a temporary respite from the circus of life waiting beyond the bathroom door.
Eventually, Giuliano stepped out of the shower, the steam clinging to his skin, reluctant to let go. Drying himself, he approached the mirror, now fogged over, a blank canvas hiding the reflection he so often dreaded. With a swipe of his hand, the steam cleared, revealing his face—a performer's face without its makeup. His skin, a faded brown, bore the marks of his life's script, etched with the remnants of a jagged scar—a memento from his childhood.
The muted happiness from the hot water was gone as quickly as the steam was sucked by the cracked walls. "Look at you," he muttered to his reflection, a smirk playing at the corners of his mouth despite the disdain in his eyes. "The world's saddest clown, without even the dignity of a painted smile."
This used to work, you used to be clever. Giuliano could once deflect the sharp edges of his reality with humor, a jest to soften the blow of each new disappointment. But as he stood there, the dampness of the towel clinging to his waist, he realized the act was wearing thin. The laughter that once served as his shield now sounded more like the desperate cackles of a man teetering on the brink.
"Cheer up, Giuliano," he said to his reflection, the words laced with irony. "You're starting to sound like a protagonist from one of those depressing novels. What's next, brooding in the rain and lamenting the futility of existence?" With a sigh, Giuliano turned away from his reflection, the remnants of steam now dissipating, taking with it the little comfort it offered. Dressing himself in the cumbersome uniform, each piece a layer of armor against a world that felt increasingly hostile, yet easier to accept when given a role. It was a familiar ritual, yet each day, it seemed to hold less meaning, the fabric a little heavier, a little more suffocating.
He adjusted the collar, straightening the fabric with a resigned tug, he couldn't help but reflect on the irony of it all. Here he was, preparing to face another day in the grand circus of life, and yet, he felt more like a performer who had forgotten his lines, stumbling through each act, waiting for the final curtain to fall.
As he faced the mirror once more, fully dressed, the reflection seemed to mock him—a faded clown without his makeup, the scars and stories laid bare. His eyes, dark and tired, betrayed a weariness that sleep could never cure.
"This used to work," The realization that his coping mechanisms were no longer effective left him with a sense of emptiness, a performer without an audience, a clown without his laughter. "Forgetting your pills again?" The words, sudden and feeling foreign, came out of his mouth without conscious effort as his hand went to the empty prescription bottle. At least now I have weekend plans.
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Shaking off the lingering thoughts, he turned his attention to the day ahead, the routine tasks awaiting him—a performance in its own right, each act meticulously rehearsed yet devoid of the passion it once held.
Soon, joining the sound of wind cutting between the worn walls of his house, were the noise of objects falling onto the floorboards with muted thuds, and the mechanically clacking against the bowl. Hunger gnawed at Giuliano's stomach, sending waves of nausea that almost made him retch, but the sight of the soggy, bulk-bought cereal quickly quelled his appetite.
His gaze shifted from his breakfast to a piece of distorted wood that, when he squinted, resembled a witch perched on her broom. The wood bulged out in the right places to create a floppy hat, a rather stick-thin body, and a line of darker wood in the format of what could almost be called a broom.
Halting Giuliano's appreciation of the witch, was weight on his lap. With her luxurious gray fur, Myst locked eyes with him, her stare demanding and entitled. A smile spread across Giuliano's face as his hands found their way under her chin. Expertly navigating her head to scratch her favorite spots, "Who's the little girl who almost suffocated daddy? It's you, It's you!"
Before long, a sharp pain shot up his right leg. Looking down he saw Pounce. Her orange eyes gleamed smugly as she raked her claws down his leg, daring him to protest. Myst's emerald eyes looked at Giuliano with indignation as he moved one of his hands away from her, and towards Pounce, who promptly scampered away before he could touch her.
Giuliano often questioned why he put up with her orange cat behavior, but then she would rub herself against his leg or meow for his touch, and he would even forget why he was angry.
Not to be outdone, the sharp crack of glass breaking announced Whisker's gift. A piece of a cup skittered across the floor, stopping by his booted feet, while Whisker himself continued his spirited dash through the house, becoming a gray blur and bringing chaos in its wake. This one, he knew why he put up with him. He couldn't get rid of him; Giuliano tried before, but with the number of cracks in the house, he always found his way back inside.
"How long will this last?" he questioned, pulling Myst's head close to his as if she would answer him. The warmth of the moment was tinged with the cold anticipation of loss. Myst was currently trying her best to imitate an engine with her constant purring, her tongue licking the tip of his nose, "At least someone's happy I'm alive," A chuckle escaped his lips; he couldn't deny his fondness for the chaos his animals brought into his life. "You're my favorite, you know that, right?" He then booped her nose, sealing their secret as she stared at his finger before biting it.
These mornings could get expensive, with Whisker's propensity to being a general hazard, but he valued them—shooting pains, breaking glass, and all. They were one of the few reasons he kept going, the why he kept getting out of bed and doing his repetitive job day after day.
His thoughts were broken by the blaring of his cell phone, what was once a favorite song, screaming that it was time to start the day. Lazily picking up his phone, he silenced the alarm marked '4 AM'.
Sighing, Giuliano glanced at the untouched cereal before unceremoniously tossing the bowl into the sink. It clanked as it landed on its side, its contents spilling over the counter and dripping onto the floor. This was precisely what Pounce had been waiting for. She eagerly leaped onto the sink, tail swishing side to side, as she lapped the spilled milk.
"That's a problem for future Giuliano," Giuliano murmured, watching the floorboards soak up the milk.
As he got up, Myst, ever the diva, meowed her disapproval, jumping from his lap as he made his way to the door. After cracking it open, Whisker blurred past him, released into the pre-dawn chill. The cold air kissed Giuliano's cheeks, enveloping him in a chilling embrace as his breath misted in the weak breeze.
An intense chill seized him just as he stepped outside, wanting to freeze his blood as an inexplicable cold crept into his bones, forcing him to wrap his arms around himself for warmth.
"Another lovely day. Just like how I remembered it."
The sun was just giving the first signs of painting the horizon when Giuliano was halfway to the bus stop, the first hints of warmth sinking into his skin. His pace slowed as he took the feeling, savoring a moment where only the instinctual need for warmth existed. With the soft padding of his boots now meeting the concrete, he was taken out of the sun, blocked by towering buildings where people slaved away their days in their cubicles.
While his body consumed the warmth, thoughts slowly trickled to his mind, and his head turned skywards, where even during the darkest of nights stars wouldn't be visible due to light pollution. The warmth soon disappeared and thoughts returned to the conscious part of his brain. Thoughts shoved to the corners of his mind seeped back to the forefront, whispering words of another life into his tired brain.
The temptation to start another life, to just say fuck it and resign. Was four hours of total commute worth his salary? Surely there were better jobs closer that didn't force him to get up almost three hours before his shift. Or just give up and try making a living online; his drawings were decent, and he nearly finished uni in programming. Maybe try being a freelancer and make extra cash in game jams.
The shaking of the earth interrupted his train of thought, scattering his ideas to the winds as he waited for the next act, but the resounding boom never came. Strange, Giuliano thought, stopping in his tracks. Living near a quarry had accustomed him to explosions, but the lack of sound irked him for some reason.
Shaking his head, he dispersed the remaining intrusive thoughts and the weird feeling in his stomach.
Giuliano's job was not the best, but it was good. For the first time, he had a decent friendship circle, even forming a camaraderie with his coworkers that he came to value. They joked around when work was slow and sometimes shared lunches during breaks. His bosses acted more like guides, stating what needed to be done and watching so that no mistakes were made, but they didn't micromanage their every move, and he was even on good terms with two of them.
"Four years..." He murmured, "I've given enough to them. If in four years I'm not happy I'll look for something new. Or I could finally take the leap." Things were not the best, but decent was enough for now.
Just as his mind was set, he reached the bus stop, empty at that hour — the sun's light just now painting the horizon. Sitting on the metal bench and letting his back rest, he pulled out his phone, looking for something to mindlessly scroll through while waiting and deciding which song would be his next victim.
After a while, and ignoring some unread messages, his new alarm was set with a song he somewhat liked but didn't love. He didn't want to hate one of his favorites. When everything was set, the sound of the oncoming bus finally came from the end of the street.
Giuliano took the bus quite early, being the sole person at his stop, but a few faces could already be seen leaning against the window inside the bus, some even bearing the same uniform as him. People who had it worse than him
As Giuliano boarded the bus, he greeted the familiar mustached driver, mustering a smile that didn't reach his eyes. "Morning, Jack," he offered with a semblance of cheer in his voice. "Off to the grind, to pretend our lives have meaning?"
The driver, Jack, gave a hearty chuckle, well-accustomed to Giuliano's brand of humor. "Every day, Giuliano. But who knows, maybe today's the day everything changes."
Shaking his head, Giuliano gave his hug morning hug to Jack before searching for a window seat, offering a half-hearted wave and smile to those awake or not wearing headphones.
The old bus coughed to life with the energy of an elderly smoker. Passengers staggered back and forth a few times before the bus settled into a soft hum, sending vibrations felt by everyone inside. If everything goes alright, this bus will outlive me.
After settling himself comfortably, Giuliano looked out of the window, taking in the warm glass and sunlight. More often than not, he was one of the last ones to be picked up by the bus, but on rare occasions, he would see a straggler reaching the bus stop late or picking the wrong bus. Those moments usually got a chuckle out of him, it was some light gossip material. After nothing happened, the bus was set on its way.
As the bus trundled along its familiar route, Giuliano's monotonous commute and the drudgery of his job loomed over him like a cage.
Gazing out the window, the passing landscape became a blur of unchanging scenes, the same trees every day, the bare peak in the distance standing out like a bald man's head, with the first signs of new houses and a road being built. Then, the third wave of depressing thoughts reached his mind like the world's most eager part-timer.
What if it's all for nothing? Every day is just another act in the circus of existence. A promise of excitement that often delivers just another shade of disappointment.
Yet, as this thought settled, a counterpoint rose within him, a daring acrobat challenging the status quo. But what if it's not? What if it's the start of something new? This internal debate stretched like a tightrope, with Giuliano precariously balanced in the middle, the dark abyss of uncertainty yawning below. Too much hope and the balance pole would be too heavy, slipping between his fingers. The jeering of the audience would be his grand finale.
Too much despair, and he might as well leap himself. If the only objective for balancing is for the sake of it, then the void of uncertainty may bring liberation.
"Too much thinking. I'm not a philosophy major," he mumbled to himself, interrupting his train of thought.
Closing his eyes, Giuliano rested his head against the bumpy window. It was not real sleep, but the humming of the engine and occasional squeaking of the breaks helped him stave off tiredness until he got his morning coffee, and the manual labor kept him awake from then on.
With a sluggish mind, he thought of what to do with his money. Payday was approaching, and if Whisker didn't break many things and none of them got sick, he would have a good amount of leftover money to splurge on himself. He could maybe buy some wine, a bar of not-too-cheap chocolate, and, if the budget allowed, that indie game he had been eyeing for a while.
As the bus continued its journey, Giuliano remained caught between the acts of his life, each day a performance. With every breath, he played his part, a clown in a world too serious, too real for the makeup to hide the scars beneath.