She doesn’t ride rides or eat cotton candy. Love alone brings her. Or else prudence. Come time to tote up the balance, she has self-sacrifice on her side.
Shit. Where’s her daughter? Acts like she’s the kid’s evil stepmother, often as she runs off. And the guys. Why couldn’t they let her stay home? And why’d she have the other kid anyway?
Oh, yeah. Love.
She doesn’t have the keys, but she shoves her way toward the car. Time to go. Some jerk sticks his foot between her legs and squirts her with a rubber flower. Fuck. Tripped by a clown. She catches him by his oversized knickers to pull him down. He hisses with laughter and kicks her in the face.
When she wakes, the people are gone, the staff is gone, her family is gone. But that’s love. All that’s left are the clowns and blood in her mouth. Spits. Wipes. Comes back with a fist full of greasepaint. Screams.
“And then she woke up.” But she doesn’t. When the sun rises she leaves part of herself behind. You can tell by the love in her eyes and the way she hates to see herself in the mirror.