Benny the Clown

FOUR hours earlier, Benjamin Jamison Southwick had been sitting in a cheap motel room, a gun in his mouth. Most clowns were crying beneath their painted-on smiles, and Benny the Clown was flat-out suicidal under his.

After deciding that, yes, he was finally going to do it this time, Benny the Clown had spent a while trying to figure out if he should do it in his clown costume. It would get a lot more attention if he did. Local Clown Blows Brains Out, Declared Unfunny. But he came from a long line of clowns, and did he really want to disgrace the Southwick name?

He'd thought about it, weeping much of the time, and then decided that yes, he would kill himself in his clown suit.

But he couldn't do it. Couldn't pull the trigger.

Just like the last three times.

Finally he'd checked his watch. He was scheduled to do a birthday party in half an hour. Might as well keep his commitment.

Getting bit by the birthday girl made him sad.

Having her braces get stuck in him made him sadder.

Sitting in the hospital with the girl and her awful mother, Benny the Clown had never been so sad in his life. If he'd had the gun with him, he thought he could have pulled the trigger, no problem.

He didn't remember any of that now. Because now, with the taste of blood in his mouth and much of the nurse's cheek between his teeth and no thoughts beyond how to get more more more MORE MORE MORE, Benny the Clown was happier than he'd ever been.