Chapter 1
The memory of her past life seemed like decades ago, maybe even centuries, but she knew it had only been three days, and though time is said to pass by like the twinkling of a newborns laughter, it seemed longer. It had happened so fast. They had been performing, she and Stella taming Aaron the Lion to their will, their whips swirling in the air and the great beast responding to their commands, until the first bomb struck too close to the large colorful tent. The crowd had been frantic, going for the exits, their movements a blur as Aaron roared in fear. She had rushed to the large, gold maned animal, abandoning the whip as she threw herself to the large cats side, next to his head as she tried to calm him with light touches and whispering feathered words, fumbling for the rope around his neck, tugging him along to the large drapes that had been their entrance to one of their many shows, now becoming their last. The bright dancers ate through the tough fabric, alighting the darkened tent in orange and red.
They had made it out in time. Aaron was set free. He would have been alright, she was more than his tamer and master, she was his mother, and had taught him the best manners that most humans lacked. He knew what to hunt for, knew how to keep himself clean, and how to keep calm with humans. He didn't need a whip, he was the real star, a performer since a cub, and his reward at the end of the day was meant for him only: his mother with her beautiful rose smile, and a medium cooked steak with the best ingredient of all-love. She would miss her little cat, but like every child, they had to leave the nest.
The fire had burned through the tent, a smoking pile of leather and ash was left were it stood. The actors had spread throughout the city, in search for shelter. The four acrobats stood there, their eyes glued on the site of their former home. They didn't know much on the outside world. They traveled every year around the globe, country by country, day by day, on a train or a boat, they could only go out before the show started. This was the last of Circus Firenzi, this was the last of their homes. She was strong, they all were, they could move on, and like the Phoenix, they will be born from the ashes of their old life, and create a new one.
A hand rested on her shoulder, bringing her back to the harsh reality. "Let's go, Rosie," her friend said softly. "We gotta go." The hand gave a gentle squeeze before it dropped.
"I'll be right there, Marina," Rosie whispered, the words drowned out by the cackling of the last flames.
"Where are we going to live guys?" the worried Australian accent asked. Although she could not see her, Roseanne knew that her young friends' sea green eyes would be filled with sadness and concern, never fear.
The soft Italian voice answered for the three friends. "I don't know. But isn't that part of the adventure."
The girls silently agreed to Josephine's answer. It was true anyways-they didn't have a home outside the circus, and it had been destroyed.
"Then where do we go now?" Stella whispered.
Rose heard movement from behind her and she could picture in her mind as clear as air that Marina was laying a hand on Ella's shoulder, a small smile dancing gracefully on her lips as her body did on her acts. "We can start looking through Manhattan," she reassured. "There is bound to be a few abandoned warehouses around the city. We can stay in one of them 'till we get back on our feet."
Roseanne took one last look at the pile of ashes in front of her. As she took the handle of her black suitcase in her hand and went to the friends, the sisters, she had grown up with, she thought of one thing as they walked with their little belongings through the shadowed grass of Central Park...
And like the Phoenix burning in its own fire it will be reborn again from the ashes.
That seemed like so long ago, and yet Rose remembered it like it was only moments ago. Marina was right, there were a few abandoned warehouses throughout the city. It wasn't as bad as they had thought. For one, it was spacious, one thing they didn't get from small trailers. The bad thing-they needed to be in constant watch of the generator and plumbing. Other than that they had had fun exploring the place. It wasn't exceedingly big, but like a double house.
The girls took to using the upper floor as their temporary living quarters. More warehouses surrounded them, each with old wood and creaking metal beams. One of the warehouses down the street had had small lights inside with building noises and boarded up windows. Rosie could only guess that that warehouse was taken, but by whom?, she never saw them exit.
She was propped against the cold steel wall, a warm quilt resting around her legs as Marina and Josephine talking whatnot and Stella in a corner, her knees held close to her chest as she wrote in her journal, the blue pen dancing along the pages.
Before her strange colored eyes closed, Rosie looked out to the window across on the wall opposite of her. She could see the city lights shine bright through the alleys and the gray clouds that hung over New York City like a coat.
Dear journal/diary thingy,
It seems to me that there is nothing else to do in an old abandoned warehouse but sit on the cold cement floor and wait for something to happen. These last few days have been hard on us, especially Rosie.
Maybe it's best if I start with who I am. I know its pointless to explain myself in a journal if nobody is going to read it, most likely, but here it goes: My name is Stella Monroe. I am from Australia and my parents are from Hawaii. I am fifteen-years-old, born on February 15. When I was nine, my father left to fight in the army and never came back, he was MIA. Five months later, my mom and I were invited to Circus Firenzi because my aunt, my mother's aunt, invited us to come. My mom had declined and she moved to Hawaii to live with my grandparents. My grandpa taught me all about survival in every kind of situation. My friends called me Tarzana. I became a great surfer too.
When my grandparents died when I was eleven, my mom had decided to join the circus. She died two years later of cancer. I had made good friends. I met Rosie first. She was an acrobat on trapeze since she learned how to walk. She helped me how to fit in, and I taught her how to hula dance. I had also met Marina and Josephine. We each had a different story on how we ended up in the circus.
Roseanne Pissaro was daughter of a long of line of tamers and acrobats. Her mother was British and one of the local acrobats walking on tight ropes and her father was in a mariachi band in Mexico. I am not going to explain on how they met but the punch line is that he joined the circus as part of the new division of Mariachi Players, got married and had Rosie. I should stop here on her life. If she found out I was exposing her life to a dead tree that anyone can read, she might kill me, and it takes a lot to make her get angry.
Next is Marina Garcia, a Peruvian mother and Hawaiian father. I can't tell you that we had met before. If I recall, her father had been a surfer and her mother a merchant that had both gotten an opportunity to join the circus in taming and costume designing. Mari was a great performer in dance. Pablo (our circus-boss) had let her take part in the dance with the older women. She had taken to learning acrobatics to add to her high flying dance moves. She was like a ninja in a tutu.
Josephina had a strange past. Out of all of us, she got the worst out of life. When the circus had gone to perform in Tokyo, she had run into one of the trailers when she was six and was discovered the next morning when the train was heading north for another show. Pablo had asked her for her family, he got her short life story: her father was a mechanic and her mother an artist, and both had died two weeks before leaving their only daughter to face against the world alone. He discovered that she had a natural talent with technology and adopted her into the circus. She still got nightmares, old memories resurfacing again, I suppose.
I hope you understand the basics on our life story. I'll continue tomorrow. I'm tired. It feels good to write about my problems. But if I want to have enough to write, I can't waste all the good stories I have on one entry. Maybe tomorrow I can explain to you on why we are at war.
Your new owner,
Stella
First chapter already, I'm on a roll. Well, actually I had been writing this since last night so yeah. Don't worry, the turtles will come out soon, just not yet, so hold your horses. I'm thinking of having Stel's entrys be on the beginning of the chapters and the end. But that is just me. Remember to tell me what you think and if I should continue.
