WELCOME TO THE CIRCUS

Welcome, ladies and gentlemen.

Tonight, for your immeasurable entertainment, our program features exceptionally well-trained, highly experienced clowns and marionettes.

The first to take the stage is our famous Clown with Two Faces.

His name is Blitz.

He will stab you in the back when you least expect it—

all while wearing the widest smile, stretched from ear to ear.

At times, he will play the victim, his face heavy with sorrow.

But his back—oh, his back—laughs with quiet malice.

Enjoy the first act.

Next, we move on.

Please welcome the beautiful and seductive Mila,

a woman who can juggle knives, fire—anything you can imagine.

There is nothing she cannot keep in the air.

At this very moment, she is juggling three knives

that her so-called friend tried to drive into her back.

She keeps them spinning, struggling to maintain balance.

Despite the cruelty, she continues to juggle.

Then—fire.

Because that is how life works.

She juggles her own flames:

her dreams, her persistence,

the very things that could destroy her

or lift her to the very top.

Enjoy the second act.

Now, ladies and gentlemen, I present to you David.

This man can tame anyone.

He can control them.

Just look at that elephant—

two tons of raw weight, fully trained.

David knows how to rule minds.

He knows how to manipulate.

All that heaviness, all that resistance—

he has bent it to his will.

Now he brings out three wolves.

They surround him, yet they do not attack.

They do not—because he has reached the core

of minds always ready to strike.

With a single motion of his hand,

they fall to the ground, whimpering.

And then, the eagles.

There are four of them.

They land on his arms.

An eagle—born to fly, a predator—

rests quietly in his hands.

You could say he clipped their wings, roughly speaking.

They do not fly far from him.

Shall we once again mention

the power of his manipulation?

And now, ladies and gentlemen—

Baby.

Why Baby?

Look how small she is.

Look at that face—so innocent.

Her other name is Balance.

She climbs onto her pillar.

She takes her position

and slowly steps onto the rope.

On the other side stands another pillar.

We might call it happiness,

or a goal,

or final fulfillment.

She moves forward, balancing a pole in her hands.

Slowly. Carefully.

As you know, if she loses balance—

if she slips, if she gives up—

she falls straight into death.

Through life—this rope—

she thinks of giving up a thousand times.

Yet she walks on.

Slowly. Unsteadily.

Driven by the desire to reach the end.

Doesn’t it seem as though the pillar is moving away?

As if the middle is constant,

and no matter how far she walks,

the end drifts farther and farther?

Balance—or surrender?

Happiness is within reach,

yet it still slips away,

gliding through her fingers.

Ladies and gentlemen,

what shall we do with her?

She already looks tired.

Shall we shake the pillar a little—

just enough to make her fall?

Or shall we climb up

and offer our hands,

help her cross to the other side?

Should we give her a piece of happiness,

everything she ever wanted—

or should we finally free her

from all her suffering?

Ladies and gentlemen,

please welcome Elias — the Illusionist.

He carries no whips, no knives, no fire.

Only mirrors.

At first glance, his act seems harmless.

Elegant. Silent.

He places mirrors around the arena, one by one,

until there is no clear beginning,

no clear end.

Elias does not change himself.

He changes what you see.

Stand before the mirror and you will see

the version of yourself you most desire.

Confidence where there was fear.

Strength where there was doubt.

Love where there was emptiness.

The audience leans closer.

They smile.

Some even reach out to touch their reflection.

But stay too long.

The mirrors begin to whisper.

They remind you of everything you are not.

Everything you failed to become.

Everything you buried deep enough to forget.

Soon, you are no longer sure

which reflection is real.

Elias watches quietly.

He never forces.

He never lies.

He simply lets you choose

which version of yourself

you are willing to destroy.

Applause is optional.

Self-recognition is not.

THE FINAL ACT

Ladies and gentlemen,

the lights slowly fade.

Clowns remove their smiles.

Marionettes are left without strings.

The beasts return to their cages,

and the mirrors turn toward the walls.

The circus is over.

But do not leave just yet.

Because what you witnessed tonight

was not a performance.

It was not entertainment.

It was a cross-section.

A mirror.

A confession you did not ask for.

Every clown wore someone’s face.

Every knife had already been driven in.

Every fire was already burning.

Every rope was already pulled tight.

And the Illusionist?

He does not leave with us.

He stays inside you.

When you step outside,

there will be no music.

No lights.

Only silence.

And in that silence,

you will understand:

The circus does not close.

It only changes its form.

Welcome home.