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Clown the Jester -> RE: (HS) The Madness of Clown the Jester (5/20/2012 11:35:14)
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Story One: The People of the Night
It was that time again. The time for his little venture back to the City. It wasn’t dated or on a calendar…it was something He had to feel in his bones and his unnatural flesh.
He took the trip to the gothic clock tower known as Overlook while the sun was up…which probably explained why he was in such ill spirits. Never was much of a fan of the sun…reminded him of his appearance. Reminded him of just how much he had lost…and just how much he couldn’t remember he lost. He walked there from the closest thing to a home he ever knew.
Fairgrounds.
He killed three people on the way to the tower. First one he stabbed thirteen times a man who lived in an apartment complex, #789. The second killing occurred in a local toy store, he strangled the owner with the string of his Yo-Yo…however before leaving, he helped himself to a baseball and two catchers mitts. He wasn’t sure why his choice of items. Never did like sports. But the impulse was far too strong to be suppressed.
The third, a cop who tried to trail him from the second killing. Off duty and without a police radio. But the cop had a gun. A FAT DISGUSTING COP! He never liked the idea of Law Enforcements. They were the grunt soldiers of Order and Reason. Two things he couldn’t equally stand…check that…he felt order was less tolerable than Reason…wait…no. Reason was worse. Yes…reason…DAW….was it the worse one? No…it had to be the “Champion of Good”. HYPOCRITE! BUTCHER! MANIAC! God he was the perfect adversary.
But back to the grunts of the Law. The Cops. Giving out parking tickets like candy and bringing down the law on speeding cars while banks were being robbed and people getting killed. As He climbed the spiral stairs to the roof of the large gothic Clock Tower, he heard the cop following from behind.
As the cop reached the roof access door, he opened it to find himself staring face to face with the City’s and maybe even the World’s most infamous serial killer. Clown the Jester. The Police officer stared into the Harlequin's demented eyes, loosing his courage and reason. He was nothing more than a sacrificial lamb...just waiting to be slaughtered by the wolf...or perhaps hyena.
"Howdy Officer," Clown the Jester hissed, advancing on the terrified cop. "What seems to be the problem? Was I speeding?"
The Clown decided to have fun with the Cops death. A lot of fun. Bloody fun.
"WA HA HA HA HEE HEE HEE HOO HOO HOO!" Clown the Jester shrieked with laughter, drawing out from his sleeves two switch blades. "HEE HEE HEE HA HA HA...ffnnkk...Yes...HA HA HA! YES...WA HA HA HA!"
……………………………………………………………………………..
Clown the Jester stood on the edge of Overlook Tower, peering down at the city life so far bellow. He had been leaning on the side railing for the past six hours. Listening to the rustling wind, feeling the cold night air chilling his bones. There was something incredible about experiencing the city at night.
Nothing could pry him away from this rooftop. Not even that rude police ham that pestered him earlier. Hadn’t even taken the time to whip the drops of blood off his purple trench coat and top hat from the disgusting cop. Hadn’t even removed the eighteen knives that he had stabbed into the fat cop. Mementos for the Super City Police Department Evidence Locker. And a memento for the city morgue.
Why was the Ringleader of Chaos there, on the ledge of Overlook Clock Tower? No reason…at least Clown the Jester didn’t think there was a reason. Only explanation could be it was his favorite time of the day. It was night time...the infinite stars..somehow shining through the city lights. It was one…maybe two in the morning. Peaceful. Tranquil. Hardly a soul wandering.
No never ending herds of rushing fools, rushing without destinations rushing past one another with Hal-Droids glued to their ears. Ignoring one another…glaring at each other with hate and paranoia. The Streets weren’t empty…there were someone people venturing out so late…but they were different than the Rat Race. These were the people of the night. The people that Clown the Jester could tolerate.
A desperate criminal with a starving family, stealing a wallet from the crooked corporate moneybags to buy food for his starving family.
A hard working and underpaid father stepping out of his apartment, turning to gives his seven year old son one last hug before he went out for his shift patrolling some dangerous street, no doubt his inconvenient work hours prevented him from being able to spend time with the son he loved.
A homeless couple sharing the remains of stale bread, shivering in the cold.
A blind street musician playing his accordion on the street curb. No doubt he had dreams of joining a band or orchestra. Now he could do nothing more than play on the streets for change to be thrown into a hat. But he still played his accordion, playing with all his heart and soul in his music…wishing for someone to recognize his musical talents. Slowly starving himself to death, but refusing to leave his music.
These were the people Clown the Jester admired. These were people who dealt with hardships and trials that any sane person would have surrendered to. They took whatever the world threw at em…and refused to go down without a fight. They were the American Dreamers…wishing their Dreams and wishing for their Dreams to come true.
Their existence was in no way connected to the endless struggles of Good and Evil. They were the common folk. They were the representatives of humanity. The Harlequin’s eyes shifted from one figure to the other. He felt a connection to these people. The people of the night and Clown the Jester were kindred spirits. He felt their pain. They experienced his frustrations of society. They were him.
Clown the Jester stared down at his people…his heart heavy from their grief. Then something caught his attention. The father/patrolman was approaching an alley where the desperate robber was lurking. Both had their guns raised. Surly their encounter was inevitable...and would bring their mutual deaths. Clown the Jester couldn’t let this happen.
Never. Not to his people. Clown the Jester decided to intervene.
The mugger caught the patrol man off guard, pistol whipping the rent-a-cop across the head. The guard fell to the ground, aiming up his own gun. Both men had their guns trained on one another, fingers on the triggers.
“I just want your money,” the desperate robber hissed, fear in his voice, the gun trembling in his clenched hands. “Drop the gun and give me your money.”
“Not happening,” The Patrol man said, his voice calm and without fear.
“You aren’t a superhero man,” The robber warned, his finger closing on the trigger. “I’ll do it. I’ll kill you. Don’t mess with me.”
“You don’t scare me,” The Patrol man replied, his finger closing on the trigger. “I’m willing to die a hero.”
BANG!
BANG!
The two men stared at one another, waiting to see which one of them was to fall from the shots. A criminal who stole for survival and a Police Guard who wanted his son to look at his old man as a hero and not a loser.
However, neither fell. The Patrol man glanced down and saw a bullet floating in the air, making it’s way towards his heart. The Robber saw a slowly advancing bullet heading for his stomach. They stared at one another, trying to understand why their bullets were moving at such inconceivable delay.
“Nice night,” Clown the Jester hissed from behind the startled men, plucking one of the frozen bullets from the air and examining in-between his fingers. “Bit slow though…Heh…Isn’t it?”
“Oh God,” The Patrol man gasped, backing away from the serial killer reality bender Harlequin.
The Robber’s jaw dropped as he let out a silent scream. Clown the Jester began to advance on the two men, giggling menacingly.
“Heh heh heh. Hee Hee Hee. Heh heh…ffnnkk…Ha Ha Ha Ha.”
The Robber raised up his gun and cried out, “NO! GET BACK! STAY AWAY FROM ME!”
Clown the Jester’s grotesque smile stretched with amusement. With a calm snap of the Jester’s fingers, the Robber’s gun morphed into a plastic water gun. The Robber dropped the water gun as if it was a rattle snake, backing away. Knowing it was pointless to run or scream.
“Tut tut…HEE HEE..my good...HOO HOO…good friends,” Clown the Jester scolded through fits of giggles, wagging a finger at the Robber. “With such a peaceful night like this…how can you two think about blowing one another’s brains out? Go home. Both of you. You have families that love you.”
With that, Clown the Jester removed his top hat and reached a hand into his topper, drawing out two brown paper bags. He shoved them into the Patrol man’s and the Robber’s arms.
“Merry Smashmas, friends,” The Clown hissed, replacing his top hat over his messy purple hair. “Santa’s a little early this year…but you’ve had these presents coming for a long time.”
The Robber glanced into his bag. It was filled to the top with…with…The Robber drew out one of the countless hundred dollar bills holding up to his face, shaking his head in disbelief. He stumbled off into the darkness without another word, unable to think of anything to say.
The Patrol man drew out from his bag his gifts. In one hand, he held out a resume for L.O.C.K.D.O.W.N. Maximum Security Prison, already filled out with his information. In his other hand he held two baseball gloves and a baseball. The Patrol Man stared up at the Clown with a confused look.
“I think you’ll find good old L.O.C.K.D.O.W.N. has a bit better a salary and convenient hours than your current occupation. I know a guy there who’s just dying to do me a favor that he owes me and will be happy to welcome you to the staff,” Clown the Jester rasped, patting the patrol man’s arm. “But for now…Go home, get your kid and go play Catch somewhere. Aurora Park’s pretty quiet this time of night Don’t worry, I’ll keep an eye on your street.”
“But…but you’re the Clown,” The Patrol man said, unable to understand the turn of events. “You killed all those people…why…why are you doing this for me? I…I don’t understand.”
“Guess I’m having a mood swing. So sue me,” Clown the Jester mused with a shrug of his shoulders. “I’m kinda a father myself…in a way. Go on, your burning night light, go spend time with your kid.”
The Patrol Man did go. Playing catch with his son reminded him of his own childhood, playing catch with his own father. He had never had the time to play catch with his son due to his work hours. God it felt good to finally spend time with his boy.
The homeless couple were huddled together in an alley. The husband gave his share of his stale bread, refusing to take it back from his protesting wife. They covered themselves with newspapers in an attempt to keep warm…but it was all in vain.
If someone was to starve, the man thought to himself. It should be him. Not his wife. Not her. She deserved better.
A figure in a purple trench coat and top hat passed their alley, tossing something onto the woman’s lap.
The man opened his mouth to shout at the stranger when he saw the figure’s face. Saw his chalk white skin, animal eyes, and twisted grin.
“Nice night, isn’t it?” Clown the Jester asked, peering down at the newspapers that the couple were trying to use as coverings. “Your dedication to literature is profound. I mean…I’ve heard of reading in bed…but this newspaper bed sheet takes the cake. Hard core literary buffs I see.”
The wife let out a gasp and gripped her husband’s arm and pointed down at the object the Ringleader of Chaos threw at her. A gold key with the apartment number #789 carved into it.
“What…what’s the key for?” The homeless man asked, gripping his wife’s hand tightly.
“The room you will be staying in. Ain’t much…but I bet it beats the cold,” Clown the Jester answered, motioning to an apartment complex across the street. Don’t worry about rent. It’s covered.”
The husband and wife exchanged glancing. They didn’t know what to do. Refuse a present from the Ringleader of Chaos? There had to be a catch. With someone like Clown the Jester. Nothing’s free. Nothing. What was it? What was the dark price they would have to pay?
“What do you want for the room?” The wife asked, her eyes a mix of hope and fear.
Clown the Jester stooped down and removed one of the news pages from the husband’s lap, glancing it over quickly. After a moment, the Clown smiled, and nodded his head in satisfaction.
“Just your funny pages,” Clown the Jester rasped, holding the cartoon page up for the couple to see. “I’m just dying to see how that Blockhead and that Big Fat Cat are doing. HEE HEE HEE HEE HEE! Now go on you love birds. Oh…and do wipe your feet before entering.”
The couple ran off, entering the apartment complex, and searching the upper levels for room #789. They found it, did as the Clown requested and scrapped their dirty sneakers against the front mat, inserted the golden key and opened the apartment door. Holding their breath, they peered inside. The Wife let out a sob of joyous tears at the sight a fairly furnished room, pantries stocked with a lifetime’s supply of canned foods. And waiting on the dinner table, in front of the lit fireplace, was a large turkey, cooked to perfection and awaiting to be eaten.
The blind street musician didn’t hear Clown the Jester approach him from behind, cradling a small box under his arm. It wasn’t until the Harlequin sat beside the musician on the street curb and cleared his throat did the accordion player realize he wasn’t alone. Startled, he paused in his music.
“Nice night,” Clown the Jester remarked, carefully laying the box on the sidewalk.
“I suppose it is,” The musician replied, wincing from hunger pangs.
“How long have you been playing?” Clown the Jester asked, studying the accordion in the man’s hands with interest.
“Eighteen years,” the musician replied, his voice weary and tired. His body was sunken and sick.
“The time shows in your music,” Clown the Jester said. “I’ve listened to ya over the past couple of months.”
“I…You have?” the accordion player asked, his sullen face beginning to brighten. “Didn’t think many people still appreciated the Accordion in this age.”
“I do,” Clown the Jester said. “I also appreciate talent and skill. And you have both, friend. Don’t ever doubt that.”
“You like my…music?” the accordion player asked, his eyes twinkling behind his dark glasses.
“Loved it. Your music was emotion. It was…amazing,” Clown the Jester hissed, placing his hand on the blind man’s shoulder. “Helped me think…calm the demons in my head. Ya know? Nothing’s ever been able to do…that.”
“Thank you,” the musician said, his voice cracking. “Thank you.”
“May I play with you?” Clown the Jester asked, reaching into the small box beside his legs and drawing out an old violin and bow. “It would mean a lot.”
The musician’s head nodded slowly and he answered, “Yes…It would mean a lot to me as well.”
With that, he took back up his accordion and began to play. A sad, woeful song filled with emotion and passion. Clown the Jester closed his eyes, resting his violin under his chin and listened to the music. Then he raised up his bow and began to play. A sad, woeful song filled with emotion and passion.
They played for hours. Sometimes playing duets, other times taking turns at playing, and sometimes playing their own music and rhythms. Tears trickled down the accordion player’s face. He didn’t feel his pangs of hunger, nor pain of losing his sight. They were both so meaningless. He was happy. God he was happy. He had never played with as much spirit and skill as he did tonight.
They played until the first glimpses of light. They played until the enchanting sound of the accordion ended. Until the last breath of life left the accordion player. Clown the Jester paused in his music, knowing his duet partner was gone.
Clown the Jester lifted his chin out from under the string instrument. He kissed the violin, feeling his tears trickle down the fine strings, and then he replaced it and the bow back into their case. The Harlequin turned his eyes upon the lifeless musician, his instrument lying at his side. The Clown carefully picked up the accordion and placed it on it’s owner’s chest, wrapping the blind man’s limp arms around his instrument.
As he pulled himself to his feet, Clown the Jester drew an Ace of Spades out from his purple trench coat pocket and tossed it skillfully into the musician’s hat. The Jester tipped his hat in respect to the master of the accordion.
“Bravo,” He rasped, taking up his violin case and beginning the walk back home. “Encore, Encore.”
But there was no encore. As there were no more people of the night. For now…maybe their would be others. Maybe Clown the Jester would help these others…maybe he would just kill them.
Who knew?
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