Fiction: The Geek
Sep. 11th, 2014 11:50 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
clare_dragonflyTitle: The Geek
World: other (post-apocalyptic but not Wasteland)
Word count: 1,759
Rating: PG-13 for violence to animals
Prompt: 3WW: carcass, geek, slash
Notes: This is a fairly unpleasant story, but what did you expect with those prompt words?! It kind of feels like the start to a novel to me, but I'm not sure I could (or would want to) write a whole novel about Latanya.
Latanya had been waiting three years for this.
The first time the circus came through, she’d gone with her mother and her three older brothers. Her brothers had all gone into the tent to see the geek, and they’d all come out laughing and whooping. Latanya had asked—begged—to be allowed to go in to see it, but her mother had forbidden it and her brothers had forbidden it even more.
That night, Tony had woken them all up with his retching. There had been chicken feathers in his vomit. “The circus geek,” all three brothers murmured to each other (not knowing Latanya heard), and that was the last it had been spoken of.
The second time the circus came through, Tony had been dead for three months (fallen foul of a jealous husband, so they said) and Rashaun had moved away to follow a girl he liked to the California (and Mama thought he would never come back from that place), so it was just Latanya, Mama, and Dante. She asked politely to be allowed to go see the circus geek, since she was a grown girl now and should be allowed to see things that boys were allowed to see, but Mama and Dante both said no. They watched the trapeze artists and the lion trainers and even went to see the bearded lady, but then Mama took Latanya home and left Dante to visit the geek on his own.
Latanya stayed up late that night, waiting for Dante to come home. Every moment she heard and saw nothing she was afraid he wouldn’t come; every time a shadow crossed the moon or one of the animals shifted in the barn she was afraid he would. And then the singing reached her ears and it was Dante with his best friend Ricky, and they were drunk, and she thought everything would be all right.
The third time the circus came through, Mama had died of the winter fever and Rashaun had come back from the California, but too late for her to see him. (He left his girl behind in the desert, so he said.) They said they wouldn’t go to the circus, that it was a bad place, but Latanya snuck out on her own. She watched the trapeze artist and the lion trainers, she saw the bearded lady and the sword swallower and even the tattooed lady, but by the time she got up the courage to go to the geek’s tent, her brothers were outside it looking for her.
She ran home before they could see her. They came home, much later, stinking of drink but not singing this time.
She didn’t hear them sing again.
The fourth time the circus came through, all of her brothers were dead and her mother was dead and there was no one to stop Latanya from walking straight to the geek’s tent, head high, paying her penny and going to sit down on the middle seat in the front row.
She put her hands on her knees, looked up at the empty stage, and waited.
The tent filled up quickly around and behind Latanya. She wondered how many of them had been waiting like she had. She wondered whether any of them were new, with no preconceptions. She wondered how many of them had seen the show before and wanted to see it again.
But she didn’t turn her head to look. All she wanted to see was the geek.
Finally, with no change in lighting or atmosphere, a woman came onto the stage. She had night-dark skin and heavy hips, black hair (with just a touch of gray at the roots) piled on top of her head. She wore a red, red dress. She smiled at Latanya.
(She might have been smiling at anyone in the audience; she might have been smiling at all of them. But Latanya thought she was smiling at her.)
The tent erupted in cheers. Latanya pinched the fabric of her dress between her fingers and waited.
A twist-backed white boy pushed a covered table out onto the stage behind the geek, then disappeared. The geek grinned at the whole tent (Latanya was sure it was all of them this time) and began to dance to no tune, swaying her hips, snapping her fingers. The audience roared.
To the rhythm of her dance, the geek turned. With the movement of her hips, she swept one of the coverings off the table. There was a chicken in a cage that squawked and tried to run around, but it had no space. Latanya’s fingers tightened on her dress. She remembered Tony’s feathers.
The geek stopped dancing. She reached in and snatched up the chicken, lifting it by the neck. It struggled to no avail. She turned and displayed it to the tent, first one side and then another. The cheers became more subdued. Something was going to happen.
The geek held the chicken in two hands. Its feathers were bright white against her dark skin and red dress. It had stopped struggling, as though it understood.
In one swift motion, the geek bent down, clamped her teeth over the chicken’s head, and tore off its neck. Blood spattered the audience; Latanya could feel it settle across her face and stain the bodice of her plain blue dress. People beside her spat and wiped at their faces with handkerchiefs; the rest of the audience roared with glee. Latanya watched.
The chicken had begun to struggle again. Its feet still kicked uselessly. The geek chewed the head, crunching up the skull and the beak between strong white teeth. She displayed the chicken carcass again, and the audience kept cheering.
The geek swallowed the head and licked her lips. Then she spoke for the first time. Her voice was hoarse with time and full of promise. “Whose fortune shall I tell first?”
Latanya sat up a little straighter. All this she had almost expected. But fortunes? Had the geek offered to tell Tony’s fortune, Rashaun’s, Dante’s, and never told them the truth? Or had she told them, and they had done it anyway?
All through the tent, people were whooping and hollering, offering themselves, begging for their fortunes. Mostly men’s voices, Latanya noted. Only a few women. She stared at the geek, steady, unblinking.
The geek looked down at her and smiled again, a secret smile, just for them. No blood showed between her white teeth. She crouched down. “You, girl. Shall it be your fortune?”
Latanya nodded once. If she could know her fate, she had to. If Tony had known not to mess with that girl, if Rashaun had known not to go to the California, maybe they would still be around. But if they were around, Latanya might still not have gotten to seek the geek.
“How old are you, girl?” the geek asked Latanya, not in her theatrical voice now, just having a conversation as though they were the only two in the room. The rest of the audience didn’t seem to notice.
“Fifteen,” Latanya told her.
“Been waiting a long time for this?”
Latanya nodded.
The geek stood and swept another cloth off the table, this time revealing a bright, sharp knife. She lifted it, the chicken carcass still in one hand, and the audience roared. She put the tip to the chicken’s breast, and they roared again. She slashed the chicken open, and they roared a third time. She thrust her hand into the dead chicken, closed her fist, and pulled something out.
It was the size and shape of a chicken’s egg. But it was blue, bright blue, a blue never found on natural eggs, a blue Latanya had only ever seen at the height of spring when the cornflowers fought their way into bloom.
The audience did not cheer.
The geek stared at the egg for a moment. She did not appear surprised. But she did not seem to know what to do, either. She turned it over in her hand, tapped the shell with her finger, and finally crouched down again and offered it to Latanya.
Latanya stretched forward to take it. It was no heavier than an ordinary chicken’s egg, but she could tell that to break the shell would take far more effort. And would she want to? The muttering of the people around her turned into a buzz in her ears as she turned it over, staring at it. It was smooth and perfect, slick with the chicken’s blood, and almost shone in the light. And it was hers. Or it was her.
She finally looked up at the geek, who was still crouching down to watch her. “What does it mean?” she asked in a small voice.
Instead of answering her right away, the geek got abruptly to her feet. “Show’s over,” she said to the audience, her voice harsh and unmodulated. “We’re still in town tomorrow night. Come see it again.”
The audience did not seem at all unhappy to leave, though there were still other covered items on the table and there must have been more to the show. The muttering faded as they all moved away from Latanya, leaving the tent and letting in a little of the hot night air.
Once they had all gone, the geek sat down on the edge of the stage, her feet dangling, nearly touching Latanya’s knees. “It means you’re different, girl,” she said at last. “Special. Strange. Important, maybe.”
“Maybe?”
“Maybe,” the geek affirmed. “You got anything tying you to this crap little town?”
Latanya thought of the farm, the animals. But Ricky had been helping her work it, and he’d married last winter with no farm of his own; when he realized, in two days’ time, that she wasn’t coming back, he would move in and take it. Dante would have wanted that anyway.
She had no family, no man, no friends. She’d always been strange, and for the last three years, she’d just been waiting for her chance to see the geek.
“No,” she said.
The geek reached out a hand. “Then you’ll come with us.”
Latanya did not hesitate. She took the geek’s hand with the hand that was not holding the egg and allowed the woman to pull her to her feet, then help her onto the stage. The geek went to the back of the stage, the way she had appeared and the way the twisted-back boy had brought the table, and Latanya followed her.
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World: other (post-apocalyptic but not Wasteland)
Word count: 1,759
Rating: PG-13 for violence to animals
Prompt: 3WW: carcass, geek, slash
Notes: This is a fairly unpleasant story, but what did you expect with those prompt words?! It kind of feels like the start to a novel to me, but I'm not sure I could (or would want to) write a whole novel about Latanya.
Latanya had been waiting three years for this.
The first time the circus came through, she’d gone with her mother and her three older brothers. Her brothers had all gone into the tent to see the geek, and they’d all come out laughing and whooping. Latanya had asked—begged—to be allowed to go in to see it, but her mother had forbidden it and her brothers had forbidden it even more.
That night, Tony had woken them all up with his retching. There had been chicken feathers in his vomit. “The circus geek,” all three brothers murmured to each other (not knowing Latanya heard), and that was the last it had been spoken of.
The second time the circus came through, Tony had been dead for three months (fallen foul of a jealous husband, so they said) and Rashaun had moved away to follow a girl he liked to the California (and Mama thought he would never come back from that place), so it was just Latanya, Mama, and Dante. She asked politely to be allowed to go see the circus geek, since she was a grown girl now and should be allowed to see things that boys were allowed to see, but Mama and Dante both said no. They watched the trapeze artists and the lion trainers and even went to see the bearded lady, but then Mama took Latanya home and left Dante to visit the geek on his own.
Latanya stayed up late that night, waiting for Dante to come home. Every moment she heard and saw nothing she was afraid he wouldn’t come; every time a shadow crossed the moon or one of the animals shifted in the barn she was afraid he would. And then the singing reached her ears and it was Dante with his best friend Ricky, and they were drunk, and she thought everything would be all right.
The third time the circus came through, Mama had died of the winter fever and Rashaun had come back from the California, but too late for her to see him. (He left his girl behind in the desert, so he said.) They said they wouldn’t go to the circus, that it was a bad place, but Latanya snuck out on her own. She watched the trapeze artist and the lion trainers, she saw the bearded lady and the sword swallower and even the tattooed lady, but by the time she got up the courage to go to the geek’s tent, her brothers were outside it looking for her.
She ran home before they could see her. They came home, much later, stinking of drink but not singing this time.
She didn’t hear them sing again.
The fourth time the circus came through, all of her brothers were dead and her mother was dead and there was no one to stop Latanya from walking straight to the geek’s tent, head high, paying her penny and going to sit down on the middle seat in the front row.
She put her hands on her knees, looked up at the empty stage, and waited.
The tent filled up quickly around and behind Latanya. She wondered how many of them had been waiting like she had. She wondered whether any of them were new, with no preconceptions. She wondered how many of them had seen the show before and wanted to see it again.
But she didn’t turn her head to look. All she wanted to see was the geek.
Finally, with no change in lighting or atmosphere, a woman came onto the stage. She had night-dark skin and heavy hips, black hair (with just a touch of gray at the roots) piled on top of her head. She wore a red, red dress. She smiled at Latanya.
(She might have been smiling at anyone in the audience; she might have been smiling at all of them. But Latanya thought she was smiling at her.)
The tent erupted in cheers. Latanya pinched the fabric of her dress between her fingers and waited.
A twist-backed white boy pushed a covered table out onto the stage behind the geek, then disappeared. The geek grinned at the whole tent (Latanya was sure it was all of them this time) and began to dance to no tune, swaying her hips, snapping her fingers. The audience roared.
To the rhythm of her dance, the geek turned. With the movement of her hips, she swept one of the coverings off the table. There was a chicken in a cage that squawked and tried to run around, but it had no space. Latanya’s fingers tightened on her dress. She remembered Tony’s feathers.
The geek stopped dancing. She reached in and snatched up the chicken, lifting it by the neck. It struggled to no avail. She turned and displayed it to the tent, first one side and then another. The cheers became more subdued. Something was going to happen.
The geek held the chicken in two hands. Its feathers were bright white against her dark skin and red dress. It had stopped struggling, as though it understood.
In one swift motion, the geek bent down, clamped her teeth over the chicken’s head, and tore off its neck. Blood spattered the audience; Latanya could feel it settle across her face and stain the bodice of her plain blue dress. People beside her spat and wiped at their faces with handkerchiefs; the rest of the audience roared with glee. Latanya watched.
The chicken had begun to struggle again. Its feet still kicked uselessly. The geek chewed the head, crunching up the skull and the beak between strong white teeth. She displayed the chicken carcass again, and the audience kept cheering.
The geek swallowed the head and licked her lips. Then she spoke for the first time. Her voice was hoarse with time and full of promise. “Whose fortune shall I tell first?”
Latanya sat up a little straighter. All this she had almost expected. But fortunes? Had the geek offered to tell Tony’s fortune, Rashaun’s, Dante’s, and never told them the truth? Or had she told them, and they had done it anyway?
All through the tent, people were whooping and hollering, offering themselves, begging for their fortunes. Mostly men’s voices, Latanya noted. Only a few women. She stared at the geek, steady, unblinking.
The geek looked down at her and smiled again, a secret smile, just for them. No blood showed between her white teeth. She crouched down. “You, girl. Shall it be your fortune?”
Latanya nodded once. If she could know her fate, she had to. If Tony had known not to mess with that girl, if Rashaun had known not to go to the California, maybe they would still be around. But if they were around, Latanya might still not have gotten to seek the geek.
“How old are you, girl?” the geek asked Latanya, not in her theatrical voice now, just having a conversation as though they were the only two in the room. The rest of the audience didn’t seem to notice.
“Fifteen,” Latanya told her.
“Been waiting a long time for this?”
Latanya nodded.
The geek stood and swept another cloth off the table, this time revealing a bright, sharp knife. She lifted it, the chicken carcass still in one hand, and the audience roared. She put the tip to the chicken’s breast, and they roared again. She slashed the chicken open, and they roared a third time. She thrust her hand into the dead chicken, closed her fist, and pulled something out.
It was the size and shape of a chicken’s egg. But it was blue, bright blue, a blue never found on natural eggs, a blue Latanya had only ever seen at the height of spring when the cornflowers fought their way into bloom.
The audience did not cheer.
The geek stared at the egg for a moment. She did not appear surprised. But she did not seem to know what to do, either. She turned it over in her hand, tapped the shell with her finger, and finally crouched down again and offered it to Latanya.
Latanya stretched forward to take it. It was no heavier than an ordinary chicken’s egg, but she could tell that to break the shell would take far more effort. And would she want to? The muttering of the people around her turned into a buzz in her ears as she turned it over, staring at it. It was smooth and perfect, slick with the chicken’s blood, and almost shone in the light. And it was hers. Or it was her.
She finally looked up at the geek, who was still crouching down to watch her. “What does it mean?” she asked in a small voice.
Instead of answering her right away, the geek got abruptly to her feet. “Show’s over,” she said to the audience, her voice harsh and unmodulated. “We’re still in town tomorrow night. Come see it again.”
The audience did not seem at all unhappy to leave, though there were still other covered items on the table and there must have been more to the show. The muttering faded as they all moved away from Latanya, leaving the tent and letting in a little of the hot night air.
Once they had all gone, the geek sat down on the edge of the stage, her feet dangling, nearly touching Latanya’s knees. “It means you’re different, girl,” she said at last. “Special. Strange. Important, maybe.”
“Maybe?”
“Maybe,” the geek affirmed. “You got anything tying you to this crap little town?”
Latanya thought of the farm, the animals. But Ricky had been helping her work it, and he’d married last winter with no farm of his own; when he realized, in two days’ time, that she wasn’t coming back, he would move in and take it. Dante would have wanted that anyway.
She had no family, no man, no friends. She’d always been strange, and for the last three years, she’d just been waiting for her chance to see the geek.
“No,” she said.
The geek reached out a hand. “Then you’ll come with us.”
Latanya did not hesitate. She took the geek’s hand with the hand that was not holding the egg and allowed the woman to pull her to her feet, then help her onto the stage. The geek went to the back of the stage, the way she had appeared and the way the twisted-back boy had brought the table, and Latanya followed her.
Did you enjoy this story? You can see all my fiction posted at Dreamwidth!
no subject
Date: 2014-09-12 10:50 am (UTC)Well done and intriguing and I wonder if the geek killed her family, somehow, or if that was just coincidental.
no subject
Date: 2014-09-12 04:13 pm (UTC)I don't think the geek killed her family. But I don't think it was exactly a coincidence, either.
no subject
Date: 2014-09-12 04:41 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2014-09-12 04:44 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2014-09-12 04:44 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2014-09-12 04:46 pm (UTC)