hi! this story was posted ages ago with only two chapters, so now i decided to rewrite it. hopefully, it's better this time. sorry for the inconvenience. also, this story will contain darker themes but nothing explicit, i assure you. enjoy your read. r&r!


Chapter I - I am a Misfit

Jackson Overland is many things.

He is a fun boy at his first year of college who never does any of his homework. He's a troublemaker at Burgess, his hometown, always leaving mischief along his wake. He has a talent for magic tricks, especially when it involves ice and snow. He loves to let snowflakes dance along his fingertips and in a blink of an eye, it would vanish without a trace. Overall, he is a loving older brother who looks after his little sister, Emma. Even though she is crippled and paralyzed with a crestfallen illness, his magic has always left her in bewilderment and satisfaction, no matter the odds that life throws at them.

But he is not a runaway.

Not until now.

Jackson clenched his fists, balling in nervousness as he exhaled and watched the breath of his exhalation dissolve into the evening air. His cerulean eyes followed up the perched red and white-stripped tent, only kept standing by a few wires and weak pillars that had appeared in the city overnight. It was everything he had imagined for a circus, the multi-colored stripped tents, the mini stalls scattered by the entrance, thr insanely bright lights that lit their trails, the freaks that roamed the ground with their freaky smiles he found uninviting at all, unlike some people seemed to like it.

He caught his breath once a clown balancing on top of a 7-foot rubber ball came rolling across his way while honking a yellow horn loudly, jumping out of the way in reflex, and mostly out of being startled by it. A few passing people bumped behind him, hitting his back with elbows and broad shoulders as people began pouring in inside the insanely large tent where the main event was about to take place. He got caught up in the jostling crowd between eerie laughs, cacophony of noises, rude people that kept passing him without a care, he got pushed to the ground, bottom first.

"Get movin', kid!" an old man spat at his face as he gave his ticket out to the bouncer, giving him a malicious look of devoid. "If ya ain't watching the show then get outta the way!"

Before he could muster up a cocky reply or much less register what was happening, his pants were soaked in grimy mud, the ground wet after last night's storm. The smell of mud and popcorns then hit his senses, reminding him of what sort of animal ground he was in. He looked up, squinting up into the night sky with a few lanterns hung at every corner as the only source of light showed droves of people drawing a line, hustling and scuttling. Passing out their tickets as they got to the entrance, some chatting, bickering, and bellowing in laughter in excitement. Happy faces. Happy people. Happy.

He felt sick.

Disgusted of such shameful people.

There was an unfamiliar clench in his stomach, his guts and his organs twisting knots after knots into each other until they've formed the feeling of loathing the size of a football in his insides. His face had distorted into a scowl, the sides of his lips dipping into a deep frown of distaste.

How come? Of course, they're here to watch freaks balance knives on the tip of their tongues without getting scathed in the slightest, swallow fire as they get their organs pummeled with mallets. Balance off invisible strings as they dance with sickening tutus showing off frilly underwear. Laugh at bearded ladies who got whipped for declining to eat bunches of bananas shoved in their faces. Cackle as they watch tortured lions and tigers jump into rings ablaze with fire, headed by none other than an evil ringmaster.

But he is no different from them.

Or so he believes.

Jackson got up with a shake of his head, brushed the dirt off his mud-stained pants, pushing down the revolting feeling in his stomach that kept bugging him all day and had been screaming at him to turn back now while he still had a chance, but ignored it. He made his way through the back of the tent, passing by little stores selling luscious apples dipped in chocolate, deep-fried burritos, popcorns oozing with butter, hotdogs cooked just the right way he wanted it—

His stomach growled.

He stopped momentarily to pat his stomach above the belt, sighing as he hadn't eaten in the last two, three days? He couldn't even remember. The disgust was suddenly replaced with hunger, and he felt like someone had punched a huge hole in his belly and it was a void to be filled. All he knew now was that he was absolutely ravenous and in need of food, but after a moment of being at war with himself, he brushed the thoughts away as he got behind the tent, willing his feet to move one after another and away from the tempting food stalls. He had far more important things to tend to than his own personal needs, he came to a conclusion with. And other than that, he didn't have any money anyway.

When he got to the back, two guards loomed over an opening, one at each side, standing with ramrod straight spines and unfazed watchful looks with guards up and he had guessed he found the jackpot to where the big boss was residing. He uttered a short prayer to whatever listening entity to quell his sarcasm and help him convince these two scary looking men to let him in and not throw him out the grounds before he could even introduce himself.

"Hello," he greeted smoothly, casually walking up to the one with a goatee, a large man with brown hair and gold-rimmed sunglasses. "May I interest you with the latest model of facial cream that would help with all those wrinkles at your forehead?"

The man didn't budge at the slightest. Neither did his partner.

"And all that acne," he pressed, pretending to squint up to take a better look at the man's face through the darkness. "Look at that. They're like baby daisies waiting to blossom. And it's not pretty with what they leave on your face, like craters. Gross."

The one opposite from them chuckled, and the man he was humoring was starting to get irate.

"Get lost," the man glowered, still looking straightforward and into nothingness. Jackson clicked his tongue.

"Telling ya, man," he shook his head jokingly. "This is a chance of a lifetime. I only come where the wind blows."

"And the wind is blowing south. Now get out before I kick you out this place myself."

He squabbled with the guards surrounding the back for the next five minutes that passed, forbidding him to burst into where he believes the manager resided thinking he was a petty salesman that wanted to sell facial cream—a tall lean man with hair ablaze that reminded Jackson of the sun suddenly emerged from the gap of the tent. White suit spick and span, probably fresh from the dryers and ironed, gold linings at the ends of his cuffs and collar, with a red vest under his attire.

"What is up with all the ruckus?" the man scowled, looking dreadfully vexed and dead tired, cold eyes falling and finally fixing at the brown haired boy. Jackson, who was now resisting against the bodyguards that hooked their arms under his armpits, froze. He seemingly numbed at the glare of the older man, his breath halted into a pause.

He had undeniably amazing sideburns Jackson respected him for growing, surely it must've been hard to let them grow into such a fascinating bush along his jaw (the very first thing he noticed). But he also had this urge to wax it off himself, or maybe put duct tape over it and peel it off as fast as he could. Like he was doing him a favor to get off such an eyesore along his face, but he held back his weird urges as he swallowed at the forming lump in his throat that was the size of a golf ball.

"I am Jackson Overland," he announced, voice trembling as he nudged away from the guards clutches, giving them his own set of menacing glares. He cleared his throat as he spoke again, turning forward to the man in front of him. "And I want to be a part of your… circus. Freak show. Or whatever you call it."

All he got was a chuckle of a reply, a laugh almost evil that shot shivers run up and down his spine.

"Young man, you are far too young for this. Go and work at McDonalds instead, you have far more potential over there," the man with neatly jelled hair turned away from him, waving away like he'd said the silliest thing. "Take him away, boys."

The man with a goatee was more than happy to oblige, but he shoved him away.

"Wait!"

Jackson struggled to break free from the iron fists and flung one arm out, a set of blue and white like auras under the stars shot from his sleeves and in a blink of an eye, the whole covers beneath the tent were now covered in snow.

It's snowing.

His doing. All his.

The man stopped in his tracks in bewilderment, jaw loosening and his eyes grew wide at the sight that surrounded him. And so did the two guards, letting Jackson ease away from their grip and he smirked smugly at them before turning back to the redhead. The man opened his palms to catch a snowflake in hand, screwing his eyes at it and he let it dance and teeter around his gloved hand, drinking in the fresh feeling of powder snow beneath his feet and raw coldness in his touch before crushing it in his palms.

Slowly, he turned back to Jackson. "…Do you know what you are doing?"

"Yes," Jackson answered with no hesitation.

"Obviously, you have run away from home. Or something, correct?" the man turned, chin up as he stomped towards Jackson that created a trail of footprints in the light snow, grabbing his chin roughly in his hands. He winced in from the abruptness, maybe mistaken for pain.

"I didn't run away," he insisted, refusing to look the man in the eye.

"Give me a valid reason why should I accept a filthy mutt like you into my circus?"

This is the hidden truth behind the circus, he concluded.

Behind painted smiles of playful clowns that kept people laughing were deep frowns that scarred into their very souls by morose sadness. Behind gymnasts who balanced on their tiptoes on top of thin strings were invisible wires that kept them stable from falling to an uncertain accident. Behind grand monsters roaring in thunder were scratches and scars from continuous mauling from abusive practice. And other sick looking freakazoids like people with three legs, bearded ladies, camel backs, ostrich feet—he couldn't count them all, were nothing but artificiality that was only meant to be seen on stage.

All Jackson could think, is that he's doing this for Emma. And for Emma alone. And if it meant saving Emma's life he would sacrifice his very soul to keep his beloved sister alive, he knew this truth.

And so he nodded.

"Because I am a Misfit."

The man's glossed lips turned into a coy smile before his touch softened and let go of his face, Jackson immediately grabbed his chin to smooth his poor jaw, feeling the bite of short fingernails dig into his skin instantly. The other man moved to rub his gloved hand over his chin and tapped, eyes squinting in mischief at the young boy, seemingly amused.

"Good answer," the man nodded in approval. "But I still must discuss this to the Nightmare King. I can't just approve of letting a petty child run around my circus."

"Hans," another man promptly emerged from beneath the covers. A far more taller man, bombarded with a fairly manly beard and he was shirtless, him alone standing behind the dark covers scared the wits out of Jackson. Only cloaked in bears skin that covered his shoulders, revealing a rough physique with seemingly scratches, scars marked made by a—bear?

Jackson's eyes widened as it took seconds for it to sink in. The man gained his scars from wrestling the bear he now wore as a cloak, like a trophy he proudly strut in front of anyone to shove a little fear in their hearts.

"You know he doesn't like it when you say your circus," the man reminded in a gruff voice.

"Pish posh, Mordu," the redheaded man—Hans waved his hand over the bearded barbarian he now knew was named as Mordu. "He'll never know."

"He does," Mordu swallowed into a whisper. His eyes then flicked everywhere warily, as if they were being watched. As if he was… scared of this he. Whoever he is. Jackson couldn't believe he was watching a grown up quiver in fear, it was the oddest thing he had ever encountered. "He knows everything, Prince Hans. Everything. He's watching…"

Hans' left eyes twitched, marking his evident fear of threat. He wasn't so good in hiding his fear, as Jackson saw how his voice trembled as he patted Mordu on the shoulder. "Shut it," he snapped before turning back to Jackson. "First, I have a show to run. And ah, Jackson? I must discuss this first with the Nightmare King. Only he sees potential in freaks like you. I am only a messenger. I will inform you as soon as possible if he agrees of your presence."

Hans immediately turned back, pulling a whip that hung from his belt, snapping it on the dirt ground in trial. His instant snow was starting to dissolve quickly in the dark. He suddenly turned back, Mordu still standing still in his post.

"Ah, and Mister Jackson. I humbly apologize, I am Hans Isles. The Lost Prince, as some may call me. And I am the ringmaster of this circus. Granted the power by the Nightmare King himself," he said as he took a saucy bow. "And I invite you to watch my show for tonight, have a sneak peak of what you are heading for. What beauties you will encounter in our lively show," he produced a golden ticket, waving it in the air before throwing it in Jackson's way, catching it by reflex. "Use it, it's the best seat in show. Mordu please kindly escort the young man to his seat."

Hans turned back, putting up the covers as he hunched over to get back to start the show—

"Wait!" Jackson called out once more.

"What?" Hans raised an eyebrow as a response.

"Who is this…" he hesitated, wondering if saying the very name of this he would call out to him, or much less, if he was watching him right now. The thought of it scared him. "This Nightmare King?"

Hans looked back, eyes empty and striking at the young man silently cursing him of his curiosity and inquisitive character, finally giving in with a tired sigh.

"Young man, he does not like to be talked behind his back. But do not waver, you shall meet him soon enough. But for now just sit back and enjoy the show."


feedback suffices my occasional motivational starvation. thanks for reading, hope it wasn't as bad as i think it is. till the next chapter!

May the Fortress be with you!