November 2017 -- 75 Word Challenge -- VICTORY TO MOSAIX!

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Poor Draw Leads To Boot Hill.

“Cross my palm.”

Drunkenly, he flips a dime across the tarot deck.

She turns a card – The Lovers.

“Yeah, the bitch is with 'im now. How did yer know?”

She turns again – Justice.

“For me? Damn right!”

And another – Death.

He grins. “Gets better 'n' better.”

Pistol drawn he turns and pushes past the tent flap, missing the penultimate card – The Fool.

She leaves the last card face down. She knows it's The Hanged Man.
 
Fashion Fortune

"No, not 1873! I wanted 1973. I must've set the controls incorrectly. My plaid pants and platform shoes are going to get me killed, and I can't jump back for a week!"

Looking around, I saw a banner: Denver Stock Show and Carnival.

I walked over and asked if there was any work. "Can you bark?" the Victorian jacketed gentleman asked. I nodded and was hired.

"Step right up. Play the game. Everybody's a winner."
 
The Wildest Wild West Show West of the Pecos

Come one, come all! Come and see the wildest wild west show west of the Pecos!

We have dancing tarantulas, synchronized tumbling tumbleweeds, undead duels, Mexican fortune tellers with talking pinatas, giant lizard rodeos, killer clowns, stealthy sandworms, steam-powered cowboy automata, Indian stereotypes, mutant Frankenbuffalo, and the oldest dance hall girls you've ever seen! But the wildest, strangest, and scariest of them all, we have Henry—a man who doesn't own a gun!
 
Last Rodeo Night

"Last rodeo night", she said
I reached for my gun, but felt puffy pants
I reached for my hat, but felt frilly hair
She came at me, index fingers pointing from her temples
She said "It's your turn to ride, Clown Boy

"Ride like there's no tomorrow"

I threw my balloon at her approaching face
But I knew the saddle on her back all too well...
 
Sideshow Sanctuary

"Rube! Hey, Rube!", was shouted. Carnies appeared, then attacked.

"Break it up!".

"Boss. This vagrant was eating the bottled babies. I say, we kill this cannibal."

"Hang on, Clowny." (points his cane) "Listen, you. Do this on stage, and I'll pay you $40 a week." Everyone complained. "Quiet! This guy can make us rich."

#

I did. Even Wyatt Earp saw me. Yesterday, I was a monster, today, I'm a beloved man who wears a suit.
 
Shortfellow percussion (for Wa'ds worth)

Locomotive squealing, braking
On abandoned ghost-town siding
Showtime totem poles erected
Marquee rises, wires, trapezes
Big top hiding desert wasteland,
Sweating roustabouts like insects.
Cages, rides and sideshows tethered
Stationary engine powered


Grubby children, captivated
Continuity, tradition.
Chronillogical disruption
Unborn, long dead, integrated
Paleface, redskin, far invader
Phantom audience and locals.
Calliope harmonises
Audiences intermingled.

Ultimate break down and loading,
Promise future merrymaking
Iron horse accepts its burden
Massive joy, anticipation
Awaits future generations.​
 
The Fatal Attraction of Fast Food

Ron MacDonald drew his Colt .45, spun it around his trigger finger, then snapped it to the target and squeezed. Someone screamed from the ferris wheel.

Movement near the cotton candy stall. Ronald got another shot off, but the kid was too fast.

"Put 'em up!" the sheriff called. "Now, you clown!"

Screaming spread through the State Fair as children scattered.

"Got him at last. Got the joker who's been killing all those kids."
 
Breaking the Chains

Maxwell swung the hammer, striking the spike with his full anger. The pterodactyl masters enslaved him to build the circus’ railroad, while Elena, his wife, was stolen as an “entertainer”.

Someone on horseback with a long coat and wide hat entered the labor camp. Silver revolvers appeared, bullets flew, pterodactyls fell. The tyrannosaur foreman ate the horse, then succumbed to injuries. The figure removed his… her hat, revealing flaming red hair.

Maxwell's mouth fell. “Elena?”
 
The Freak Show

My gun in its’ holster, I’d draw if I was able,

But then I sae a cat in it’s cradle.


The peace I swear,

Reminded me of a great bear,

Of chicken dancers and a wolf with silver hair.


I was once a catholic but then I went bad,

It was one called cath,

That had driven me mad.


Dragons to grow,

Nixie or Zebedee to know,

It is to Turner we all owe.
 
Come See


Roll up! Roll up!
For the greatest show in town
Come and see the bearded lady
Come and see the clown

Come and see the long dead cowboys
And their foe the braves
Come see them locked in mortal combat
Arisen from their graves

So come down with your guns and pistols
Come down with your bow
But if you come down after midnight
You may join the show
 
Insanity

“What’ve you done?” screamed the cowboy.

The clown twirled his revolver dismissively. “It’s all part of the show. Is everyone enjoying it?”

The cowboy shook his head. “No, they’re not. They’re all dead!”

The clown glanced around. “Oh, everyone’s got red paint on. Fun!”

Bang! The cowboy crumbled, causing the clown to laugh.

“It’s all part of the show!” He shot randomly and tripped over a body, falling and piercing himself on a prop dagger.
 
Angeni

Nate wondered why the Pawnee girl travelled with the circus sideshow. She wasn’t a freak.

Sitting by the Missouri on the night of the big show, she told him it was somewhere to call home. In the moonlight she looked fragile, almost translucent. She told Nate she died in 1848.

Next day Nate woke weak and aching but seeing her look so healthy, giving a little of his life seemed a small price to pay.
 
The Six Guns Shooter

Callie loved it when the carnival came to town.

She loved Pa putting her on his shoulders so she could see all the sights, she loved seeing her brothers running wild, wearing logo stitched Stetson’s.

Most of all she loved the gunfighters; they were always the best, especially one.

She sat, watching, heart pounding. Several loud bangs sounded.

‘Ladies and gentlemen he wins again, the fastest tentacles in the west, Billy The Squid!’

She cheered.
 
Ain’t No Way To Make A Living

“It ain’t right, Pa. We sell only lies.” I glared at the potions to be sold on our stall. Not far away Rosie’s laughter mingled with the fiddle music, making my heart and groin ache.

“Folks get what they want.”

“Lies!”

“Yeah.”

I grabbed a potion – took a swig. “I don’t need lies. Make it work!”

I saw her, Rosie, making out with Smoking Gunslinger Joe. “No!”

“Son. Nobody wants the truth. Even you.”
 
The Cowboy and the Clown

It never should have happened, but the landowner reckoned the carnival was taking up too much good pasture.

So, they summoned up an undead gunslinger and challenged the circus champion to a duel at High Noon.

That bunch of cowards picked Boffo as their representative. No guns were drawn, just two high-pitched screams, clown and ghoul passed out; a dead swoon.

What are the chances? A coulrophobe and a pistalpetaphobe in a face off?
 
The Bargain (Out Past Joshua Tree)

Everyone knows there’s powers out there in the desert, and Betsy went lookin’ for them one starlit night. She’d worked the high wire, star of the whole show, but she wanted to be more.

She come back changed. Sits in her wagon rockin’ and shakin’ like an old woman. Tells fortunes with a queer pack of cards. Folks say she’s uncanny accurate.

Me, I’m afraid to find out. You see, the desert was my idea.
 
INFESTATION

The Biggest Little Show On Earth coming here tonight! You could smell the excitement. It was awful.

The show was being set up. Big Shorty would shoot the eyes out of gnats. Gnats flew in for Shorty's act and horseflies for the bareback riders.

I hate when the flea circus comes to the kennel, growled Rover. Me too replied Fido.
Tell you what Rover, you scratch my back and I'll scratch yours.
Deal!
 
An Extract From The Memoirs of Mayor Manuel Garfias Pasadena: Lion Taming and City Wrangling


Our wagons rolled between wild city prints, the only path across this wilderness. They were ichor splattered, someone had wounded this town. We found him under his crushed horse, Chicago Hunter, the city wrangler.

Leave him, we’re desperate enough already, they told me accusingly. But I was ringmaster.

Chicago never survived the winter. But with his tools, and some reinvention on my part, the Pasadena Circus had a home. Pasadena City never stood a chance.
 
All You'll Own Is Earth

The ground shook as they hammered down the Big Top's pole; Earth's lifeblood already being sucked up inside, for riches.

"It's done. The Whiteman wins."

Aiyana's tears swelled with wolfen howls, while children danced to the Whiteman war songs; strings and drums and gunpowder cracks.

Distant laughter drowned away desert sighs.

"Can we do nothing?"

Earth gave one final thrum; fell silent.

Cheif Hoiahaka shook his head. "Remeber how she used to be."
 
Being For The Pleasurance and Beneficitude of the eminent Senator Imminent J. Craptitude of Wichita, There Will Be A Pree-zentation by “Captain” Porcupine J. Winchester of Pennsylvania of Jess, The Talkin’ Hoss!

“Behold Jess!” cried Captain Winchester. “The world’s only talkin’ hoss!”

“Why’s I always the horse’s ass?” whinnied Lame Bob, inside Jess.

“Quit yer yammerin,” growled Blind Plug. “I’s the leader, so I’s the heed. You’re… a horse’s ass.”

Plug elbowed Bob, causin’ an awful row, and Jess fell clean apart!

Senator Craptitude’s moustachioes twirled like tornados. “That’s the most inarticulate cow I ever saw! Horace!” he yelled, to nobody in particular. “Go git ma chequebook!”
 
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