Matthias Moon, or Mr. Moon as he preferred to be named stood gazing through the shaded window of his residence. His trailer was situated along with the others, beside the centre of the camp and the fire the others had going. He removed the cigar from his mouth and exhaled a smoke cloud.
Turning away from the fireside celebrations, Mr. Moon returned to the depths of his cabin. He enjoyed the isolation from the others; it added to the mystery pertaining to his act. His varying decks of cards lay scattered on a table in one corner; a mirror lay next to them. Moving toward the table, Mr. Moon picked up the mirror in his free hand and perused his reflection.
A man of 55 stared back, short hair greying, cheekbones becoming prominent on his gaunt face. A small goatee graced his chin and his eyes were shadowed from lack of sleep. He glimpsed the edge of the collar of his black cloak in the reflection. It was all a part of his act; right down to each intricate red and gold spiral.Maintain the illusion. His father had thought him that at the age of seven, and it was his code for living.
A knock came on his trailer door. The Ringmaster of the circus, Bartholomew Monroe stuck his head in the door.
“Shall we be graced by your presence this night, Mr. Moon? Or shall you retain your privacy until the morrow?”
Mr. Moon glanced at the man; flicked a wrist, producing a new deck of cards from nowhere and smiled.
“Entertainment is a virtue, Mr. Monroe. Even we circus freaks require our fair share. Shall I dazzle the others for a time? Keep their minds from the morrow and its challenges?”
“We would be grateful if you should, Mr. Moon”.
The pair left the trailer, laughing heartily.