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Why?

Why the dickens, not? 

Sunday, August 08, 2004

The Circus is over... For now

The Circus Trainer glances maliciously across the ring at the Circus Master. He tells himself, he shouldn't blame the Circus Master - it's the poor fellows bread and butter; he has no choice. He remembers, not without guilt, that it was for his own bread and butter that he, himself joined the Circus. But, it's always easier to blame someone else for ones failures. The trainer knows that he has failed; that is his burden.

The creatures given to him were wild, free, alive with the strange thing that is called curiosity; what more can one expect than the brilliance of freedom. He knew what was involved when he signed up for the circus; he cannot take comfort in the excuse that is ignorance. His job was to break them; to domesticate them; to teach them the wonderful 'tricks' that would make audiences laugh. Taming the wild was a difficult task, but in this he succeeded; not in his eyes though, but in the eyes of the powers that be, and of course, the inebriated audiences - Poor fools, some of them actually believe it's wild animals, unfettered wild animals, performing these amazing tricks. Yes, that was his doing; He took away the shackles that bound their limbs, and in it's stead imprisoned their very souls.

What choice did he have? It was his job. He couldn't grant them freedom by opening their cages and driving them into the wilderness; Even if he succeeded in this noble act, what would their future be? To be hunted and trapped by some hunter and to be trained by his successor. He saw the futility in this course of action. So he did the only thing he could do.

He tamed them and he trained them. He trained them to jump through hoops, turn cartwheels and play dead. But as he trained them, in these ridiculous acts, he also gave them a few, just a few tricks to help them escape; to save themselves. That was his plan. His own pride convinced him it was a good plan. And, many was the time when he thought it was working.

Yet, troupe after troupe of creatures went through his hands, but alas, none escaped. At first he was flabbergasted; he blamed the creatures; stupid he called them; in the next troupe there will be some.

The next troupe never came...

He sees the damage he's done, in their eyes, in their very movements. They have forgotten the wilderness; they've forgotten what it is to be free.

It is his failure - he admits that. But he must carry on, at least for a little while. Just a little while longer. But what about them? what hope for them?

urped by gumz @ 7:43 PM


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