“I was born to be a star,” he once did decree,
But now a broken clown, no laughter to see.
Beneath the painted smile, tears flowed free,
A shattered heart, a star’s gloomy tragedy.
“Wish for an end! Wish for an end!” lamented the clown, his voice trembling in the hallowed chamber of his memories. Hank, the luminary of the circus, now found himself ensnared in the shadows of his own fallibility. This once-celebrated performer had been consigned to a dismal, windowless cell.
His right leg, a relic of a swing mishap that shattered both bone and dreams, had reduced him to a mere specter of his former self. The room exhaled the fading fragrance of greasepaint, a cruel whisper of bygone splendor.
In the hushed stillness, Hank’s quivering digits caressed the visage he had painted onto his face – a façade of jubilance starkly at odds with the desolation in his eyes. The cacophony of laughter and applause that had once serenaded him now existed solely as a hollow, relentless reverberation in his aching ears.
Hank’s chamber bore the testimony of his fallen star, its walls adorned with tattered remnants of jubilation, taunting him with their radiant hues and the mirth that had once transpired. His heart ached with the yearning to regain his place in the center ring, yet his shattered limb was a perpetual crucible of agony, ensuring that he would never reclaim his former grandeur.
As the setting sun cast long, languishing shadows, Hank was beset by the remembrance of caustic words. His spouse, Amelia, had absconded, unable to withstand the tableau of despondency he’d become, and his offspring, Lily and Tommy, stood a world apart from their once-jovial progenitor.
The world continued its heedless march, leaving Hank abandoned by the very brethren who had once shared in his glory. In his secluded abode, a long-forgotten echo reverberated with cruelty.
Hank’s visage, painted with remorse, began to weep silent rivulets. The laughter he once bestowed, the jubilance he once elicited, all crumbled to sorrowful embers, yearning to be rekindled. Dressed in his vibrant attire, he longed to bless the world with joy, but his broken leg shackled him to his own oblivion.
As day gave way to the mournful twilight, the fulgent colors of his visage concealed a spirit fractured beyond repair. The mournful crescendo of his melancholic existence reached its zenith, and with one final breathless sigh, Hank’s heart betrayed him. As he beheld his reflection, a smiling façade painted with misery, tears of blood welled beneath, cascading like a crimson river, bearing witness to the shattering of a clown’s heart, beyond the reach of repair.
“Shadows of sorrow, in darkness they sway,
A clown’s heart in ruins, colors turned to gray.
Once a blazing star, now broken, a fallen king,
His final act in circus of life, a mournful ring.”
“A Jilted Jester’s Jest” is a poignant tale of a fallen star, a reminder that behind the painted smiles, real tears may flow. It illuminates the fragility of dreams and the courage of the human spirit.
Opening line “I was born to be a star” is taken from the story – The Terrorist’s Trunk by Lalitha Ramanathan.
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