"Five minutes!" Carlisle banged on the door and continued on to the next trailer. "Get dressed, get ready, and move your asses!"
Edward groaned. I'm so sick of this fucking town, he thought. For a brief second, he wished there was something else he could do instead of working for the carnival. A part of him cursed his mother for taking Thalidomide in the 1970's. He would have had a very different life than the one he was living right now if he hadn't been born with birth defects. Having flippers for arms definitely changed his life, and not for the better. He'd never had a girlfriend, never driven a car, and most jobs were out of reach for him, literally. Of course he was well equipped with amazingly dexterous feet, but no one outside of the freak world would give him the time of day.
In the next moment, he pushed the thought from his mind. I'm lucky to have a steady job, he scolded himself. I should be thankful for my family.
After his mother's suicide and his father's disappearance, the state had put him in an orphanage. There he had waited for years, suffering the indignity of pity and silent mockery from each of the families who toured the facility. Edward had felt like a three-legged, blind dog; nobody ever wanted to take him home. Then one day, Carlisle had walked in. Carlisle immediately adopted him and introduced him to the world of the carnival.
At first it had been an exciting adventure—new cities every week, applause from the crowds and money from every show. Eventually, Edward realized that people weren't smiling at him out of friendliness or because he was famous; they were laughing at him instead. For a period in his teens, he turned sullen and depressed, until Carlisle threatened to remove him from the act. If Edward would rather sell tickets outside and deal with the aggressive, drunk jerks on the midway, then he could. If it made him feel better about himself than being in the spotlight, so be it. It was only then that Edward realized how the freak show gave him a safe place to both hide and shine. It was a place where he fit in with the other misfits, and people paid to see his misshapen body. It didn't matter if they were making fun of him, or whispering to each other about his appearance, or even just curious. Edward didn't care what some random stranger thought of him, as long as his family loved him.
Still, even now that he'd made peace with his life, he longed for a change. The endless travel and nameless faces wore down on him. Loneliness, too. Everyone else had a partner to share their time with except for Edward.
I wish I had a woman to love who would love me back.
Edward sighed and grabbed his bow tie between his toes. He held it above his head and ducked underneath, closing it in the front using both feet. Then he stood and walked to the door. His harmonica was wired into a little contraption that rested over his shoulders so he could blow into it while playing the piano. Every time a show ended, he would enter his trailer and hook the back of it on a nail sticking out near the door. It was easier to put on and take off this way. With his instrument in place, he pushed open the door and stepped outside.
Emmett leaned against the adjacent trailer, pulling a wife beater tank top over his head. His muscles flexed as he moved, and his thick veins stuck out from his arms.
Edward studied him. Emmett had been drinking too much beer lately and was starting to develop a gut over his bulging muscles. Still, he certainly lived up to his title of Strong Man of Tennessee.
"Eddie," Emmett nodded at him.
Rosalie, his wife, opened the trailer door. She adjusted the patch of facial hair over her jaw and scowled when the adhesive needed an extra push to stay on her face. She stomped over to her husband. "Let's get this shit over with. God, it's so degrading. Isn't there something else I can do? Like be the most beautiful woman in the world?"
"No can do, babe," Emmett pinched her ass. "Gotta draw in the crowd. Nobody likes pretty in a freak show."
Five years ago, Rosalie had fallen in love with Emmett at the group's stop in Knoxville. She'd visited the show every night for a week like a groupie, and rather than saying goodbye when the caravan of trailers pulled out of town, she had left her life to join Dr. Carlisle Cullen's Amazing Traveling Freak Show. At first she had been a carnie at one of the games, but she'd hated being separated from Emmett and all the obnoxious guys on the midway. Being born beautiful worked against her in this line of work, so she had to invent something wrong with her to fit in with the rest of the group. She'd ordered a fake beard and mustache from a special effects website and had been Rosie the Bearded Lady ever since.
Carlisle appeared and pulled on his top hat. "You guys ready? Where's Alice and Jasper?"
"Jazz better not be high again. During that last show he started to hallucinate and nearly punched that kid in the front row."
"I don't know what his problem is lately," Emmett agreed. "He acts like his scars don't bother him, like he's invincible, but that bastard gets crazier every year. One of these days he's gonna snap and you better hope it's not during one of the shows. You're gonna have a lawsuit on your hands, Carlisle, if he hurts somebody."
Carlisle pretended not to hear him. He cupped his hand in front of his mouth and screamed, "Alice!! Jasper! Get out here. You're on in two minutes!"
Alice's high pitched voice tinkled like bells from the last trailer. "Coming, Carlisle!" The door burst open and she leapt from the top step. She wore a long multi-colored skirt and a bright red turban. The latter was her idea. Alice thought it would help with her image as the Shortest Fortune Teller in the World.
She pulled a clove cigarette from her pocket and patted her sides for a lighter. "Dammit. Where's my light?"
"Here," a gruff drawl came from the trailer door. Jasper rubbed his eyes before tossing her a book of matches. The lanky man wore only faded jeans that hung off his hips. A network of scars and tattoos covered his skin, including a large burn on his right cheek and a fiery skull inked on the side of his neck. His eyes were all-white except for a thin red slit in the middle. "These contacts burn like hell."
"Well, maybe you shouldn't wear them. You look freaky enough already." Edward rolled his eyes at Jasper. Why the man went to extremes to accentuate his disfigurements made no sense to him. Every few weeks Jasper seemed to add enough injury or tattoo, and it only made him appear even more frightening. Maybe, Edward thought, it was his way to shield the world from him, to protect himself from the judgment of people. Well, he sighed. Jasper shouldn't have joined a carnival freak show if he didn't want to be judged.
"Alright everyone," Carlisle said as he clapped his hands. "It's showtime."