THE CIRCUS AT THE END OF THE WORLD

Once upon a time there was a circus consisting of many vagrant artists. Although they were said to be artists, their performances on stage might only be a whistle to their own amusement. So, there were no criteria for joining the troupe, many could not bear the hardships and just left. They strolled to every corner of the world to “play”, erecting a shabby tent and dancing away. It would be best if there was an audience. When there was none, they would just perform for the animals, for the tree leaves, for the moon in the sky, to the utmost of their own enjoyment.

I was one of them. I would meet with them every day in my dream and start our vagrant journey. We had a common destination: the end of the world. But I was clumsy, often snapping the wire by pulling it too tense, bursting the rubber ball by sitting on it too hard, and burning my tail when jumping through the fire ring. So, I became the idlest one in the troupe, doing nothing except raising the curtain for the day’s routine performances. My favorite thing to do was waiting for the day to pass: the sunrise and the sunset were, to me, as solemn as a ritual. Because I had plenty of time, I wrote down all the stories I saw and heard along the way as well as those that floated into my mind. Thus, we have this book of diary.

I think, when we reach the destination, this book will be as thick as a cloud. By that time, I will divide it into many parts and throw them into the sea. Wherever they drift, if you happen to find one of them and open it, you will see you are not alone. Because you have us. You have many many warm monsters standing together with you.