The Leader of the Mimes
Dying men rarely scream.- with a perverted mind
- kissed hers with exceptional vivacity
- their treatment is baloney
- “Married,” repeated the old lady.
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The leader of the mimes straightened his imaginary mortarboard. He pushed his imaginary glasses up on his nose and unfurled a scroll that was nothing but a figment, readying himself to deliver the verdict. For several moments he stood in deep concentration, making notes and doing some sort of complicated math to tally our scores. Just as he readied his pointing finger to indicate whether Jason or I was the winner, he let loose a horrific strangled shriek and toppled to the ground. A flaming arrow protruded from his back. Dying men rarely scream. Dying mimes, on the other hand, make the most godawful racket, like every sound they’d kept bottled up throughout their careers all tried to escape at once.
“It’s the fire eaters!” Tessa cried.
You can say I’m a man with a perverted mind, but seeing Tessa in nothing but clown makeup was really doing it for me, even with the Guild of Fire Eaters on the attack. I sprang between Tessa and Jason, pinched Jason’s lips shut with my fingers, and kissed hers with exceptional vivacity. They were slimy with greasepaint, but it was kind of sexy.
Jason’s lips slipped out of my grip. “Hey! Stop it!” he lisped. “This is my ceremony!”
Flaming arrows rained down around us. I tried to tell Jason to buzz off, but Tessa wouldn’t let me break our kiss until three more mimes were hit and their greasepaint ignited. Their comrades charged, wrapping them in invisible blankets to smother the flames. One of them pulled out a tube of burn cream.
“Oh ugh,” Tessa said, grabbing my hand. “Let’s get out of here. Their treatment is baloney-scented. It’s really gross.”
I trusted Tessa’s knowledge of all things mime. She’d been their captive for months, years ago.
I allowed her to pull me into the dense jungle, with Jason on our heels. The fire eaters’ ire seemed concentrated on the mimes and they didn’t follow us. Soon we tumbled out of the dense foliage and into a small village of houses made from solar panels.
An old woman was reclining in a hammock, strumming a guitar. As soon as he saw her, Jason began to complain. “Can you believe this? I’m supposed to be having a fertility ritual with Tessa right now, but she can’t stop kissing my brother. And he’s married!”
“Married,” repeated the old lady. “How bourgeois!”
bonus points for using them in order