My childhood was a very lonely, empty experience. You could say that I feel under the stereotype of "the lonely weirdo"; I never really was compatible with most other children, for I simply lacked most popular tastes, and had different definitions for what I considered enjoyable ways to spend my time. I did my studies at a small school somewhere on the east side of town, although my schooling was terribly ineffective and of such little benefit to my education that the countless hours I spent in class were practically spent in vain. Every night my father worked hard until it was nearly dusk, so he was never around by the time I was released from school.

Knowing how my father always arrived home late from work, instead of heading straight home like I was expected to, nearly every day after school I would sneak over to the enormous library we had in Darlam, where I obtained most of my knowledge. The library had always been a safe haven for me; there was little I loved more than literature, and there were days when I would spend countless hours reading a large variety of books on multiple subjects. It was also the place where I spent time with the only two friends I ever had as a child, Troden and Tigien, who were a couple of twin brothers I had first met there. The library was about the only place we ever crossed paths, but regardless the three of us shared a fine bond, and it was great simply to be able to find someone who I could actually connect with.

However, there was but one thing which I loved more than the library, and that was gymnastics. About the only thing that ever appealed to me about school was participating in gymnastics every Thursday afternoon; what it was about them that so greatly fascinated me, I cannot say. It was simply my passion, and it was as though I had been born to perform them. During my youth, I had a great ambition to perform gymnastics as a future occupation.

The first half of my days as a twelve-year-old were probably some of the loneliest ones I had ever experienced. The days at school seemed the longest they had ever been, I felt more invisible than ever before, and my father was always so wrapped up in his work that he hardly ever paid any attention to me at all. It was during this time that word reached my ear of a travelling circus that was recruiting new performers. After receiving the news, my face lit up with joy. Fed up with my glum feelings of loneliness and lack of attention from my father, and being eager to fulfil my childhood dream of performing gymnastics professionally, I decided to run away from home and join the circus, becoming an acrobat. And while it seemed promising at first, I will always regret the consequences that followed.

I spent most of my teenage years travelling to all sorts of exotic places, performing insane aerobic stunts with my new found circus friends. My father never seemed to come looking for me after I had disappeared, at least not to my knowledge; knowing him, I wonder if he ever even realised I was missing. My days as a teenager were undoubtedly the most exciting and happiest ones yet; I had the opportunity to see new places and meet new people I otherwise would never had been able to, all while doing what I loved, and no longer did I feel so alone.

However, my brief circus career did have its consequences, and in particular, one that literally scarred me for life. I was only twenty at the time when we were performing a show in a town not far from where I grew up. The team and I had spent countless hours rehearsing our entire performance time and time again, and when it was time for the real show, we felt prepared for whatever could possibly come our way. And yet somehow, something went horribly, horribly wrong.

I could feel my heart racing with excitement while backstage, for my act was quickly approaching. A good friend of mine was on stage performing her signature tightrope walking act, which she always did before diving through a series of rings glowing with red, blazing fire. As always, her performance was flawless thus far, so much so that I never in a million years could have predicted what happened next. Before reaching the rings of fire, she fainted and fell off of the rope, slicing through the air like a bird that had suddenly lost its ability to fly.

Panicked, one of the other performers quickly raced to her side. Although while doing so, he accidentally knocked over one of the wooden poles that suspended the flaming rings, and before too long, the entire stage was set ablaze. As the terrified audience members and other performers scrambled outside the tent, screaming with fear, I quickly dashed over to the side of my friends and helped carry the fallen performer out of the tent. Thankfully, the two of them were able to make it out of the tent unharmed; I, on the other hand, was not as fortunate.

Shortly before reaching the exit, I could hear a thunderous burst of flames as the roof of the tent collapsed and swallowed me within its fiery depths. I raced out of the tent screaming, engulfed by the fire, and ran around hopelessly until I found a pale of water to drench myself in. By the time the flame had been extinguished, I was covered with severe burns and had to be rushed to a nearby hospital immediately.

Within a few months I had substantially recovered physically, but while that accident was now many years ago, the memory of it still haunts me to this day. I simply have not been able to look at fire the same way since then. I had spent about a year hiding in my apartment away from the world, too afraid to show my face, but after a while I remembered just how desperate I had been to escape from being alone as a child- I mean, I went as far as to join a circus for that very reason, for Pete's sake- and I realised that sooner or later I would have to face the world, for the last thing I wanted was a repeat of my lonely childhood. I thought that perhaps I could move to a new city where no one would know who I was, and then maybe I could start a new life there.

Remember how in that last sentence I said "perhaps I could move to a new city where no one would know who I was"? Well, as it turns out, it didn't quite work out that way. A few months later, I moved to Verston, the city neighbouring my home town of Darlam, and one of the first people I met there was Troden, one of the twins I was friends with as a child. Let me tell you, that lad never forgets a face, even after it's been burned to a crisp. Nonetheless, it was a happy reunion for both of us. He told me of his reason for coming to this town, and that was to fulfil his dream of pursuing an occupation in magic tricks and illusions, and he was in need of someone to assist him with his performances. Terrified of all of the dangerous stunts that magicians do, I was quite reluctant to volunteer. However, I had grown to miss being up on stage performing, and I figured that frequent exposure would be the only cure for my fear of danger. Thus, I said to myself "what the hey?" and volunteered myself as his assistant.

Now the two of us perform magic shows here all the time at the Verston Auditorium. I still often times find it difficult to watch him perform, simply because I fear for his safety and I don't want him to suffer a similar fate as I, but I do my best not to let my concerns get to me, as we've been performing together for years now and I've seen how capable he is of handling dangerous tricks. I enjoy working with him, and look foreword to many more years of performing together.

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