When carnival performer Josie spots a distressed boy hiding at the fair, she draws on her skills to comfort him. But helping this lost child stirs up memories of her late sister and forces her to confront her own grief. Then his father arrives, and shes left speechless as she recognizes him.
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I adjusted the rainbow-striped suspenders of my costume and dabbed at a bead of sweat threatening to smear my face paint. The morning sun was already fierce, casting long shadows across the county fairgrounds as vendors and performers hustled to set up their booths.
A thoughtful performer at a county fair | Source: Midjourney
My corner spot near the carousel was prime real estate for attracting families, but today, the cheerful tinkling of the merry-go-round made my heart ache. The painted horses seemed to mock me with their frozen grins, their poles rising and falling in an endless dance.
“Youre the sunshine in the room, Jo-Jo,” my sister Rachel used to tell me. “Dont ever forget how powerful it is to bring joy to dark places.”
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But in the two years since my sisters passing, Id started to wonder if I was really bringing any light to anyone anymore.
A solemn-looking carnival performer | Source: Midjourney
Sure, I still did my weekend performances at fairs and parties, transforming from boring office worker Josie into Rainbow Rose, storyteller and balloon artist extraordinaire. But it felt like I was just going through the motions, my painted-on smile as artificial as the neon wig I wore.
I shook that thought away and focused on arranging my supplies. I sorted balloons by color, face paints lined up like soldiers, and story cards fanned out on my little folding table.
Tubs of face paint | Source: Midjourney
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A gentle breeze rustled the edges of my tablecloth, and I weighted them down with smooth river stones I and Rachel had collected on our last camping trip together. The familiar routine usually centered me, but today, every task felt heavy with memory.
Rachel had been my first audience, my biggest cheerleader, the one who pushed me to pursue performing even while keeping my sensible day job.
And no matter how hard I tried to grieve her and let go, I was stuck in my own dark place.
A carnival performer with a solemn expression | Source: Midjourney
The fair was starting to come alive around me. The smell of funnel cake and cotton candy drifted on the breeze, mixing with the earthier scents of hay and horses from the stables.
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Families were trickling in, and kids were already sticky with sugar and excitement. The Ferris wheel creaked to life, its metal frame gleaming in the morning sun.
I pulled on my character like a second skin, checking my reflection in a small mirror. Rainbow Rose smiled back at me, her face painted with swirling designs in bright colors, glitter catching the light at her temples.
A smiling carnival performer checking her face paint in a mirror | Source: Midjourney
She was more confident than Josie, more outgoing, more… everything. Rachel had always said the face paint was overkill with the wig and costume, but I liked the extra layer of separation between my weekday and weekend lives.
I was in the middle of my opening routine, juggling colorful scarves and calling out to passersby to get them to stop at my booth, when I spotted a small boy huddled beneath a wooden bench, his face hidden against his knees.
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He clutched something in his hands — a card or a photograph, I thought — and even from several feet away, I could see him trembling.
A bench at a county fair | Source: Midjourney
The sight stopped me mid-sentence, my scarves fluttering forgotten to the ground. I gathered my props and approached him.
“Hello there, friend,” I said, pitching my voice soft and gentle. “Would you like to see something magical?”
The boy didnt look up, but his shoulders tensed. Thats when I noticed he wore noise-canceling headphones.
Noise-canceling earphones in a boys ears | Source: Midjourney
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He pressed himself further into the shadow of the bench when a group of laughing teenagers passed nearby.
The way he moved, his clear sensitivity to the stimuli around him — it reminded me of a birthday party Id done last month for a child with an autism spectrum disorder. That party taught me valuable lessons about adapting my performance style.
I pulled out a blue balloon — blue often seemed to have a calming effect — and began to inflate it.
A carnival performer blowing up a balloon | Source: Midjourney
“You know, I once met a wise old owl who loved to hide under benches too,” I said conversationally, keeping my movements smooth as I twisted the balloon into shape.
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“He said they made excellent observation posts for watching the world go by,” I continued. “Plus, he liked to collect interesting things he found under there. Once he even found a magic penny that granted wishes, but only on Tuesdays.”
The boys head lifted slightly, just enough for me to catch a glimpse of red-rimmed eyes. His hands shifted and I got a better look at the photo in his hands.
A boy clutching a photo close to his chest | Source: Midjourney
The photo showed a woman with the same sandy hair. They were on a carousel, I realized with a pang, the womans arms wrapped securely around the boy as they rode a painted black horse with a golden mane.
“Thats a marvellous steed youre riding in that picture,” I remarked. “Whos that with you?”
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“Thats my mom,” he whispered, his voice barely audible over the fairground noise. “Shes gone now.”
A sad boy lying on the ground | Source: Midjourney
My hands stilled on the balloon, my heart clenching. I recognized that particular tone of loss, had heard it in my own voice too many times.
“Im Rainbow Rose,” I said after a moment, careful to keep my voice steady. “Whats your name?”
“Elliot.”
He didnt make eye contact, but his gaze fixed on the half-formed balloon animal in my hands. His fingers worried at the edges of the photograph, which was already well-worn at the corners.
A boy holding a photograph | Source: Midjourney
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“Its nice to meet you, Elliot. Did someone bring you to the fair today?”
“Dad did.” His fingers worried at the edges of the photograph. “But it got so loud by the carousel. I had to escape. Mom used to… she knew how to make it better. Everything got quieter when she sang her song.”
I finished shaping the balloon into a dog, complete with floppy ears and a little curly tail. “It is pretty noisy around here. Would you like to go somewhere quieter? The horses are over that way, and its much more peaceful there.”
A blue balloon dog | Source: DALL-E
Elliot hesitated, clutching the photo tighter. A particularly loud burst of laughter from a nearby game booth made him flinch.
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I didnt want to rush him, but it seemed important to get him away from the sounds that bugged him so much. I also had to do it as quickly as possible.
“The horses are really beautiful,” I continued, making my voice as soothing as possible. “Ive been going to visit them every day and theyre really friendly. Im sure theyd like to meet you.”
A carnival performer | Source: Midjourney
“Theyre getting ready for the barrel racing later. We might even get to watch them practice.”
“They arent big and scary?” He asked.
I shook my head. “Theyre very gentle, and they make these soft whooshing sounds when they breathe. Sometimes they remind me of dragons.”
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That earned me the tiniest of smiles. After a long moment, he nodded.
A solemn boy lying on the ground | Source: Midjourney
As we walked to the stables, I caught the eye of a fair worker and quietly explained the situation, asking them to alert security about finding Elliots father.
The womans concerned gaze followed us as we made our way past the food vendors and game booths, heading toward the quieter back area of the fairgrounds.
The stable area was blessedly quiet, the air cooler and thick with the scent of hay. A few horses nickered softly in their stalls, and the sounds of the fair seemed distant and muffled.
A horse in a stall | Source: Pexels
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Elliots shoulders gradually relaxed as we walked past the stalls, pausing often to admire the horses.
We settled on some hay bales stacked out of the way and watched a man grooming one of the horses. A glossy bay mare in the nearest stall stretched her neck toward us, nostrils flaring with curiosity.
“Would you like to hear a story?” I asked, pulling out more balloons. “I know one about a very brave explorer who got separated from his group but found his way back home. It has horses in it too, and a friendly dragon, and a map made of starlight.”
A carnival performer sitting on hay bales speaking to someone | Source: Midjourney
Elliot nodded, his eyes following my hands as I began to craft a more elaborate balloon creation. As I told the story, incorporating each new balloon figure as a character or element, I saw the first hint of a real smile touch his lips.
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I gave the explorer in my story noise-canceling headphones just like Elliots, explaining how they helped him hear the special sounds that would guide him home.
“The explorer was scared at first,” I said, twisting a green balloon into the shape of a friendly dragon, “but he discovered he was stronger than he knew. And its okay to feel scared sometimes, or sad. Its even okay to feel happy and sad at the same time.”
A carnival performer telling a story to a boy | Source: Midjourney
“Do you ever feel like that?” Elliot asked suddenly, his voice small but steady. He had relaxed enough to let his legs dangle off the hay bale, though he still held the photo carefully in his lap.
I paused in my balloon-twisting. “I do. I lost my sister. She was my best friend. Sometimes I feel happy doing something she would have loved, but sad because shes not here to see it. Like when Im performing. She used to help me practice all my routines.”
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“The carousel,” Elliot said, glancing down at the photo. “Mom always said it made her feel like a kid again. Wed go on it every time we came to the fair, and shed always pick the black horse with the golden mane. She said it looked like a story horse.”
Close up of a black and gold carousel horse | Source: Midjourney
“Thats a beautiful memory to have of her. Story horses are the best kind.”
“Elliot? Oh thank God, Elliot!”
We both turned at the voice, and my heart stuttered.
The man rushing toward us was older, and more careworn than I remembered, but Id know that face anywhere. The same kind brown eyes, the same crooked smile, though now it was tight with worry.
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A worried man | Source: Midjourney
“Thank you so much for looking after him,” Michael babbled as he approached. “I swear, I just looked away for a minute, and he was gone!”
“Michael?”
He stopped short, staring at me. Recognition slowly dawned as he took in my costume and face paint. “Josie? Is that you?”
Elliot went to his father, who immediately knelt to check on him.
A man kneeling beside his son | Source: Midjourney
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The tenderness in Michaels movements, the careful way he spoke to his son — it was a side of my old friend Id never seen before.
The awkward boy whod shared my love of science fiction novels and helped me pass calculus had grown into someone both familiar and strange.
“Ive been going out of my mind looking for you, buddy,” Michael said softly. “Im so sorry I didnt realize sooner that the carousel area was too overwhelming. I should have remembered how crowded it gets.”
A man kneeling and speaking to his son | Source: Midjourney
“Rainbow Rose helped me,” Elliot said, touching the balloon dragon Id made him. “She makes balloon animals and tells stories. Like Mom did.”
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“Rainbow Rose, huh?” Michaels eyes met mine over Elliots head, filled with gratitude. He smiled slightly. “Well, I cant say I ever expected to run into you again as a carnival performer, but somehow, it suits you. You always did like to make people smile.”
“Even if I need to rescue them from loud noises first,” I said, smiling at Elliot.
A smiling woman | Source: Midjourney
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“Thank you so much for helping him,” Michael said, straightening. “He… he has special needs. These past six months since Sarah passed… its been hard learning how to do this on my own. Sometimes I still expect her to tell me what Elliot needs when I cant figure it out.”
I looked down at Elliot and remembered the boy whose birthday party Id performed at. Mostly, I remembered how apologetic and nervous his mom had been when she explained his sensory problems over the phone.
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“Dont be so hard on yourself,” I replied. “It sounds like youve been dealing with a lot. Maybe Rainbow Rose can visit Elliot sometime to tell him a story?”
A carnival performer speaking to someone | Source: Midjourney
“Id like that,” Elliot said, surprising us both. He looked up at his father. “Could we, Dad?”
“Of course we could, buddy.” Michael squeezed his sons shoulder gently before smiling at me. “It would be great to catch up with Josie, too.”
“Anytime. And hey, if theres anything I can do to help, just let me know.”
Michael and I exchanged numbers, and I couldnt help but smile as I listened to Elliot tell his dad how horses were like dragons as they walked away.
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A woman smiling and watching someone | Source: Midjourney
After they left, I sat alone in the stable area for a long moment, listening to the distant sounds of the fair.
The balloon dog Id made for Elliot sat beside me, its googly eyes seeming to watch me thoughtfully. The bay mare nickered softly from her stall as if sharing some ancient horse wisdom.
I realized then what Id been missing since Rachel passed.
A horse standing in a stall | Source: Pexels
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I could make a real difference in peoples lives by offering performances catered to kids like Elliot. It would take some careful thought and additional planning, but just thinking about its impact made my heart feel lighter than it had in years.
“You were right, Rachel,” I whispered. “Joy matters. Even small moments of it make the darkness lighter.”
I stood, brushed hay from my costume, and returned to my booth.
A smiling woman | Source: Midjourney
There were more stories to tell, smiles to create, and more moments of light to share. And for the first time in a long while, my painted-on smile felt real.
Heres another story: Desperate to find a caregiver for his ailing son, millionaire Victor hires a homeless woman with a mysterious past. She seems like a miracle — until Victor installs a baby monitor. Late one night, he watches in horror as she kneels by his sons bed and whispers something menacing.
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This work is inspired by real events and people, but it has been fictionalized for creative purposes. Names, characters, and details have been changed to protect privacy and enhance the narrative. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.
The author and publisher make no claims to the accuracy of events or the portrayal of characters and are not liable for any misinterpretation. This story is provided “as is,” and any opinions expressed are those of the characters and do not reflect the views of the author or publisher.
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