WHO IS AFRAID OF BOTOX? (Claire, the cannonball woman)

 

White walls, scent of white nail polish, an array of standing lamps emitting a dim,white halo. On the main desk, encouraging signs: pictures of 'before' and 'after' moments,positive slogans 'Celebrities do it...', 'You are not going to freeze...',key words 'young',' skin','anti ageing', 'natural',above all 'natural'.
I have to confess it. I was the idiot sitting there waiting for her. I offered to be her companion in the 'Clinic of the Fading Skin'.
Claire was above humanity. She was my preferred cannonball woman. She could fly above us, little malfunctioning machines soaked in wee problems, sucking it up in a virtual world and unable even to screw a light bulb. She was firm and serene, full of curves and bends, where my heart could freely race.  
We met in November 2022.After the general election, deflation and a big,fat recession came to us under the travesty of wee signals of instability in the market, due to the soaring price of quinoa. When the city was on its knees, my father was forced to abandon his pitch of boiled beetroot in Clapton Pond. After losing all my possessions, dressed in my father's old clothes and unshaven,I walked barefoot all the way to London Fields. The talent scout for the local circus saw in my walk a hipster in disguise and that's how I got my job. 
Claire was the biggest star in the cannonball business.She spoke very little, I know, and liked to answer a question with another question,but she was pure flesh. With strong tights, muscular calves, forearms with little bushes of hair,her wrist was so gentle to undulate whenever a fresh breeze came our way and a tiny little hand unable to hold a butterfly. I gently cultivated my love for her, pruning any weakness from gestures which smelled of hardship and realness, and staring at that monumental body in the silent nights. 
But change came and change was abrupt. 
One night our big tent was invaded by The Bearded Men.
 At that time, due to the crisis, evictions and house repossessions were at record levels. Living in camping sites and occupying the free green public spaces was the only viable alternative. A new collective juggling anarchic theories with environmental principles, under the new religion of clean living was founded in the year 2020 by a fitness guru: the Spoon Man on Hackney Road. He was the most powerful individual in the capital.
The general election in 2015 was a dismay and showing ,live. on social media how to properly eat a bacon sandwich, he gained popularity and the favor of the masses. Smart enough to carve his own space in a niche market, the Spoon Man turned himself into a self-made millionaire growing quinoa in Hackney Wick. 
During that night, the most violent flange of that collective, The Bearded Men,famous for wearing skinny jeans and mustaches, in revenge to be expelled because too extremist, decided to attack our circus tent. They built a cobweb using hair and beards to encircle London Fields, but the marmoreal body of Claire refused to be contained and set us free.
After wandering for days, we found refuge on the highest hill, in Blackheath village, getting a summer job during the local food and music festival. Unfortunately, the atmosphere was not the same, they built high walls around the green space and heavy bodyguards were trampling the flowers. 
Missing the flight from the cannons, Claire's health started to deteriorate. The inactivity made her restless and thoughtful, too much thinking produced sorrow ,and tears dug canals on her face. After realizing that morning dew would not slip on her face, anymore, she decided to have Botox.  
We walked there in silence. It was a white building. Inside, white walls, standing white lamps in each corner.There were fresh flowers and the receptionist, who called Claire in, had big white teeth. I still remember now what Claire told me for the last time:
-Remind everyone we live in space and it is held so intricately spinning. It is fragile.

While waiting outside, they injected her so much to create a metamorphosis into a zeppelin. 
I saw this gigantic mystery fly above me. She shoved her huge heart into the stars,alone glided into the dark sky. All the people in the streets closed their eyes, in the exact moment she disappeared. Many more went on swearing that they were not there.


In spite of all the harmful and proud people her name will be bright
and the day will hold on at the gates of the night
while the paying people will clap their hands
and out of the cannon hole a song will spread.