The ringmaster

The Ringmaster enjoys the cries and pleas of his acts. He enjoys the thrill of seeing pure, innocent fear in the eyes of whom he chases. He has no face, just a complete black mask with a single horizontal red line, marking his lips. His penguin vest and red, decaying carnation neatly in place. Pressed pants and shiny shoes to complete his spiffy outfit.A top hat decorates his head, just to add a bit of class. What really strikes fear in a soul's eyes is the crack of his whip. A leather whip with an extraordinary silver handle. The whip itself, made of dried human skin. Each time the Ringmaster cracks his whip, agonizing human screams fills the room. Such painful and sorrow sounds, souls trapped for all eternity. The handle is where the Ringmaster keeps those unfortunate souls. Those unlucky to wake up before he traps their soul into his decorative silver handle. The Ringmaster has such a torturous way of catching his potential acts for the night. It starts as a simple disturbing dream, one that you can shrug off in the morning. You'll be in the audience of a circus, just you. The Ringmaster will introduce himself in a silky, yet pompous voice that thunders throughout the tent. He'll crack his sinister whip, and you'll hear them. The painful, agonizing screams of the trapped. It seems like it goes on forever, even though it was only a couple of seconds. You'll startle awake and find you still have plenty of time to sleep left. It goes on like this for a couple of nights, each night the Ringmaster will crack the whip multiple times until you, yourself, start screaming at the top of your lungs. You'll be afraid to sleep, afraid to hear those screams that seem to entrap your own soul. Soon the ringmaster will come for you; he is training you. Just as you think the screams stop, it gets worse. You'll start waking up in the middle of the ring itself. Facing a decaying lion roaring its stake breath right into your nose. You'll look around in terror and spot the Ringmaster, whip in hand. You hear the screams and as if you where being controlled, you put your hand inside the lion's dead mouth. Just as his mouth is about to snap shut, you hear those horrible screams and you jolt awake. Realizing it was only a dream. Every night the Ringmaster has something new for you. Testing you, whipping you, making sure you do the stunts correctly and effortlessly. You've made the long walk on a tightrope, making sure you don't fall into the flaming pit below. Feeding those hungry decaying animals their juicy and bloody meat. You never see anybody else around except the Ringmaster, smiling slyly in the middle of his ring, waiting for a reason to let those screams out. The Ringmaster has gotten so amused with you, by this point, he craves your new talents. He keeps a watchful eye on you, whether you're awake or asleep. You'll hear these screams, feel the hot flames of the tight rope and even confuse the domestic pets for the decaying circus animals. One night you'll go to sleep, and the Ringmaster will be waiting for you. In the middle of his ring, with all those wonderful decaying animals. Those hungry decaying animals stare at you as the belle of the ball. The Ringmaster cracks his whip harder than before, the screams almost breaking through your eardrums. Again he lashes the air with his whip. The screams grow louder and you drop to your knees. He circles around you as a thin smile forms on his blank face. Again these captured screams fill the air. The decaying animals Just staring at your pain, waiting. The Ringmaster strides closer to you, looking down at your pain. And with a swift move , whips you right on your back. You can't move, you can't scream. You feel your very soul leaving your body, making it impossible for you to even kneel. Again he lashes your back. You feel your skin tear, but no blood runs down. Your scream is taken away by the extravagant silver handle, and your skin tightens. The ship cracks once more, and you look down, seeing all your muscles exposed. After the Ringmaster traps your soul in his silver handle, your scre