The Strange Clown

It was a dark and stormy night.  The brief showers of rain started to cease, and the darkness smirked at me delusively.  I startle timidly by the loud bark of the thunder.  I awaken befuddled, and after a broad investigation of my surroundings, I am skeptical of my conclusions, but I discover that I have relocated to a deserted, inauspicious jungle.  Here I am, alone, in a labyrinth of forests, with not one notion on what to do.  My dubious mind is delirious and distressed.  Then, an inadvertent laughter comes from behind me.  I cringe, and turn reluctantly, and behold a familiar figure.  I see this famous clown, pondering the reason why, and how, he is inhabited in this jungle.  His unusually “supersized” shoes match his crimson unkempt hair.   The white face paint seems like it was slathered on hastily.  The blood-red clown nose and lipstick also seems like they were fastened on in haste.  The infamous “M” logo on his yellow overalls are worn neatly over his red-and-white striped shirt.  The well-known mascot grinned a creepy, menacing grin, glaring at me with his beady, sinister eyes.  The dazzling moonlight beamed upon his threatening face.  He laughed ominously once more, and I scampered, running as far as I could from him.  I did not dare to look back.  I just sprinted, jumping over strange plants that I took no time to observe.  I rushed past foreign trees and thickets, and dashed through many cumbersome leaves and branches.  I ran until I could no longer breathed, and laid on the cool, mushy leaves. 

            I waited for what seemed like a half an hour, and saw a small structure in the distance.  I stumbled past the brush and branches, and finally came up to what I discovered was a decrepit wooden shack.  It was covered in moss, fungi, and other molds.  It seemed like it could collapse in one touch.  On closer inspection, the aged shack had so many spider webs covering it that one could describe it like a thin, cotton blanket.  I was very curious about what was inside the shack, so I could not resist the temptation of kicking the old door down.  I hold my breath, stick my head in through the doorway, and take a gander at the interior of the shack.  There is nothing interesting inside, so I was quite disappointed.  I saw a small table that looks like it is about to disintegrate.  On top of the wooden table there was a tattered piece of paper.  The paper was probably a paper from the 1700s, from the looks of it.  It was blank.  There was nothing of much interest to me inside, so I decided to exit.  As I turned around for the exit, I see him again.  Only this time, some of his makeup looked very runny.  It must have been the humidity of the rainforest.  He pulls his arm back and makes a fist, as if he was about to punch me.  I close my eyes, and I anticipate him to hit me.  I yell, “STOP!” and he looks at me, rather confused.  As I reach down in my jeans pocket, I struggle to find my five-dollar bill.  I grab it, and hold it fearfully in front of his face.