Clown Show

Every night around 11pm, the television stations ran an entertainment program for adults, featuring all of the funniest clowns in the circus. They danced around and bashed each other on their heads and wore garish make up, all for our amusement. The show was so popular it got replayed on the cable stations all morning and afternoon. Many times they performed with trained chimps in human clothes that we found cute and funny, because they acted just like real people.

Then, one day, every adult in the country decided to stop watching. We finally realized that clowns are for kids.

Amusement Parked

One day city visit. While parents shopped around, brother and I went to an amusement park.

We knew what we wanted to ride. Had to first go past bumping cars, carousels and the like in the kiddie section. When I spotted the roller coaster in the distance, we ran for it.

One of the biggest, a newscaster once said. The TV screen showed riders gripped with terror, rolling down in lightning speed, screaming all the way. Adrenaline rush for sure.

“Sorry, kiddos,” an attendant hollered. “Closed down for maintenance. Should be running in a day or two.”

We weren’t amused.

From Guest Contributor Krystyna Fedosejevs

Krystyna writes poetry, fiction, and creative nonfiction regardless of the season, although she prefers spring.

Abedabun

Abedabun weaves baskets while her father makes arrowheads. The sun is warm against her face and she tires of the mundane ritual but does not complain when her father rubs a droplet of sweat from her cheek with affection.

Her mother is by the river collecting herbs, humming in tune with the birds, while her brother and sister collect insects for amusement.

Hiawatha, the finest young man in the tribe, approaches Abedabun and her father with a token of marriage, a deer slung over his broad shoulders.

She stops her work and looks to her father.

Hiawatha’s token is accepted.

From Guest Contributor Lisa M. Scuderi-Burkimsher

In The Spirit Of Amusement

Amusement Park. Strange name. Bet there are more unamused adults than young children. Heard Uncle Max scream. Saw him vomit on the Ferris Wheel, again. After he said he couldn’t stomach it. Cousins bashed themselves manoeuvring bumper cars. Their dads were not amused. Neither was the ride operator. Too much cotton candy caused my sweet tooth to sour at the dentist’s. We tried the Swing Carousel. I sat with Dad. The swing in front of us was empty. Would’ve been filled if the father of a toddler didn’t have a tantrum. They relocated at the merry-go-round. I preferred the Pendulum.From Guest Contributor Krystyna Fedosejevs

Krystyna is a writer of poetry, fiction, and creative nonfiction. She resides in Edmonton, Canada with her husband and stuffed animals and many friends.

Spending A Penny Dreadful

The Fleadh Ceoil festival was at its height. Those who hadn’t arrived early were relegated to rural camp-sites.

Still, even on the outskirts of the small Kerry village the women’s toilets were dutifully labelled with the Gaelige ‘MNA.’ It wouldn’t do for traditional/folk festivals to be less than authentic.

The next generation of the attending family carnivals had finished their setting-up chores and, thankful of the break, watched with some amusement as the drunk approached with strained gait and increasing urgency until finally bursting into the ‘Ladies,’ zip down.

Screams.

"Must be a wil’ handling being dyslexic," one mused.

From Guest Contributor Perry McDaid