I must have been… not taller than 40 centimeters, so, quite young.
My parents took me to a circus show. It was raining that night, an omen of what was to come, but we were already seated under the circus tent, so what was probably hell’s water didn’t touch us.
I was my usual self, exploding with anticipation on the inside, but keeping a steely exterior, while we waited.
A pair of clowns came out and started doing some routine. One of the clowns had cotton-candy pink hair, it was like a pink cloud resting on top of his head. I don’t remember the other clown well, let’s say he had blue hair and was a creature that came from where nightmares are made. He convinced the cotton-candy-haired clown to have a makeover.
Fool. Why would you change such majestic fluffy hair?
Mr. Nightmare proceeded to put one of those professional standing hair-dryers on Captain Fluff, who was hopeful, thinking he would look even more beautiful after this treatment.
My 2 (or 3) year old tiny self wasn’t expecting what was about to happen, neither did Captain Fluff. It was cruel, to say the least. His hopes were shattered as Mr. Nightmare took the hair-dryer off, revealing black, thick hair, that looked as if it was terrified of itself.
My eyes were bursting with tears as I saw this injustice occur. My screams resonated throughout the tent. I was horrified because, you know, pink turned to black. How was that possible? I uttered words no one knew I knew, not even I knew I knew them. I screamed, “panic clown”, and repeated this phrase at the top of my lungs until my parents got the hint and took me out of that atrocious place.
And that’s why clowns are evil creatures from the depths of hell.