I was witness to a fatal beating.  In the middle of a secluded alley, a partially conscious man was tied to a chair.  The decrepit Gotham City  condition of the buildings enhanced the chill.  I heard the victim’s plea for survival, and watched a tall, broad figure place a clown mask on a sconce.  A moment later, the echoes of broken pipes, the heavy foot steps of the assailant, and the whimpering from the chair muted, as if a higher authority had borred of the petty distractions.  With a mallet and continuous blows, the body and the chair fused into one,  immobile mass.

“If you have a fear or phobia of clowns, the clown may represent a mysterious person in your life who mean you harm. Somebody you know may not be who they appear to be. Or somebody may be pretending to be somebody they are not and are hiding under a facade.”

My guard is up.


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