THE CLOWN

It was the Winter of 1943. A stalemate had broken out in the War. Supplies dwindled and famine over took many a soldier. One man, despite the frequent shellings and raids, continued to travel amongst the war torn Europe. His name, date of birth, place of birth, and everything else relating to him, have never been found.
This man - now - has become a legend of sorts. A mystery to the majority of the public who see’s him, often staring down from atop a light pole. Of course, I mean the infamous Clown.
What is known is as follows.
There was a traveling circus that had been going on for quite some time before the war broke out. It was called the Wilmheim Brother’s Traveling Circus, and traversed mostly the coastal regions of Germany.
During the Spring of 1935, a young man joined the circus. His name has been omitted from all rosters on the employment of such a man, however, pictures are proof enough of his existence.
Could this gentle figure indeed be a spirit of sorts?
Evidence would say otherwise. That he was in fact real, and did in fact work for this circus.
The age of the Clown could be estimated to be about seventeen to nineteen years old. His facial features have never been revealed. Pictures from the time of his employment in the circus show him proudly displaying his clown makeup.
It is also known that this man joined the Royal Air Force (RAF) in England right after the horrible shellings that occurred there, although the Clown’s nationality has never been disclosed.
Pictures of him in uniform do indeed show him, however, his face is consistently blurred or blacked out. His name is removed, as predicted by my research, and no one living from that time seems to remember him.
It is a popular theory that the Clown came from an impoverished family and grew up in the Bronx, in New York. After having to take care of family matters, he moved to Europe where he found work as a Clown in the aforementioned traveling circus.
However, this is just a theory on the Clown’s origins. Where he truly came from, who he truly is... all has been erased from time. It would seem he simply DOES NOT EXIST AND NEVER HAS.
How did this happen?
Perhaps it had something to do with something that not even the Clown could comprehend.
Another theory is that he had a love for children and worked as a Clown - on his own free-will - to cheer up poverty stricken children.
As the war blossomed into full effect involving the United States after the controversial Pearl Harbor attack, he moved to Europe to entertain children in hospitals who had been injured in the cross fire of nations against nations. Again, the aforementioned traveling circus appears in this scenario.
I would suppose that one could pick and choose, as it were. Pick which beginning you like, and then it becomes truth instead of fiction and theoretical prose.
What was the single most life-altering event that the Clown ever faced? How did this whole thing start, and why was he chosen.
Whichever scenario you decide to go with, it is known that the Clown had a love for art and self-expression. He took his talents to the stage and took to performance art as a Clown.
During his time in the RAF, the Clown gained an ever increasing number of Nazi planes shot down. He was gradually becoming a hero.
However, much like your favorite film, the protagonist must have a conflict with the antagonist, critically injuring him, either physically or mentally.
During a routine air patrol, five units of the RAF were suddenly ambushed by Nazi air-fighters over the Swiss Alps. One RAF plane went down, and the Clown did not return home that night.
Nazi ground troops had spotted the plane falling and sought out the wreckage.
When the did finally arrive at the crash site, a body could not be found anywhere near the plane or surrounding vicinity. The entire mountainous area was searched for months for any possible survivors, but none showed up.
What, then, happened to the Clown?
Surrounded by flames and covered in blood, the Clown had managed to barely eject himself, almost at the last minute, from his enclosed death trap.
Landing near his terminated plane, the Clown found he could only crawl. Legs broken, bleeding from the head, the Clown knew he had only a limited amount of time before either one of three things happened: freeze, starve, or get caught by Nazi Storm Troopers.
He crawled to the base of the mountain and sought some form of coverage. Lying there, broken and bloody, quite possibly dying, this man, the Clown who had cheered up children, closed his eyes and sighed heavily.
His heart was racing, the thought of an ever looming death festering in his brain. Had it really all come down to this? To be shot down by the one he had sworn to destroy? Shot down by Nazi’s.
It had begun to rain, and the Clown looked up at the dark night sky, fat drops of rain pounding down from the heavens above.
Suddenly, a great feeling of warmth washed over the Clown. The pain was slowly going away and replacing it was a gradual feeling of joy and wonder.
He thought to himself, this is it. I’I'm going to die.
A voice whispered out to him, and the Clown opened his eyes, wide awake, and looked around the wet terrain.
Although vision was obscured here in the mountains by dense foliage and a heavy downpour, the Clown quickly noted no one around him, at least not within whispering distance.
Was he going crazy? Was he hearing the voice of the Angel of Death, here to take him “home”?
But again, a voice whispered to him, seemingly right next to him.
Through the thundering boom of the rain, the Clown thought he heard one simple word being whispered to him.
Come.
No one was near, and the Clown closed his eyes again, tears streaming down his already wet cheeks.
By now, the pain in his twisted legs had dissolved. His head had stopped throbbing, and despite the chill that came with rain, warmth stretched out over his entire body, like a blanket a caring mother lays over her sleeping child.
The Clown felt comfortable, and soon, the tears ceased falling.
He came to accept his fate and sat and waited patiently for Death to embrace him.
However, the voice whispered again, this time no where near him.
Instead, it came from within his own mind.
Again, the voice whispered come. Come. Come and see.
For reasons unbeknownst to even himself, the Clown turned his attention to the mountain to which he had crawled to.
An unearthly glow appeared from out of the ground, covered by some brush.
The Clown struggled to turn, and brushed the plant life away, ripping out roots and other indigenous bushes.
A hole, just wide enough to fit the Clown through, revealed itself, and a tunnel lead at a sloping angle downwards.
The Clown crawled forward, unafraid of whatever may lie ahead.
As soon as he was in the tunnel, the Clown found he could stand.
He ventured down the winding tunnel.
What happened that night is up for debate. It is known that after he entered the tunnel, epiphany suddenly struck the Clown.
He did indeed return to New York, which supports the theories of his place of birth.
After returning, stories circulated of a young man with powerful knowledge.
Could it be that whatever was in the Swiss Alps gave the Clown his esoteric knowledge?
The Clown went around and spread ideas of a beautiful utopian society, in which people governed themselves. His ideas ran along the lines of an Anarchists ideas. However, the Clown believed in using the power of the human mind to gain freedom as opposed to some Anarchist ideals of violence to erode government.
The Clown was persecuted as a traitor, a Communist even, from city to city, until he arrived in Southern California in the mid 1960's.
Here, a hip new environment offered new experiences. Anywhere from drugs, to art, to rallying together for a just cause.
The Clown truly enjoyed life here, mingling with the Flower Children and spreading his knowledge.
These LSD induced minds listened very carefully, seeming to be able to fully comprehend the Clown and his motives.
After a few years in Los Angeles, the Clown moved to San Francisco, where it is suspected was his final resting place.
Having met a few very influential people and subtly impregnating these ideas into them, the Clown felt he had accomplished this part of his life.
It was time for a new chapter to begin. Someone else who could spread the esoteric knowledge of the ancients.
Someone who could give a name to the very ideals he had yearned so hard for the world to hear.
Not even the Clown knew that a new leader had already been elected in his favor.
But it would take another thirty years to create this man, this revolutionary.
And by the time this new leader had been elected, the Clown disappeared without a trace. He had left his physical body to perhaps continue on with his next mission:
To influence the future leaders of tomorrow.

-Reverend Sam Johnson (Paradise Missing)