Coco The Clown

Coco the clown grinned madly as he twirled the balloon between his fingers, transforming it as the small crowd watched. All around them, the music of the fairground pulsed; the screams of joy and terror mingling with the tinny electronic music.
Coco gave the balloon a final twist and held it up for his audience to see. He then turned and held it out to a young girl with strawberry blond hair. The girl couldn’t have been more than six years old, but she glared at him with such venom that he almost took a step back. The girl’s mother nudged her, and she grudgingly took hold of the elephant-shaped balloon.
Another child nudged her parents, and whispered to her father that she wanted to leave. When they thought they were out of ear-shot, she declared that clowns were creepy.
Once the rest of the crowd had dispersed, Coco found himself wandering through the crowds of the amusement park. Despite the demonic red grin pasted across his face, he was in no way happy. All he had wanted to do, ever since he was a little boy, was to entertain people. To make them laugh.
But clowns were creepy.
Coco found himself standing at the back of the House of Mirrors, staring into a broken mirror that had been thrown out. The fractured glass reflected Coco as he was; there was no distortion in the glass to make him appear abnormally tall or ridiculously short.
Instead, he saw a man, his hair died green, his face a riot of vibrant reds and blues. He wore a threadbare, multi-coloured suit, complete with rubber flower and polka-dot handkerchief.
Clowns were creepy.
Suddenly, Coco realised that he was no longer sad; he was angry. In that instant, Coco became filled with a deep, pure hatred that shone brighter than all the tacky fairground lights. He realised that he hated the children, he hated the parents, he had the amusement park and, above all, he hated the pies.
He turned when he heard a polite cough behind him. A girl stood there, probably no older than 15, clutching the hand of her little brother. The young boy’s face looked into Coco’s expectantly, and he ran a hand over his ice-cream coated lips.
Coco reached down and picked up several shards of broken glass. He held them out for the two children to see, and then threw them into the air, juggling them as easily as if they had been tennis balls. He watched the boy’s captivated face, and then he spun, launching the glass across the small space at his audience.
Clowns were creepy.
Coco smiled to himself, a physical act that creased his face-paint into a hideous parody of a grin. They thought clowns were creepy, did they? Well, they were going to see just how creepy this clown could be.