Ghost Circus

Everyone who dies wakes up in a state of confusion. Without knowing why they are here or what they have lost, they walk a path led by something invisible. At the end of that path stands a circus built between this world and the next.

Every member of the audience is a ghost. Souls stay here for a while to watch the performances.

In the fleeting joy unfolding under the bright lights, sadness, confusion, and even the pain experienced at the moment of death slowly melt away. The souls, now lightened, depart for the afterlife without lingering regrets. If this circus stops, the dead will lose their way, carrying their pain with them.

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From the very beginning. I was not a life created from someone's love or someone's earnest desire.

I was merely a replica, a creation made because the Ringmaster needed me for the circus.

I liked even that fact.

I was happy to be applauded by someone, to be recognized, and to show my true self clearly on the stage.

No, is 'happy' the right emotion?

On stage, I was being loved. I believed that the countless gazes, the applause, and the cheers directed at me were loving me.

I decided to be a good child. A child who doesn't make mistakes, listens well, and isn't hated by anyone. I believed that if I smiled and danced as people wanted, if I became more perfect, they would eventually stop turning away from me.

But if the seats are empty, who should I be loved by? When the applause stops, what should I believe in?

I'm still a good child. I'm smiling so hard like this.