My Beast
When I first opened my little exhibit, word spread like plague inside the walled city, and soon waves of citizens came from all walks of life to see my captured beast. Those born with purple blood stood silently in line behind peasants. Farmers stood behind generals. Husbands were sandwiched by their wives and their harlots. All crowded into my poor little tent to see the beast I had obtained at great personal expense.
Each evening I would stand at the box office and graciously accept the lovely coins. People paid. People entered. Yet before my eyes the line only seemed to grow and grow and grow…
I quickly determined the source of the problem. Once inside the tent, no one felt the urge to leave. Onlookers would gawk at the beast for hours in awed fascination. When I would gently suggest they head for the exit in order to give others a turn, they would inevitably turn cold and surly. When my suggestions became more forceful, I would come away with a bloodied nose and a bruised face.
With a cold damp rag pressed against my face, I watched and I thought. After two hours I was struck by sweet inspiration. Within minutes I found myself standing alone.
The crowds still come in overwhelming numbers. We do eight shows a day now. Business is booming. How, you ask?
It’s child’s play. When I feel that the audience has gotten value for their coin, I simply walk on stage and unlock the cage door…