Clowns of Paris

Every so often when writing microfiction, I find a story that just will not let itself be trimmed down to drablle (100-word) length."Clowns of Paris" is one of them. I'm not sure what the title is supposed to mean.

Blogger decided to eat this story for some reason. Here it is again.

 Clowns of Paris

The mime had farted.

            

 Everyone heard it. A little girl in A saffron-colored dress let go of her blue balloon, watching it waft away into the sky. Her mother’s mouth twisted in disgust. All around, children and adults alike shook their heads in proper revulsion.

           

“Sorry!” the mime exclaimed.

           

 He clamped his hands over his mouth. At this final sin the crowd’s outrage simply could not be contained. They picked him up and carried him bodily to the lion’s den in the zoo, dumping him roughly to the dirt there.

            

 As his last defiant act, he swore privately that he would make no sound while the lion devoured him. But the beast burped noisily when the act was done, and the unappeasable crowd just shook their heads and threw their arms up to heaven in irritation, though some shook their fists at hell, where the mime very well may have gone.