Phantom Circus.

“I summon thee whom live in the darkness.
I call upon who preside beyond the earth.
Come to me sprits.
I call upon thee, show your self.
Revile your twisted evil to me. Show your self.
Step out of the shadows and in to the light of our world.
I summon thee.”
“What are you doing?”
She stops her hands in mid roll above the crystal ball, sitting upon a silver tarnished stand centre of the table covered with a black, blue and purple velour cloth, with partly burnt candles standing on saucers.
“Fucking around” smiling at the girl standing in the doorway with the curtain door pulled back and tired with beads, crystals and ribbon. The light coming in form the out side hiding the full features in shadow
“Yeah I figured.”
She sat back in the chair, her blond hair with pink, blue, and green strikes tired in plaits hanging in front of her.
“Just getting in to mood for later.”
“Your one twisted, gypsy, Carney, fortune tell. You know that?” She smiled before raising her hand, showing her an apple then throwing it to her. Catching it with both hands and a smile, placing it to her lips she took a bit in to its crisp green fruit with its tender white centre.
“Isn’t that why you travel with us.?”

©2014sarahpatel

find more on thephantomcircus.blogspot.com

My notes

Ever had a day that seams to go for every, a of internal dullness?
I spend eight hours a day standing behind a till, staring at a wig wall on the other side of the shop floor Once I have got bored of that - only after ten minuets of the place being open.- I open my sketch book and start drawing. I’m now in to book number eight. I’ve gone form taking two and a half weeks to complete one to one week.
Its sole destroying. The dull ache of nothing. The place has become a white noise of hopelessness, of each day.
five out of  seven days I get up, go to work stand there smiling like a Barbie doll trying to pretend I give a shit while listening to the customers life story of how they got invited to this fancy dress party.
Its like a endless circle of nothing, with no end in site. No mater what or how hard I try it feels like the world is in a freeze frame with no why of breaking free of the stillness, the deadly silence, to any where that is better then the place in which the daily routine would even bore death him self if he were to trade places for a day.
Where even the trees, who’s roots have taken hold with in the market wall, across from us has given up and died.
For forty hours a week my mind slowly  weakens losing all interest in anything making the rich richer. I go home and sit watch a moving pitcher on a screen, not taking in what is happening. Just watching the life’s of those how do not really exists.
I wonder if that is the same for my own life, is this just the an existence for the entertainment of others? If this is  then can some one please re-write my part.

©2014 sarah patel
Alandofconfusion