Freak Show

by Heather Nicholson

I bathed in the freak show and marveled at its magnificence—my fascination on the verge of obsession, my feral mind restless. There wasn’t any monster in particular that caught my attention. Rather it was the conglomerate, the collection a marvel, the group of misfits under the big top saturated in an independent darkness I’d never before witnessed.

The list I’d compiled, the list by which I defined myself, was destroyed. Complete deletion begged for reinvention. I didn’t want to be them. I wanted to bathe in their shadows, creep into their endless spectacle and hide in their bones forever.

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