My Fingers Slipped @partyplanningforsuckers The heat only seemed to be packed in at the circus, with the hundreds of citizens that had swarmed like ants and the intense rides that seemed to have a life of their own. The smell of sugary cotton candy and popcorn was enough to lure anyone who had just come from a days work, the circus was the place to be. With a circle of sand and tigers, along with swinging trapeze and double jointed dancers, the main stage was selling ticket for such a view.

partyplanningforsuckers:

the-perfect-scientist:

partyplanningforsuckers:

the-perfect-scientist:

partyplanningforsuckers

the-perfect-scientist:

Carlos hadn’t been to a circus in years – not since he was little. But there had been a raffle at work and Carlos had won a coupon for a free ticket. He kinda hoped that his brother and/or his dad were in town so he could invite them to go with him.

Carlos made his way to the ticket office that was set up, standing in the line with his coupon as he looked at everything around him. Some things were different than what he remembered or imagined a circus to be like, but not everything could be a dated cliche trope he supposed.

Once at the ticket office he smiled and offered the coupon. “Hey… this any good?” he asked in a joking manner.

@partyplanningforsuckers

He
held his hand out for the scientist to preform his strange and rather
odd tests, letting his eyes flutter over the needle before pulling them
away and sighing. “I-I didn’t think this would take so long- I kinda
have a lunch date I gotta get to soon.”

“It won’t,” Carlos said. He held the poker device to the pad of his finger. “Little poke,” he warned before hitting the button. A spring released and a small tack shot out, puncturing the skin on the finger. Carlos set the poker aside and quickly grabbed the small glass tube and held it at ready, waiting for the blood to flow.

Still there was nothing, just a small cut into the finger and a blank space of flesh where the blood should have been. No matter how hard he squeezed on it and pressed it forward, there was simply nothing. It was seeming as if Skip wasn’t an outsider, or that he was but he belonged to another universe.

Carlos just stared at the hole that was now in the other’s finger.

“Okay… well, I’m stumped,” he said. “There’s… there’s just no blood.” He looked at Skip. “Um… where are you from, exactly?”

“Red Mesa?” He prompted slowly, not exactly understanding the context of the question but choosing to answer anyway.

“Why?”

“Red Mesa, huh?” Carlos asked. “Okay, that makes some sense then. In that it doesn’t make sense, but now I know why it doesn’t make sense. It’s an anomalous town, in the same vein as Night Vale or Nulogorsk.”