Sunday, 27 November 2011

Being for the benefit of mister Kite.

This story is an own interpretation of this Beatles' song that appeared on their album Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band. Enjoy!

The enormous multicoloured circus tent was empty yet filled with sound when mister Kite's voice scattered through the space. “Where is Henry?!” he yelled, with his reddened face hidden under the inseperable old black hat. A deformed echo was his response.
Upon his arrival outside, Henderson had appeared, accompanied by one of the fiels of dark clouds the group had had to deal with for weeks in a row already. They seemed to follow mister Kite's grumpy head in order to pour rain on it and cool him down. Mister Kite, who had become so used to the darkened sky, didn't mention anything about the upcoming rain, but asked Henderson whether he had seen Henry the horse. “Henry?” the man asked and shrugged before he walked away. Henderson loathed the old mister Kite as much as he loathed Henry; both of them were old enough to be brought to the slaughterhouse, but unfortunately, the ethical laws of mankind did not allow a deed so cruel.
“And the band! Where the bloody hell are the band?! Those sons of a camel are supposed to start at ten to six!”, mister Kite raged to no one in particular. The lack of an answer encouraged the man to provoke his tirade to higher levels, and whilst mister Kite's blasphemy on the Sabbath continued, the laws of nature were almost defied - his hat was nearly set on fire by his furiosity, but luckily the rainy clouds had started dropping their liquid passengers. He didn't even notice.
It wasn't until five o'clock that mister Kite finally calmed down. The tent looked marvelous and the overwhelming scent of money sent mister Kite right to the cash deck. The customers approached his shelter slowly and after they had paid, Kite's greedy hands brought the coins to his mouth, in which his golden teeth were hungry to test whether the given money was real. He relievedly had to conclude that tonight's spectators were neither coin forgers, nor a bunch of scrooges. Kite, who was stisfied with the money and whose mood had obviously improved, ran to the stables to greet Henry and disappeared to his improvised dressing room soonly afterwards. The public was about to see a splendid show tonight! After months of preperation, Bishopsgate would be the first village to see his new act.
When he entered the tent, the public applauded loudly, as if they already knew what to expect. A smile appeared on mister Kite's face, that had never been as pale as it was now. He waved at the public while the trampolines were carried in. “Tonight, ladies and gentleman,” he announced, “you will be the first ones to see my spectacular new act!” The public started whispering, wondering what the new act would be. “I will jump through a hogshead of real fire”, mister Kite continued and took a large bow before he headed to the trampolines. He did not recall ever having seen an audience so excited. Tonight would be his night and after his big jump, he could compete with the stars that shone above them. “There we go,” he said to himself and casted his body towards the fire.
The audience however, stopped clapping their hands quickly after they saw what just had happened. The old man had set himself on fire and lay on the ground, while the flames pulverized his roasted body. The public flowed through the tent to find their way out, as if they themselves were the blood in the anguished vains of tonight's victim.
Henderson and the others arrived quickly, each of them carrying a bucket filled with water. After the fire had been overpowered, Henderson covered the corpse with a white blanket and whispered: “we both know this was for your own benefit,” before he left.

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