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    Being Martha: Circus Freak Series
    Being Martha: Circus Freak Series
    Being Martha: Circus Freak Series
    Ebook109 pages1 hour

    Being Martha: Circus Freak Series

    By Erin Lee

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    About this ebook

    Being Martha

    Circus Freak Series Book Three

    Martha knows things. For starters, she wants away from the big top. But it won’t be easy.

    To finally be free of the circus life, she has to find herself. That will mean facing reality. And Martha, unlike the rest of the oddities, knows the truth.

    There are actualities that come with working in the circus:

    1. You don’t apply for no reason.
    2. No one is who they seem.
    3. It’s impossible to leave unchanged.

    The carnival’s resident bearded lady, is no different than anyone else. With secrets to hide, she roams the travelling circus grounds at night searching. Living as a freak show spectacle under the lights is old. When darkness falls, she is fully herself but risks someone finding her out.

    Clinging to a secret identity, can Martha hang on to her skeletons and retire circus life undiscovered?

    Or will she be exposed for her true curiosity?

    Being Martha is the horrific story of a anomaly searching to find herself in a place where the show must go on.

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherCrazy Ink
    Release dateJul 15, 2018
    ISBN9781386706687
    Being Martha: Circus Freak Series
    Author

    Erin Lee

    Erin Lee lives in Queensland, Australia and has been working with children for over 25 years. She has worked in both long day care and primary school settings and has a passion for inclusive education and helping all children find joy in learning. Erin has three children of her own and says they have helped contribute ideas and themes towards her quirky writing style. Her experience working in the classroom has motivated her to write books that bring joy to little readers, but also resource educators to help teach fundamental skills to children, such as being safe, respectful learners.

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      Book preview

      Being Martha - Erin Lee

      All the freaky people make the beauty of the world.

      -  Michael Franti

      Copyright © 2018 by Erin Lee

      All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means, without prior written permission.

      Editing: Samantha Talarico

      Proofing: Rita Delude, Kimberly Lee

      Formats: Crazy Ink

      Inspiration: Peaches the Cat whose real name isn’t quite as epic

      Publisher’s Note: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are a product of the author’s imagination. Locales and public names are sometimes used for atmospheric purposes. Any resemblance to actual people, living or dead, or to businesses, companies, events, institutions, or locales is completely coincidental.

      Dedication:

      For all the freaks.
      Even the hairless ones, like Peaches.
      Also for Thelma. Ride or die? (Nine times).

      Being Martha

      Part One: Chapter One

      Martha, six months ago

      I refuse. I flat refuse. I am not spending another day listening to Leslie whine about her stupid nonexistent love life or how miserable it is being a contortionist. The bitch has no clue. I’d like to see her try to land a guy as a woman with a beard, and, well, let’s just call it a thirst for felines. It isn’t easy being a circus freak. I’ll give her that. But I’ve been part of the show for a pretty long time. And I can tell you; it’s hardest being the bearded lady, especially carrying around secrets like mine.

      I sit in my trailer, tucked at the very end of a long line of rusted tin palaces. I should have just lost myself on the way. Driving here, I considered it, even got out of line for a bit. I took a few minutes to myself at a gas station to reassess the situation and everything. But, even then, I couldn’t go through with it. I found myself right back in line with the rest of the trailers, following all of them on the way to we’ll never Escape, Colorado. Ultimately, we wound up parked at the edge of a massive park by a fairground that in twelve hours we’d turn into a virtual amusement park. A day in the life of a sideshow freak, I suppose.

      The show must go on. That’s what they always say. No one cares that Andre, our token senior clown, is dead and that Leo the big cat’s thirst for blood is larger than ever. Hell knows why Madame wanted a harmless old clown, of all things, dead. Whatever. I can’t think about it. I refuse to get off of my couch. Any minute, Cat will walk in like she has no blood on her hand—singular because she only has one which is interesting for someone who makes a living twirling a baton—and plop right down. She’ll complain to me about how much she misses Moe and Joe like she didn’t have anything to do with killing them.

      I’m sick of her. Yes, she’s my friend. And it’s not like I don’t have blood on my hands either. I most certainly do. In the circus, everyone is running to or from something, and I’m no different than any of them. But, like the rest of them, it’s not like I could exactly land an ordinary job outside of the circus. Sure, I’ve considered telling people I’m just transgender and in transition or something. It’s what they all assume anyway. I could ride on the accept me as I am parade, but I don’t want to. I’ve done enough lying for three seasons of tours. I’m not a man. I’m not gay. And the last thing I have is pride anyway.

      I pluck at the hairs on my chin, ignoring my rumbling stomach and telling myself the weather will chill out. Animals will come out of hiding soon enough. Colorado or not, Christ, it’s not like it snows in July. Yeah, the weather’s been a bit wacky, but it’s only a cold spurt. Worst case, there is the petting ring. I could always go there again if need be. It’s not like Madame would say anything—not if she wants me keeping Cat’s secrets. I consider calling Madame—the ring leader of it all—and telling her I’m not feeling well. I am in no mood to fight with the ring crew as they make double time work of setting up the big tents and vendor booths. I decide against it.

      It’s not like Leslie won’t know what to do. I’m sure she can steal the cash box again. I’m sure she won’t even get fired for it. The woman is simply useless. The problem is I can’t even hate Cat; the reason I’m now stuck working with her. Sure, I get it. Cat needs a break and is in mourning over Moe supposedly leaving her. The rumor is that Joe, his conjoined twin and the one with the legs, took off with him to join a motorcycle gang. Bullshit. Truth is she fed them both to the animals. Killed Andre the clown too, just so Madame would leave her alone.

      Apparently, doing Madame’s bidding gets a freak perks. Hers is spending her days exploring while we set up again near Crimson Ridge—the more expensive side of town. Now, because of Cat, I get stuck on Leslie’s ticket-selling patrol. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. But, like I said, I can’t exactly hate her for this. In all honesty, if Madame had come to me and asked me to kill Andre, well, I might have done it myself.

      Not hating her is different than not knowing it’s all her fault. For all of it, I do blame Cat. Ironic, huh? It will be, you’ll see. We need to start at the beginning of the story: She’s the one who made Madame change the schedule and landed us in Escape, Colorado where it’s too darn cold for hunting this time of year. It shouldn’t be. This isn’t how the weather is supposed to go. This place is like the chick they say was born here with no soul. Either way, I’m bored out of my mind. I could be doing so much more with my free time. Instead, I’m stuck in the ticket line with Leslie. This used to be Cat’s job. Not anymore. Like I said, I guess that’s what happens when you knock off Madame’s mortal enemy. Meantime, I’m just going to sit here waiting for her.

      I prop my thick calves onto the coffee table inches from my couch. I don’t bother with any type of entertainment. I have no use for television or anything like that. To me, it’s a waste of money. I’m never around at night anyway. Night’s really the only time I can be myself. Plucking at my chin again, a nervous habit of mine that could put me out of a job if I’m not careful, I wonder if Cat will show up with Moe’s head this time. Or, if she’ll have the decency to leave the stupid thing at home.

      That’s right. The resident baton-twirling little person carries around a skull.

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