About this submission

Thimble, the clown at the center of the story, is facing the mounting pressures of a poorly suppressed identity crisis. After years of using her art as a mask, the weight of not knowing her deeper self is cracking the façade. I relate to this high-wire act of being a worshipper at the altar of art. To be routinely misunderstood forces you into creating a super-self, a defensive false projection to the world of who you are based on who you imagine you ought to be. A glimpse of freedom whisks by and presents an unflattering reflection.

Join the Discussion