3. The show
I got up at 9am on Saturday morning, lining my eyes with a kohl stick. A voice came from the outside of my trailer, small and tinned.
"10 minutes until the show Izzy!"
I grabbed my jacket and headed down to the tent, the makeup artist called me over, another day of chalk on my face.
"5 minutes until show!"
My makeup was on now, heavy like a pile of cake had been piled on to it. Mr Marcus shoved us in to the waiting area, his face was bent into a smirk, but I couldn't really tell because his face was always so crafty.
It was my turn.
I leaped onto a trapeze, flipping and twirling, a smile painted onto my face. The next jump was bigger, the tightrope. I spiralled onto it, spinning and somersaulting. The rope was loose, when I skipped it drooped slightly. But the saying was 'the show must go on' so I carried on, grinning as fake as my synthetic tights. However, as I sprung into the air and landed, the rope snapped clean in half, I tumbled down, someone had removed the crash mat, I plummeted as fast as light, into the hard floor of the tent.