Ok, guys… Heres the next story i wanna do for mah final speech (oral interp XD). So… tell me if you think it’ll work and what you think of it in general… 
The Carnival by Clementyne Howard
At this carnival there was no popcorn. There were no games, no prizes, and no children. There were no laughs, or music, and there were no merry-go-rounds. At this carnival, there was only a bunch of clowns – a bunch of people grouped together in the same white place, all hiding under the same painted on faces.As I walked into the carnival, I was filled with nervous tension. My body was shaking and I was chewing so fiercely on my bubble gum that my jaw began to ache. I signed in and the lady who was behind the counter said to me, “Ok, Miss Ross. If you will just have a seat right over there until we call your name.” The lady was not one of the clowns. She simply worked for the carnival. She got to wear normal clothing – nice black pants and a white blouse with red designs around the collar. She seemed calm and detatched, and her emotionless countenance clashed with the rest of the charicters in the room. I guess she was used to the scene, and was used to leaving her emotions at home.
Everone else in the room was waiting there for the same reason. We were all experiancing a common fear, and we all wanted this experiance to be over so that hopefully we would all be able to go home and take off these ridiculous costumes. I bet everone there regretted the circumstances that brought them to the carnival. We were all clowns to end up there in the first place.
The walls in this place were white and the chairs were red. In large black letters a sign red FREE TESTING. There was cheap artwork adorning the wall next to the counter. There was a wooden rack that stood upright containing brochures with titles like “Help for the Needle Abuser.”
To my left a man and a woman sat together holding hands. He was the clown wearing one of those “joke” flower pens-the kind that is actually a squirt gun that fires out black ink- and she was the clown with the sparkled hair. Did she really know that the flower was filled with ink? And how much longer would he continue to think of it as only a joke? In the corner was a man standing on stilts, looking more confident than the rest of the people in the room. He had one of those large red smiles painted on his face. He had dark black paint around his eyes, and white paint covered the rest of his face. It looked as if he spent a long time creating his facade. It looked as though his stilts made him stronger than anyone else in the room. The called his name-”Mitchell…Mr. Mitchell”- and he followed a lady dressed in white through a door and down the hallway. The door shut hard and the man was gone. The room was quiet except for occasional brief conversations. I could periodically hear questions asked to the lady at the counter like, “What time is it?” and “Do you know how much longer I’ll have to wait?” The clowns were becoming impatient. I was becoming impatient. I bounced my leg viciously on the floor and I could feel it shaking my chair and the one next to me. My curly yellow wig was beginning to feel too tight. I desperately wanted to pull it off my head and throw it into the trash can, but I had to keep it on-it was part of my punishment for being part of the carnival. I saw one of the clowns whose name had been called earlier, walk out of the door that led to the doctor’s offices and back into the waiting room. She looked like she was probably in her mid-twenties and she had large red hair and was wearing a dress with polka dots on it. She had been carrying red balloons earlier, but I guess she left them in the doctors quarter. She was grinning slightly, and by the look on her face I could tell that she had heard good news. She walked past me and gave me a consoling, sympathetic look. I watched as she pushed her way out of the large, heavy glass door and as she got outside, she stopped by the trash can. She pulled the red wig off her head. She removed the rubber band from her hair. Her long, dark curls caught the sunlight and dropped gracefully onto her shoulders. She tore off her ungly, oversized dress. She had on a brown skirt and blazer. She then balled up the red hair and the dress and shoved them deep into the trash can. Before she got into her car, she looked back at me through the glass as if to once again show me her compassion, then stepped into her black camry and drove away. She was glad to leave the carnival. I envied her. I wanted to be the one who could leave and smile and put the carnival behind me. I wanted these nausiating feelings of intense dread to end. I sat there for what seemed like a painful eternity and suddenly the door to the doctor’s offices swung open and slammed against the wall. Four ladies dressed in white carried the man who had been on stilts through the door. He was crying and wailing fighting them. His black face paint was running over his cheeks and onto his clothes. The red paint around his mouth was still there, but his mouth was wide open. They carried him across the room and through a set of unmarked doors that I had not seen previously. He was in a state of undescribably agony. Would it be me, too, that they weould carry across the room screaming? Would the carnival reduce me to a pile of fake yellow hair and rubber shoes? I sat there still, silenced, and shocked, as did all of the others. A minutes later, a fifth lady in white walked through the door carrying the man’s stilts. One was broken. Following her, a lady came out and said my name–”Ross… Miss Ross.” I did not want to move. I was too scared. I did not want to be like the man on the stilts. I wished that I hadn’t been forced to come to this carnival. I wished that I was not a stupid clown. “Is there a Miss Ross here?” said the lady. I sighed and then answered–”Yes….I’m here.”–and I walked toward her. I heard the door shut loud behind me. As I walked down the hall one of my big red shoes fell off. I wondered if that was a good sign.
And thats it… feedback muchly appreciated… lol
So long for now…
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