The Unusual Guardian

Prologue: "'Let My Opera Begin'!"

*Title name from Phantom of the Opera by Andrew Lloyd Webber

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People were right...freaky. I stare at the red and white striped tent tentatively, feeling the urge to take a slight step back. I resist the temptation. I don't know what the appeal is, I wonder to myself. Why did we-?

"Why did we come here again?" I voice aloud.

"Because it's the hottest thing in town and we were bored, remember?" Tiffany drags a brush through her black and purple striped hair, giving it two long, smooth strokes before returning the brush back into her purse. If it could be called a purse. "Backpack" would be more fitting as it is home to all sorts of "Tiffany necessities", but she would find the term vulgar.

"Yeah," chimes Sam, "and what else is there for four sexy females to do...but go see the circus...on a Friday night." The cheesy smile slowly forms into a scowl. Her blonde spiky hair, long fingernails, and penciled eyebrows make her appear to be all points and no curves. Just like her personality. "Why couldn't we have just gone to a club?"

"Like we do almost every Friday night? We needed a change-up!" Lee smiles brightly, her teeth twinkling from the bright lights. She seems to be the only one who is truly excited about tonight's events.

"But why a circus? And a circus that exhibits freaks, at that!" Sam purses her lips.

Tonight's change of plans have definitely been hardest for her. She lives at the club. She loves the provocative dancing and the liquor, but mostly, she's in it for the game. She has a perverse obsession of degrading men. She reels them into her clutches, pets them, coos at them, soothes their egos, then rips them to shreds once they're completely vulnerable to her.

The rest of us find it unhealthy, but what can we do? Talking to her about it just causes her to turn her claws on us. Each of us has been scratched once by her, none of us wish to feel that again.

Albeit, don't we all have our own odd obsessions, healthy or not? We all know Sam's obsession. The others...

Tiffany adores hair. It's her life. And anyone who doesn't know her would only have to give her one fleeting glance to understand what she's all about: hair. Whether it's hers or not. She's given professional advice to us all, which is why our hair couldn't have been better, yet the master conquers us all. She has, without a doubt, the healthiest, sleekest, shiniest hair amongst us. Black is her natural color, the purple that's added in are all hair clips, cleverly hidden so no one discovers the clip. Tiffany avoids dye likes it's the plague.

Lee is a possible earth-born homo sapien who greatly resembles Luna Lovegood from the Harry Potter series. She's just as weird and dreamy. Lee's attracted to anything "unique" and it's attracted to her, thankfully-and I believe all of us are unanimous when I say-no psychopaths have crossed her path just yet. She finds narcissists, psychopaths, and serial killers fascinating. She researches them and reads their crimes at night like they're delicious, childhood bedtime stories. Once she even tried to sneak into an institution for the mentally insane. She got caught within the hour, but spoke to some very incredible individuals according to her. So a freak circus show is right up her alley.

And my obsession?

A horn honks to my left. I jump, hair on end. The clown who I suspect made the horrid sound waddles around us. His obscenely, red smile feels more fake than anything else around the vicinity, as if to say, "It only looks like I'm smiling, in reality, I'm frowning." Illusions can trick the minds of those who only wish for a different, maybe even better, reality.

"Oh, what a happy clown," claps Lee, smiling gleefully. The clown honks his horn again. Tiffany and Sam relish their disgust.

I stay neutral as I turn to stare at the huge tent. Inside are people screaming and cheering delightfully, yet piercingly. I hear sparkles, swooshes, boings, booms, and pings. I hear the circus. And inside are people who are demonstrating their oddities.

Is this what he experienced...?

My heart races.

Lee giggles, jumping up and down like a rabbit. "Let's go in! Let's go, let's go, let's go!"

Sam groans. "Alright. Fine." She stomps ahead of us, flipping over the tent flap. "Come on! I want to be done with this as soon as possible."

Lee runs inside, giddy as a school-girl facing her high school crush. Tiffany flips her hair and walks in with her nose pointed up in the air. It's not meant to appear snobbish, she just walks with pride. I hesitate before taking two petite steps. I peek through the tent door. It's just as hectic as any other cir-

Something furry and itchy gets thrown in my face.

A nasally, "Here you go," resounds from my right. I ignore the voice. In my hand is a monkey playing the tambourines. My heart stills.

And my obsession?

My obsession relates to books, movies, languages, music, masquerades, and masks. It involves opera, and a man named Erik, who used to peruse the cellars underneath the Palais Garnier in Paris, France. He was a musician, architect, inventor, assassin, and many more. He had many names, but perhaps the most well known name was, and still is, The Phantom of the Opera. And he, is my obsession.

I clutch the monkey in my fists and follow my friends into the belly of the very hungry and very angry circus.