[ON HOLD]
Katie, a fifteen year old girl lives in a circus with her family. They keep pressuring her until overworking herself every day and she keeps getting bullied by her colleagues.
One day, she decides to end it all and escapes from her so call...
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"What is it, Clownface? Too scared to speak up, huh?"
...
"HAHAHA! I THOUGHT SO!"
"Shut up, Madeliene."
Suddenly, she went silent as others looked at me, their eyes widening.
"What the fuck did you just say to me?" - she asked, clearly angry and suprised I actually talked back.
"I told you to shut your dirty, mother fucking mouth...
You stupid ass fucking bitch."
I got up and brushed my clothes off, fixing some wrinkles on the skirt.
Madeliene glared at me, clearly pissed. Suddenly, she started running towards me, her hands in front of her to probably pin me onto the ground.
I moved to the side as Madeliene flew past me, now screaming in fear as she hit a small tent, luckily not ripping it apart.
She was lying on the ground, crying and whining as others went to help her.
I stood there for a minute, watching her cry before a few people glared at me, some of them yelling at me and blaming me for almost making Madeliene break her limbs.
I scoffed at them and continued making my way to the main tent.
"Of course they'd take her side. She's the owner's daughter after all."
After about three minutes of walking, I entered the tent. Looking up I saw an acrobat walking on a rope.
She looked down at me and waved gently. I waved back with a smile on my face.
"She must be new." - I thought, walking into the backroom.
"Otherwise, she wouldn't wave at me like that..."
After sitting down at my table, I noticed something written on a mirror.
"You're a murderer and you always will be. We all hate you." - it said, written over the mirror in blood red lipstick.
I sighed, taking an old peice of cloth that was laying on the table and wiping down the mirror. It's been happening for about five years by now. I would wake up, get insulted by everyone, finish the show and cry myself to sleep.
