The time and place of this saga are irrelevant. Put this in your home VA, Carolina Texas, Prague. Wherever you call home let this story lye. A young boy lets say seventeen. Not quite a Juggalo, but A ninja none the less, he struggles through life. Jumping from ghetto to ghetto, sifting through the carnage of his life. He sits in his room thinking of a woman. A woman he wanted, whose life has been taken by a close friend. A boy he knew very well. He thinks on this boy, envisions his face in deepest part of his mind and soul, and slowly slides the barrel of his Nine Millimeter Glock, staring into the depth of his revenge and steaming inside at the thoughts of the things that had been done to her. And then he sees his reflection again and thinks of his life after death. He ponders the thought of what his evil action will ravage unto his soul. He thinks of hell and what lies in the mirrors for him there. The mirrors that show what his mortal eyes do not see. A rage builds inside of him coursing through his very blood. He must avenge the one he loved. He must not feel this for the rest of his life. At the expense of the life of this boy this friend that has betrayed him. He must not live. He sits back and ponders Glock still in hand. Of letting him live, of being the better man. Of turning around and taking all of the sins of his life and regrouping. He could try and get out of the ghetto do something change someone. But he cannot. His rage has consumed him. He slides the gun into his belt pulls his jersey over it and heads out the door. He walks down the road, knowing exactly where he is going, no faygo today he cannot afford to stop. He must continue while his rage pulses, to keep the gut, to keep the courage. As he walks thunder clouds ravage the skies and a torrid storm begins its torturous path. It becomes too much he must find shelter, he looks around and sees a large Dome structure, he walks towards it as he walks towards the steps, he realizes that there are none, only a ramp like structure, an outstretched hand, as if welcoming him. He runs up the fingers there is writing on the doors its too wet outside he can’t read it. He runs in… He wonders where he is. He looks around and takes in everything, there is no person here… large dome ceiling, been bag chairs, an alter of some sort, no pews a couple crosses but they look different, in the ceiling a stained glass man holding a meat clever, wow he thinks, these guys are some real circus freaks! Within the dome are six pillars at the top are large cards with what looks like twisted jokers on them.
The first has a plaque Carnival of Carnage, he reads on a plaque at eye level he snickers a little while he relates it to himself and matches the circus freaks he just thought about to the carnival exhibits they speak of in the paragraph. Those of the ghetto are but circus freaks to the upper class! That’s exactly how he feels. He walks to the next pillar.
The Ringmaster, looking past the deeds one man has done, and into his continuous and judging his fate. He walks to the pillar recanting on the thoughts earlier as he sat o his bed, as he arrives at the third card, The Riddle Box. As you slowly turn the handle of the riddle box music plays. A deafening music to evil souls, but as the music ends an image of you comes forth. Wow he thinks. The mirrors of hell.. he hears something, a voice inside his soul as he moves to The Great Milienko. The great magician who casts your evil deeds into something that feeds. Feeds your own personal selfishness to want something, more than the consequences that might ensue. He thinks of the rage that built as he walks to the fifth card The Jeckel Brothers. The ultimate balancers of good and evil, the balance of the sins inside of you that ravage your soul. He sits for a moment on one of the bean bag chairs. As he sits he looks up and sees the final card,Thy Wraith. The gate keeper that carries you to your final destination. The first event of the carnival of your afterlife.
The rain stops and he walks out the door, he turns and reads the creed of the Fellowship of Juggalos on the doors he passes through. He walks down the sidewalk and disassembles the weapon, drops it in a trash can, and goes to the grave of his lost lover, to pray for her safe passage to Shangri La. There is a time in the life of every Juggalo, a time of consequence that you will not be able to prepare for. As a way of life everyone, Juggalo or not goes through time when it seems that a matter of drastic action is the only recourse. This ninja was on a path that could only be stopped by the person deep inside of him. The ninja in all of us is a strong man or woman who can be a large part of us. We as a family need to listen to our inner ninja and follow a path of righteousness and strength.
Much Luv
