Commence Clowning [FICTION]

My reflection gazes back at me nervously from the glass. I force a wide grin and trace my lips with red grease paint, accentuating pulling the corners up my smile toward my ears. As I finish, I flash another toothy grin. Then my eyes wander across the rest of my features. Beads of sweat dot my pale forehead. I blot them away and generously apply white grease paint. I move downward, gently tracing around my rouged smile. When I finish, my own face disappears, replaced by Daisy, the sweet clown with the bright orange, Gerber daisy encircling her left eye.

“You’re ready for this,” I pause for emphasis, “Valedictorian.”

I gently push the red foam circle of my chosen profession over my nose. The year 2016 sprawls across its surface in thin, glittery script. I step out of my private dressing room.

A tiny red car, the child of a Smart car and a Volkswagen Beetle, greets me. I plop down behind the oversized steering wheel, squeezing my humongous shoes into place to push on the gas pedal. As I lean forward, I bump the horn. A blast of excited beeps, wails, and whistles erupts around me. Fueled by the clamor, I drive wildly toward the center ring where our graduating class awaits my wise words.

I release a lever and shoot out of the top of the car, landing on a trampoline covered in pillows. When I finally manage to gain control of my bouncing, I bounce to the edge of the trampoline and jump gracefully to the ground. I step behind the neon green podium, kicking away more than a few errant banana peels.

Dozens of ghostly faces gaze back at me. Most wear exaggerated smiles, some weep cheerfully, while a few in the back freeze the blood in my veins. Someday, they might channel their clown genius toward a more attainable goal like heavy metal music, inspiring horror writers, and keeping little kids on the straight and narrow path.

“Sorry, I couldn’t slip in sooner,” I begin with a pointed look at another slimy banana peel that sails through the air to land on the podium, “But I didn’t reach the top of the class by falling prey to substandard pranks.

“Top of the class. Top of the totem pole. Driver of the tiniest car in existence. This is what I aspired for. This what I attained.”

A chorus of honks echoes across the assembled crowd.

“Thank you for that. I know we all learned the same jokes, slipped on the same banana peels, and covered our faces with the same grease paint, but the future holds more than that for each of us. You may not be valedictorian, but you are something better…”

A silent hush falls as smiling faces focus on me, anticipating the promise I am about to offer.

“You are the hope of tomorrow. You are the reason children will laugh through their tears or cry in their beds. You are the smiling faces that keep the bulls from goring unwanted riders and sell circus peanuts though they aren’t real nuts like us.

“You are the next generation of clowns. When children mourn their lost chance to see elephants on parade, you will cheer them up. When tiny cars need dozens of passengers, you will fill them. When tiny pools beg to be dived into from hundreds of feet up, you will take that dive…”

I pause, clasping my hands together and stretching my body as if I am about to make that fabulous leap.

“And the world will laugh with you. Go forth and bring hysterics to the world.”

Exaggerated laughter fills the air. Foam noses fill the air. Water sprays from dozens of brightly colored flowers. I step back from the podium.

“Ack.” I squeal as I slide backwards to land on my backside to an even louder, unfeigned round of laughter.

I owed someone some fiction and I had some writing prompts begging for attention. I hope you enjoy.