The Smears of a Clown

Really dumb title, right? You betcha! And very appropriate, too.

So, my publisher held a contest for the authors to enter a flash fiction contest. The rules were simple. Write a short story under 100 words. Being the consummate idiot I am, I forgot to include a title. My publisher named it "Criminal Clown." But I much prefer my title.

I didn't win. I never win anything.

But here for your pleasure (torture) is "The Smears of a Clown."

Thumping woke me in the night. I slipped out of bed and tip-toed downstairs. A clown stood frozen at the back door, cradling my television.

Caught somewhere between fear and a dream-like state, I blinked, rubbed my eyes. Not the best response, I laughed.

He asked, "What's so funny? Do I look like a clown to you?"

"Yes."

His red, plastic nose squeaked when I planted a meat-cleaver into his face.

I pumped my fist like a rock-star to the resounding applause in my head. Always wanted to kill a clown.

Mimes are next. Then politicians and Kardashians.