Behind The Curtain: The Trapeze Swing

The twins are all eerie smiles,  pale hands, blonde hair. From my trapeze swing, I feel their gazes.

The only thing worse is the clawing, clawing, clawing on my legs, my ankles, my feet. Tearing through my stockings, sharp like razors.

Through my tears, I see them, the faces of demons and imps leering and sneering. Lips and teeth snapping and grazing, my vision is fading. Stinging, it's stinging but I must keep swinging.

The smoke smells sweet and rotten and cloying, I want to stop breathing, it's all overwhelming. Why do they watch me, why do they scratch me? I must keep swinging, not stopping, keep swinging.

It's kittens that scratch me, not imps, not demons. My legs are stinging, but I was wrong, it's only kittens.

My legs, my ankles, my feet are bleeding. I'm not swinging, I'm swaying. My thoughts are reeling.

The twins smile sweetly, hands pale, hair blonde. I'm not swinging, I'm swaying. Where's my swing? I'm resting.  On a cushion, hands folded, skirt pleated.

Still the smoke is sweet and rotten and cloying. Under the door it escapes, twirling and swirling, touching my nose in tendrils unfurling. 

The twins do not move, do not twitch, do not blink. The door opens and father tumbles and fumbles out with the smoke. The fellow who follows holds a pipe that is billowing. It's smell is sweet and rotten and cloying.
              

                  ****

This, my first piece of Flash Fiction, has been brought to you by The Dark Queene , Anna Meade. She waved her hawthorne wand and my mind became hazy. I signed up for this little contest, not truly to win it since the contenders are some of the sharpest scribes on the planet, but just to see what I could come up with.

Through the link below, you may visit the parties responsible for the heart-breakingly beautiful Flash Fiction I mentioned previously.

If you made it this far, thanks for checking it out, and have a fabulous weekend!