🎭 Flash Fiction :"Audience of One"

He used to wait in the hallway after work, already dressed: red nose, baggy suit, one eyelash crooked. “Your audience is here,” he’d say, bowing like the carpet was velvet and not stained.

I clapped when he juggled his regrets. He dropped each one. I clapped anyway.

When he cried, he pretended it was part of the act. “What a funny little show we are,” he whispered, and put a banana peel on the stairs, just to make silence slip.

At night, I heard him rehearse in the kitchen, laughing too loudly for no one. Practicing punchlines that never landed.

He called me his brightest balloon. I floated quietly above him, tied to the idea that he’d lift me someday.

Then he vanished: one day no greasepaint, no footsteps, no breath behind my bedroom door. Just the wig in mama’s drawer, the rubber nose deflated on the couch.

I still perform for him sometimes. In mirrors, in dreams. I deliver his final joke like it's sacred. The setup is everything. The punchline doesn’t come.

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🎵"Clown Daddy"

Painted smile, bargain shoes

Broken nose, but still amused

He turns the music way too loud

So I won’t hear him cry aloud

Velvet coat, thrift-store red

He sleeps beside an empty bed

Whispers jokes to ghosts of me

Under lights we’ll never see

He says, "It’s funny when it hurts"

Breathes in laughter, chokes on words

But when I asked if he was fine

He said, “Don’t worry, punchlines die.”

Daddy wears his sadness like it’s part of the act

Glitter on his tears, but the colors all cracked

He juggles regrets while I smile for the show

But behind the curtains, he’s letting me go

So I laugh like I’m proud

But it’s killing me slow

Makeup stains the kitchen sink

He hides his heart in every drink

Mismatched shoes, uneven eyes

He bends the truth to fit the lies

He pulls me close then disappears

He paints a grin across his fears

Says, “I’m your hero, can't you see?”

But never once believed in me

He says, “Comedy is pain with style”

But his breath smells just like denial

I found his wig in mama’s drawer

Guess I’m the joke he made before

Daddy wears his sadness like it’s part of the act

Glitter on his tears, but the colors all cracked

He juggles regrets while I smile for the show

But behind the curtains, he’s letting me go

So I laugh like I’m proud

But it’s killing me slow

I drew a smile with red crayon

On a napkin he cried on

I sang alone to empty seats

While he drowned inside his beats

Daddy wears his sadness like it's stitched in his skin

Tells a joke nobody wins

I’m the daughter of a silent mime

Who forgot the punchline

Stage is dark, the crowd is gone

But I still dance to his old song

“Daddy, are you laughing now?”

Silence. And a painted frown.