Writing Prompts Week #5 – January 20th, 2020

These prompts were random. I did not pick them with any story in mind. This week, I found one I was not sure I could find a story for, but I did! Sort of.

This week’s prompt:

The owner of a hot air balloon, clown school, a vase

The date had been going swimmingly if he did say so himself, and Harold did say so himself. Frequently, and loudly.
Jessica sighed and tried not to look bored. Yes, the hot air balloon was nice. Sort of. She watched the dirigibles drift past with their luxury dining rooms and glass enclosed observation decks. They sailed much higher than she and Harold did in the balloon.
The basket creaked and swayed and the intermittent roar of the burner was really not her style. Jessica caught herself slapping her leather gloved onto the side of the basket and stopped fidgeting. Not that Harold noticed. The man had hardly paused to take a breath the entire date.
She looked down again and giggled. They were drifting over yet another field, and she had expect either more cows or even the prized clockwork cows Harold’s brother owned. He had been droning on about for the last 20 minutes. Who cared about automatons that looked like cows? Talk about useless.
Instead of farm animals though she saw chairs and a small stage set up. They were low enough that she could see that all the seats were occupied by brightly costumed people. Hair of every shade imaginable, gaudy patterned blouses and trousers, enormous shoes. They were clowns! She clapped her hands excitedly as she watched a row of seated clowns stand and file to the stage, each one crossing the platform before stopping and performing a small trick, shaking the hand of the large clown at the end and returning to their seats.
“What ever could be that interesting,” Harold said, clearly upset that she found something that was not him to be more interesting. He squeezed past the small table, set with a picnic lunch, complete with a vase of flowers. Jessica had not touched the food, opting instead to drink only wine.
Harold looked down and field and sniffed.
“Clown school graduation,” he said with a sneer. “I am sure their parents are so proud.” It was clear he was not being sincere.
Jessica frowned at Harold. “What do you mean by that?” She asked.
“Only a fool or an idiot would waste their time by trying to become a clown,” he said with exaggerated distaste.
“My father was a clown, you ass,” Jessica said, picking up the vase and throwing the water and flowers both at Harold.
The man sputtered and wiped at his face with a napkin. He tried to stammer an explanation or anything to salvage the day, but Jessica was watching the ceremony slip into the distance with a wistfulness he could not understand.
Next time he would spring for the dirigible.

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