The Guild of Fallen Clowns by Francis Xavier Page A

directly at T-Pot. The intensity was that of a garden
hose, spraying him from face to toe. For a good five seconds, T-Pot
circled the room in an attempt to find shelter. He ended up hiding
behind the other four boys. The group huddled with their faces down
until the urine shower stopped.
    The little clown gave himself a few good
shakes and zipped up before the pyramid fell apart and the clowns
returned to frolicking around inside the mirrors.
    All five boys raised their heads and sniffed
their clothes to see if the prank used actual urine. Relieved, one
said, “It’s just water. It’s only water, T-Pot. He didn’t really
piss on us. It’s just water.”
    While this news calmed the four followers,
the dousing didn’t diffuse T-Pot’s anger. To the contrary, he was
more incensed, but he knew there was nothing he could do to hurt
the images in the mirrors. As they stood and shook off the excess
water, the music stopped and the clowns started exiting through the
doors. Holding a metal bucket, T-Pot’s clown calmly approached the
gang.
    “Before we let you go, we wanted to give you
a going away gift,” the clown said. He placed the bucket in front
of him, reached both hands in, and raised them above his head.
Paper money flowed from his fingers. The bucket was filled with
cash.
    “Who will receive our gift?” the clown
asked.
    The boys were ready to step forward when
T-Pot raised his hands to stop them.
    “I’ll take it,” T-Pot said as he stepped up
to the mirror.
    The clown smiled and said, “Very well, but
the bucket has to stay with us. I’ll have to pour it out to you.
Then you can leave through the door behind you.” A door panel
opened and daylight filled the room. From the darkness inside the
mirrors, two clowns carried a six-foot stepladder and set it up in
front of T-Pot. They left and T-Pot’s clown climbed up the first
four steps with the bucket in hand.
    “Okay, gimme the money,” T-Pot said. He
reached his hands over his head to receive the bills.
    “A little closer. My arms are short and I
can’t throw that far.”
    T-Pot complied and stepped closer to the
mirror.
    With both hands on the bucket, the clown
raised it high above his head.
    “Are you sure you want this?” he asked.
    “Yes, I want it. Gimme the money.”
    With a firm grip around the bottom of the
bucket, the clown tilted it forward. T-Pot reached up, but instead
of feeling paper currency flowing over his hands, warm water rushed
over him. It flowed through his fingers into his face and open
mouth. The clown jumped off the ladder and ran off laughing. He was
the last one to leave the room.
    T-Pot choked on the liquid. He coughed and
bent down to catch his breath. The other boys stepped up to his
aid, but were quickly repelled by the odor.
    “It’s piss!” cried one of the boys.
    “It was a bucket of piss he threw at you,
T-Pot!”
    Still coughing and spitting, T-Pot turned
and raced for the door. The other boys followed at a distance. This
time the door wasn’t a fake. They exited the rear of the Labyrinth.
T-Pot turned and prevented the group from walking to the front,
where crowds of people would see and smell him.
    To their right was a cluster of Porta
Potties. T-Pot spotted a length of hose near them and sprinted to
it. Out of direct view of the public, he grabbed the hose and
ducked behind the toilets. He handed the hose to one of the boys
and instructed him to spray it on him until he told him to
stop.
    He blasted out a contentious stream of
obscenities as he aggressively scrubbed every inch of his body.
    “I don’t know what the fuck those things
were, but it’s not over. Those clowns will pay for this. Nobody
pisses on T-Pot and lives to tell about it.” His words alerted him
to an unthinkable possibility. He temporarily stopped scrubbing and
looked around at his buddies.
    “Same goes for all of you. If any of you say
a word to anyone about this, I’ll fucking cut off your head and
piss down your neck. Don’t