Forks and knives clink against assorted dishes and the hall is buzzing with chatter. I look down the long table and recognize but a few faces. L’s across from me, and to his left a boy named Dongwoo. He’s an acrobat, and he looks the part. Muscled shoulders, a balance of daring and stability in the eyes. He’s loud though, and the only things that can quiet him are a mouthful of food or the boy next to me. He introduced himself as Hoya, and called himself a “floor-artist.” I can guess that he’s like a gymnast, but he doesn’t seem to talk much about himself. He’s almost as loud as Dongwoo, and they seem to have a competition of who can stuff more food into their mouths at once. Further down the table are the man with red hair and his usual group. One with black hair and sharp cheekbones catches my eye, and wow, this kid looks scary. I vaguely recall seeing him carrying a collection of swords and staves around the camp; he’s the martial artist.

I turn my attention back to in front of me and stab at the food on my plate. Dongwoo has turned to L, and the soft question “who will we lose next” hangs in the space between them. My brows furrow, and I look at L. Dongwoo notices my expression and chuckles. “So you haven’t told the newbie how all this works? You’re slacking off, L,” he says, before turning to me. “How have you not exploded from questions? You just plop into this place and take it all in stride? Not even a ‘where am I’? If I weren’t so impressed, I’d be concerned.”

“Well, I guess I sort of forgot,” I answer. Dongwoo just laughs and gestures at L, who rolls his eyes, puts his fork down, and begins to talk.

“Where to start? You’ve probably figured out what this place is. It’s sort of a recycling ground for artists who suffered accidents before their career really should have ended. You’re an aerialist, so you probably fell, and considering how much you complained about your shoulder the first week, you probably landed on that.”

“But how did I get here?”

“Well, obviously none of us know for certain because, during the transition, you’re sort of stuck into an interim mental phase that neither obtains nor retains much information. That’s why your mind was so foggy for the first week or so. That being said, many people have talked about the ground swirling under them, and we experience a similar phenomenon when people die—or pass, I guess—here.”

“Wait, so where do you go from here? Is this some sort of purgatory?”

“Once again, none of us have experienced it first-hand, so we don’t really know. What we do know is that there is a constant number of us in this camp, so when Sungyeol died I knew to anticipate your arrival. I’ve seen enough people cycle through to notice patterns. For example, both you and Sungyeol, and even the aerialist before him, all favor the flying trapeze over any other element. And we got Dongwoo a day after the old acrobat messed up his landing, to put it nicely. We seem to go through the fire-breathers fastest; we got the guy with the red hair down there about three weeks before you. You see, we don’t seem to experience any effects of aging.”

“How long have you been here?”

“Well, what year was it in the overworld?”

“1970, I think.”

“About 100 years then. It’s nice to see your memory has cleared up that much. You’re adapting quickly.”

“Tell him about Sunggyu,” Hoya butts in, shoving his fork at L. L just glances at the silverware before taking a deep breath.

“Sunggyu was the ringmaster before me. You see, ringmaster is inherited in a different way than the rest of the artists, and we tend to stick around quite a bit longer than everyone else.”

“Well, how does one become ringmaster? Do you have to apply or something? Prove that you’re special enough?”

“No. From what we know, the current ringmaster needs to interfere with the cycle if he or she wishes to give up the position.”

“Interfere with the cycle?”

“Yeah. Step in the way of death. Interrupt an accident. Like catching a fall or putting out a fire or something.”

“So what did Sunggyu do?”

“He slid a mat underneath me. I was a silks performer before, and I guess I lined up my drop wrong, because it didn’t catch under my leg like it was supposed to. The drop should have killed me, but the mat allowed me to escape with just a couple broken bones instead. The last memory I have of him is the void that opened under him and he sort of just dissolved away.” L shudders, and Dongwoo lays an arm around his shoulders.

“Sunggyu was his best friend,” Hoya says, winking at me. He gathers up the remains of his meal and rises. “Are you finished? The people with washer duty are getting impatient.” I nod, and quickly stack my cup on my plate. I glance once more at L and Dongwoo before striding after Hoya.

++++

Camp really quiets down a couple of hours after dinner. Any big practices are over, and any music that is playing is muted and nearly swept away by the wind. The bustle has moved to the washroom, where we line up in front of a large smudged mirror wielding toothbrushes and face soap. Conversation is subdued, the running water echoes off the walls and muffles speech and song. This is where I say goodnight to the others.

My once-bleak tent now glows like the others. I’ve a deep green blanket, and my things clutter the dresser around the mirror. I toss my clothes onto the chest and pull back the covers before extinguishing the lamp. I push Sungyeol’s teddy bear to the foot of the bed and climb in, feeling the soft fabric rest around me.

I’ve always done my best thinking right before I fall asleep. Even from day one, when I had to sleep on my back because my shoulder hurt so much. I suppose I’m not surprised that it doesn’t hurt anymore; L said the pain usually fades even before the fog is gone. L also said that most people’s remaining fog just melds into their mind, and as I probe around, I find that he’s right. There is no more fog, just an impassable edge of existence, beyond which all is dark. That’s another thing I’ve noticed: L is usually right.

The other people here are pretty interesting characters. No one truly knows their background, aside from L whose position makes him apparently enlightened or something magical like that. He says he did silks for some big production called “Circus of the Sun.” He was apparently in training to become the lead artist in his squad when he did what all other aerial performers do: fall. He says he landed on his left leg and sometimes I still see him limping around. Always favoring the injury. His one physical reminder of the overworld.

Everyone else is fairly standard issue, I guess. As time has passed, I’ve managed to meet almost everyone in our camp. The red haired guy that I saw on the first day is called Chanyeol, and he’s as wild as his hair would suggest. He generally surrounds himself with his campmates; he and eleven others live in a cluster of tents they’ve taken to calling the “X-tents.” I think it’s the way the structures are laid out, but they prefer to believe that they all have super powers like some overworld group the “X-men.” A curious group, and they provide good company. However, the number of them can be a bit overwhelming.

The one notable person I’ve really yet to know is the woman with long brown hair. I’ve seen her on the trampoline, springing and flipping and somehow always ending up on her feet by the end of the countless rotations. She seems familiar. Needless to say, I’ve been keeping a bit of an eye out for her. Just a bit.

A/N: so this was an absurdly long break (and oh look the contest is due in like 3 days what). pretty much school spring break happened and i went to mexico and trapezed for 3 hours a day and OH MY GOSH THE FEELS I HAVE FOR CIRCUS ARE TOO DAMN STRONG like you don't understand i did circus when i was like 8 and then stopped because i was dumb and now i am just like overwhelmed by the need to do circusy things and thus i write this fic /logic

Contest specific: I included the words "toothbrush" and "teddy bear" from list 4